Harry Potter is all I can say. If not for him, all of London would have been consumed by the dark arts.”
“Keep eating,” said Chevie, thinking that she would have to watch the videos with him next time. “And you can stop worrying, kid. Help is here.”
“We need all the help we can get, Agent. You should fill your belly, so we can face the challenges of the day with full bellies and without weevils in our shirts, eh?”
Chevie was not sure what a weevil was, but she was pretty certain that she did not want one in her shirt.
“No weevils,” she said. “I’m with you on that one.”
She left Riley by the TV and walked to the door, flattening herself to the wall as she had been taught, drawing her weapon, and pointing it at the spyhole. There was a small video intercom mounted on the wall beside the door, and Chevie was relieved to see Waldo on the screen, looking even grumpier than last time, which was somehow reassuring. The security camera showed that the hobbit-like liaison officer was alone in the corridor.
Chevie pressed the talk button. “Has the Bureau team arrived?” she asked.
“They are on the way,” replied Waldo. “I am to debrief you, apparently. Though that is not in my job description. What do they think I am, a secretary?”
“Don’t get your baggins in a twist,” said Chevie. She holstered her Glock and opened the door. “This is an important case. We need to work together.”
Waldo stood in the hallway, hands behind his back, not looking remotely in the mood for cooperation.
“Work together, you say? Like you worked together with the hazmat team?”
Chevie felt her stomach lurch and reached for her pistol. She even managed to get it clear of the holster before Waldo whipped a stun gun from behind his back and fired two needletipped darts into Chevie’s chest, sending 50,000 volts sizzling through her frame. Chevie felt the shock like a thousand hammers pounding on every inch of her skin, forcing her to her knees and then onto her back.
“I got the BOLO from Agent Orange,” she heard Waldo say. His voice was thick and slow, floating from far away. “You killed those men, and one of them owed me money.”
No , Chevie wanted to say. It’s a trick. You’re being tricked.
But her tongue felt like a pound of raw steak in her mouth, and her limbs were slack, like half-filled water balloons. She saw Waldo loom over her, and the view reminded her of a Godzilla movie where the monster stepped over a bridge.
“I’ve got one more charge,” said the harmless-looking hobbit in that faraway, underwater voice.
Run, Riley! Run! Chevie wanted to scream, but all that came from her mouth was a hiss of dry air.
Riley heard the exchange in the hallway, and then that particular rumbling sound of a body falling over.
Garrick! he thought, and sprang to his feet on the sofa. He wanted to help, but that would seal his own fate as well as Chevie’s.
I must hide, he realized. But there was no time for such tactics, as Waldo stepped briskly into the living room brandishing a metal tube.
“I will only use this,” he said, “if you attempt to flee, if you attack me, or if you insist in speaking in that ridiculous accent.” Riley tested the spring of the cushions underneath his feet. With my training, I could jump clear over that little man’s head, like
Spring-Heeled Jack , he thought. That baton of his won’t be much use if I stay beyond arm’s length.
Riley bounced twice, then threw himself into the air, arcing over Waldo’s head, leaving the FBI agent no choice but to shoot him in the stomach with the second charge from his stun gun.
Riley’s head hit the floor with a thump, and in his dream the thump was Albert Garrick rapping him on the forehead with sharp knuckles during a lesson.
“Attention, son,” he said. “This is one of the basic principles of stage magic, which is the kind we are stuck with presently.”
They were on stage at the Orient, where Riley’s lessons
“Keep eating,” said Chevie, thinking that she would have to watch the videos with him next time. “And you can stop worrying, kid. Help is here.”
“We need all the help we can get, Agent. You should fill your belly, so we can face the challenges of the day with full bellies and without weevils in our shirts, eh?”
Chevie was not sure what a weevil was, but she was pretty certain that she did not want one in her shirt.
“No weevils,” she said. “I’m with you on that one.”
She left Riley by the TV and walked to the door, flattening herself to the wall as she had been taught, drawing her weapon, and pointing it at the spyhole. There was a small video intercom mounted on the wall beside the door, and Chevie was relieved to see Waldo on the screen, looking even grumpier than last time, which was somehow reassuring. The security camera showed that the hobbit-like liaison officer was alone in the corridor.
Chevie pressed the talk button. “Has the Bureau team arrived?” she asked.
“They are on the way,” replied Waldo. “I am to debrief you, apparently. Though that is not in my job description. What do they think I am, a secretary?”
“Don’t get your baggins in a twist,” said Chevie. She holstered her Glock and opened the door. “This is an important case. We need to work together.”
Waldo stood in the hallway, hands behind his back, not looking remotely in the mood for cooperation.
“Work together, you say? Like you worked together with the hazmat team?”
Chevie felt her stomach lurch and reached for her pistol. She even managed to get it clear of the holster before Waldo whipped a stun gun from behind his back and fired two needletipped darts into Chevie’s chest, sending 50,000 volts sizzling through her frame. Chevie felt the shock like a thousand hammers pounding on every inch of her skin, forcing her to her knees and then onto her back.
“I got the BOLO from Agent Orange,” she heard Waldo say. His voice was thick and slow, floating from far away. “You killed those men, and one of them owed me money.”
No , Chevie wanted to say. It’s a trick. You’re being tricked.
But her tongue felt like a pound of raw steak in her mouth, and her limbs were slack, like half-filled water balloons. She saw Waldo loom over her, and the view reminded her of a Godzilla movie where the monster stepped over a bridge.
“I’ve got one more charge,” said the harmless-looking hobbit in that faraway, underwater voice.
Run, Riley! Run! Chevie wanted to scream, but all that came from her mouth was a hiss of dry air.
Riley heard the exchange in the hallway, and then that particular rumbling sound of a body falling over.
Garrick! he thought, and sprang to his feet on the sofa. He wanted to help, but that would seal his own fate as well as Chevie’s.
I must hide, he realized. But there was no time for such tactics, as Waldo stepped briskly into the living room brandishing a metal tube.
“I will only use this,” he said, “if you attempt to flee, if you attack me, or if you insist in speaking in that ridiculous accent.” Riley tested the spring of the cushions underneath his feet. With my training, I could jump clear over that little man’s head, like
Spring-Heeled Jack , he thought. That baton of his won’t be much use if I stay beyond arm’s length.
Riley bounced twice, then threw himself into the air, arcing over Waldo’s head, leaving the FBI agent no choice but to shoot him in the stomach with the second charge from his stun gun.
Riley’s head hit the floor with a thump, and in his dream the thump was Albert Garrick rapping him on the forehead with sharp knuckles during a lesson.
“Attention, son,” he said. “This is one of the basic principles of stage magic, which is the kind we are stuck with presently.”
They were on stage at the Orient, where Riley’s lessons
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