“Yeah, but that got us nowhere. Most of those supply houses do mail order. There’s no way to trace that crap. Orders vary from small town practices to major urban hospitals.”

“Couldn’t you narrow it down to just local small practices?” I asked. “You know, maybe they flag orders that come from homes instead of hospitals.”

“Maybe,” she said, shaking her head, “But records like that just aren’t tracked.”

“Christ, they flag teenagers for checking books of witchcraft and communism out at the library, but any jack-hole can mail-order a bone-saw and formaldehyde,” I said. “Have you checked hospitals for any surgeons that have been booted for . . . uh, strange practices?”

“I’m with you. Yeah, we did. A big fat zero is all we got.”

“What about the military, Red Cross, and the like?” I asked, a little desperate.

She shook her head. “Can’t get at the files. It would take months and besides, the Feds are probably checking it already.”

I threw up my hands. “Well shit, I’m licked.” I stood up. “Let me know what you find with those accident files. Thanks for the coffee,” I said, and left.

Outside, the night air was cool. I looked forward to the walk home. Evidently, so did two guys who were following me. They were Feds. They had that stiff, cardboard I’ve-got-a-big-pole in-my-ass walk. Only FBI walks like that. I think it’s in their training. Evidently, the art of tailing someone isn’t. They were close enough behind me that I could hear the heels of their dress shoes clicking.

I decided to take a little detour, and headed left at Coldwater instead of walking straight to my house. I came up with a little plan and I needed to find a buddy of mine, Mo’Lock.

He’s a ghoul, but a hell of a nice one. When he wasn’t hanging around my place he could usually be found lurking around Studio City. It had all these narrow dark alleyways. He liked that. Perfect for lurking.

Sure enough, I found him sitting outside a Starbucks talking to a few other ghouls. Mo’Lock had on his usual funeral director black suit, white shirt, and black tie. The two ghouls were each wearing orange vests. They were road workers.

I made sure not to glance over my shoulder as I approached the chatting ghouls. I stopped once to light a cigarette, and behind me, I heard that their heels had stopped clicking. Jesus, these guys were dumb. Dumb or cocky. Those are the only types of Fed agents.

Mo’Lock saw me coming. He stepped up and stuck out his big bony white hand to shake mine.

“Cal. How are you? Is there trouble?” he said. “Did you know you are being followed?”

“Yeah, that’s why I came here. Feel like running a little errand for me?”

“For you Cal, anything, any time.”