I didn't really need to look at him. He was a man a little over average height, somewhere in the late prime of his life, his dark hair flecked with grey. He had skin that had seen a lot of time out in the weather, leaving him with a perpetual boater's tan, and eyes the color of wrinkled old dollars. He'd be wearing a suit that cost more than some cars, and making it look good. He looked handsome and wholesome, more like the coach of a successful sports team than a gangster. But John Marcone was the most powerful figure in Chicago's criminal underworld.

"Isn't that a little childish?" he asked me, his voice amused. "Refusing to look at me like that?"

"Indulge me," I said. "It's been a long day."

"How serious is your injury?" he asked.

"Do I look like a doctor to you?" I asked.

"You look more like a corpse," he answered.

I squinted at him. He sat calmly in his seat, mirroring me. "Is that a threat?" I asked.

"If I wanted you dead," Marcone said, "I would hardly have come to your aid just now. You must admit, Dresden, that I have just saved your life. Again."

I closed my eye again and scowled. "Your timing is improbable."

He sounded amused. "In what way?"

"Coming to my rescue just as someone was about to punch my ticket. You must admit, Marcone, that it smells like a setup."

"Even I occasionally enjoy good fortune," he replied.

I shook my head. "I called you less than an hour ago. If it wasn't a setup then how did you find me?"

"He didn't," said Gard. "I did." She looked over her shoulder at Marcone and frowned. "This is a mistake. It was his fate to die in that alley."

"What is the point of having free will if one cannot occasionally spit in the eye of destiny?" Marcone asked.

"There will be consequences," she insisted.

Marcone shrugged. "When aren't there?"

Gard turned her face back to the front and shook her head. "Hubris. Mortals never understand."

"Tell me about it," I said. "Everyone makes that mistake but me."

Marcone glanced at me, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. It was very nearly a smile. Gard turned her head slowly and gave me a cold glare that wasn't anywhere close to smiling.

"Let's get to the part of the conversation where you tell me what you want," I said. "I don't have time for any more banter."

"Ah," Marcone said. "I suspected you would somehow become involved in the events at hand."

"What events would those be?" I asked.

"The situation concerning the death of Tony Mendoza."

I scowled at him. "What do you want?"

"Unless I miss my guess," Marcone said, "I want to help you."

"Yeah," I said. "Right."