I turned to find myself staring down the barrel of Torelli’s gun.

“Not bad, kid,” the would-be kingpin said. “That judo or something?”

“Something like that.”

“I could use a man of your skills, once my health club finishes”—he gave Demeter a sour glance—“reprioritizing.”

“You couldn’t afford me,” I said.

“I’m going to be able to afford a lot,” he said. “Name your price.”

“One hundred and fifty-six gajillion dollars,” I said promptly.

He squinted at me, as if trying to decide if I was joking. Or maybe he was just trying to figure out how many zeros I was talking about. “Think you’re cute, huh?”

“I’m freaking adorable,” I said. “Especially with the raccoon face I’ve got going here.”

Torelli’s features darkened. “Kid. You just made the last mistake of your life.”

“God,” I said. “I wish.”

Thomas put the barrel of his Desert Eagle against the back of Torelli’s head and said in a pleasant voice, “Lose the iron, nice and slow.”

Torelli stiffened in surprise and wasted no time in complying. He turned his head slightly, looking for his other two goons. I could see a pair of feet lying toes-up in the hallway, but there was no other sign of them.

I stepped up to him and said calmly, “Take your men and get out. Don’t come back.”

He regarded me with dull eyes, then pressed his lips together, nodded once, and began gathering up his men. Thomas picked up Torelli’s gun and stuck it down the front of his pants, just like you’re not supposed to do. He walked quietly over to stand beside me, his eyes tracking every movement the thugs made.

They departed, half carrying the poor bastard with the broken hand, while the two in the hallway staggered along, barely recovered from being choked unconscious.

Once they were gone I turned to face Demeter. “Where were we?”

“I was questioning your motives,” she said.

I shook my head. “Helen. You know who I am. You know what I do. Yeah, I think Marcone is a twisted son of a bitch who probably deserves to die. But that doesn’t mean I’m planning on carrying out the deed.”

She stared at me in silence for ten or fifteen seconds. Then she turned to her desk, drew out a notepad, and wrote something on a piece of paper. She folded it and offered it to me. I reached out for it, but when I tugged she didn’t let go.

“Promise me,” she said. “Give me your word that you’ll do everything you can to help him.”

I sighed. Of course.

The words tasted like a rancid pickle coated in salt and vinegar, but I managed to say them. “I will. You have my word.”

Demeter let go of the paper. I looked at it. An address, nothing more.

“It might help you,” she said. “It might not.”

“That’s more than I had a minute ago,” I said. I nodded to Thomas. “Let’s go.”

“Dresden,” Demeter said as I walked to the door.