“We know they went somewhere. Our tinker thinks there’s reason to believe Tattletale is right. They used guns today, multiple witnesses can testify they put civilians in the line of fire to use as human shields, and tortured others. There’s a chance they bring that behavior to a settlement. I think it’s worth using the only lead we have, after they slipped our perimeter.”

“They being the Crowleys?”

“Yes,” I said. “Possibly with some scattered Mathers, and the Clans, and the remaining Bikers.”

I wasn’t sure how keen the Bikers would be when it came to playing along, but I wasn’t going to bring that up. Marcial’s approach wasn’t warming me to her, and I was reluctant to give her fuel for her suspicions and delaying tactics. It was her call when it came to her Patrol group and what they were prepared to do. She had authority over her group in the field like Gilpatrick had for the Bridgeport patrol.

I was keenly aware of Captain Marcial’s geographical position, as well. She was in charge of the Patrol block from New Haven. They were the closest neighbors to the Mathers camp of Fallen. The same town with the shop where I’d picked up the donuts, and with the people who’d been camped out watching for trouble, that Looksee had fooled and helped bring into custody.

If anyone was going to turn out to be a Fallen sympathizer, a thing that was happening with some frequency, I wouldn’t be shocked if that anyone was Captain Marcial.

“Crowleys aren’t on paper as being a big threat,” she said.

“Crowleys aren’t on paper as having gun toting soldiers either,” I said.

“We took the same road they did when we came here,” Chris said. “You can smell the gunpowder in the air, mixed with the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, gasoline and body odor.”

“You can, Chris,” Sveta said, stressing the ‘you’.

Gaymon’s superior approached. I’d caught the man being called Captain Bash, but I wasn’t sure if it was a nickname or real last name. He didn’t look like a Bash, with a shorter than average stature, skinny physique and a bit of a receding hairline—I could imagine it being the sort of thing where a tall muscular man was nicknamed Tiny. The PRT director in my hometown had confided in me at one point that she’d been nicknamed Lady, and from her lack of grace and finer manners, it might have been the same sort of thing.

Bash indicated the phone, “What’s this?”

“Villain says she knows where the Crowley bunch went, after Scapegoat helped them push past our perimeter. Gilpatrick’s cape says they want to follow up on it. If this is to be believed, the Fallen went north, to the Meridian stretch, and then they’ll go east.”

“To a populated part of the city,” I pointed out.