did about them, and was trying to sell the kids on matching designs rather than something they'd regret in six weeks.
'You think all the leaves would have fallen by now,' he said, looking up at me, cocking his head back at the muted whine from the parking lot. He was a great artist, and yet didn't sport a single tattoo. 'I thought they did this on Wednesdays.'
'That's the beauty of global warming for you,' I said. 'Blow the leaves around enough with a gas mower, and you get to watch them fall later every year.'
He cocked his head at the two kids-they were actually pretty cleancut, kind of preppy, and had stiffened at my crack. I took the hint and shut up. I slipped out the door, then stomped in my big old boots back to the balcony at the end of the stairs. I was willing to bet I'd see a huge-ass SUV in the parking lot-no, two. Why should I expect that they'd ridden together?
My jaw dropped. A black helicopter sat in the back parking lot of the Rogue Unicorn, its blades spinning down slowly from a light whine to near-complete silence.
The leafblower had wings.
8. Secret Agent Man
In shock, I descended the stairs, watching the set of counterrotating, oddly spaced blades slowly come to a stop. The helicopter was simultaneously sweeping and angular, landing gear curving back from its nose in a horseshoe, tail swooping up like a fin, making it look like a giant metal Shamu carved from matte black panels that ate up all the light.
Then I noticed the same Fed logo I'd seen at City Hall, black on black, embossed on the helicopter's side in a slightly shiny effect similar to what you get if you push the levels too far on Photoshop. .. and leaning against the 'copter, next to the logo, was the same dark-suited Fed.
'Miss Frost?' the Fed said, detaching himself from the 'copter. People in movies duck when stepping under a chopper's blades, but he just strolled forward, letting the wind tousle his wavy brown hair. 'Special Agent Philip Davidson. We met at Atlanta Homicide, but didn't really get a chance to speak. I was told you would be expecting me?'
He extended his hand, and I stared down at it, not sure what I was seeing was real. His suit was tailored from a fabric whose sheen somehow matched the 'copter's hide, and his well-trimmed goatee still reminded me of Johnny Depp or maybe Spock's evil twin. His sunglasses were straight out of the Matrix, and I swear if he'd had a tie with a horizontal tie tack I'd have started calling him 'Agent Smith.' But he exuded a gentle sincerity, staring up at me with an easy directness I rarely saw in shorter men. His surprisingly delicate hands were warm, his handshake firm.
'In not so many words, but yes,' I said. 'Rand said something about it.'
'I would have made an appointment,' he said, in a voice as warm and firm as his hands, 'but since we were in the neighborhood I thought I'd drop by and hope you were on your break.'
Abruptly the twin sets of counter-rotating blades whined and folded up, closing like two Chinese fans and tucking themselves back over the body of the craft until it was narrow and compact enough to fit in the width of a single parking space.
'You decided to drop by in that?' I asked. 'Really?'
'Budget cuts,' he said, spreading his hands-as if budget cuts explained anything. 'Ever since we lost one in Iraq it's been harder and harder to justify spending money on Shadowhawks, so the brass took them public and is playing up their silent-running so we can market them to local law enforcement. One of its features is the ability to land quietly in a restricted space-so I told the pilot to land here, kill two birds with one stone.'
Suddenly I could see an APD officer inside the copter talking to the pilot-no one I knew through Rand, but clearly high ranking and highly interested.
I laughed out loud. 'Secret-agent-man, now copter-salesman- man-'
'It wasn't my idea,' he said, mouth quirking up in an embarrassed smile that made him seem even less 'agent' and even more 'human'. 'They're fun, but personally, I drive a Prius.'
'Riiight,' I said. 'Well, as it so happens I've made an appointment for my break, but I don't want you to have wasted all the gas on this trip. What can I do for you?'
'Based on your comments last night, I believe you can help our investigation into the murder. I had hoped to ask you a whole series of questions,' he said, calmly staring up at me, radiating disapproval without dropping into an accusatory tone. 'Is this appointment of yours something that can't wait?'
'Yes, it's urgent, and a friend is doing me a favor,' I said. Suddenly, inspiration struck me. 'Hang on. You don't happen to have a picture of the victim's tattoo on you?'
'Why?' I expected him to say 'yes' or 'no' or play neutral, but he had a cheerful directness that was hard not to like, and when he pursed his lips thoughtfully I felt like I could stare at his lips all day. Then they moved. 'It is evidence, you know.'
'I'm seeing a graphomancer,' I said. 'Maybe she could shed some light on it-more information about what the mark does, or who did the design.'
He leaned back, thinking, and, damnit, I started to think the smile was just from looking at me. 'I thought you said Sumner did it?'
'Sumner didn't do his own designs,' I said. 'He used graphomancers. Even I use graphomancers-'
'So you're better than Sumner?'
My face flushed. 'I'm not saying that, it's just… my training is-'
'That's all right,' he said, smiling. 'Look. I didn't mean to hold you up. I'll get straight to why I'm here. I want your client list.' He must have seen my jaw tighten, so he raised his hand. 'Now, don't get antsy. I won't force you to turn it over-'
'You're right about that,' I snapped. 'In Georgia tattooing is practically a medical procedure-that list is private, and sensitive. I could lose my license if I gave it to you without a warrant, and I really doubt you can get a warrant.'
'Really?' Philip said, raising an eyebrow. 'You don't think I could get a warrant?'
'Maybe,' I said, 'if you were investigating a crime, and not trying to prevent one. Unless I or one of my clients were suspects in the prior killings. Are we suspects?'
'Well, no, but given the circumstances there are other legal avenues I could-' Philip began, then stopped. 'Look, I'm not trying to be a dick here. I know how the Edgeworld works-I don't want to come down heavy and scare off the very people I want to protect. But I would like to talk to you about setting up a procedure to warn your client base. They could be targets… if you are as good as you look.'
His eyes were drifting over the tattoos on my arms, but his mouth quirked up a bit as he said it, and I gaped. I could swear the cheeky little gnome was hitting on me! OK, perhaps 'gnome' was too strong: that was just an automatic reaction to an advance from anyone in a suit. Strip him out of the suit, on the other hand… he'd be buffer than Alex Nicholson. Oh my. Either way, I was too dumbfounded to speak, so he continued.
'Think it over,' he said, all serious. 'I know you think I'm spooky-black-helicopter man, but I'm really a nice guy who doesn't want to see you or any of your clients hurt. Please think about how we might warn them-perhaps you could contact them, let us know who's willing to talk to us?' He held up his hands. 'No innuendo here-seriously. Twelve people have been killed. I don't want to see that number hit thirteen. You should think about it.'
'I'll… ask. No promises.'
'Okay. For now. And about the tat we showed you,' he said, 'we don't normally let evidence into the wild. You never know what may tip off a suspect, or spawn a copycat. Perhaps your witch would come to the offices and view the piece there?'
'No,' I said. 'For this witch, you bring things to her-she's got an elaborate computer setup to analyze images. Makes her fees high, but it's worth it.' I stared at him. 'Twelve people murdered? You should think about it.'
'I'll ask,' he said. 'No promises.'
'Fair enough,' I said, turning to my Vespa to ferret out the Sumner book from my saddlebags. 'And now I
