I saw the evidence bag with all my stuff in it, but it was over on the desk next to where Grant and Franks were checking camera views. There was no way to grab the bag without being seen. Everything in it was replaceable except for the pistol. It had sentimental value because Julie had given it to me and we’d been through a lot together. But it was slip out now, or risk getting tied up in Fed BS for the rest of forever while the Ward got further and further away. So I walked out.
The air was much more breathable in the parking garage . . . except the mysterious PUFF Adjuster was standing there, briefcase in hand, obviously waiting for me. Oddly enough, even though he’d been in the hallway where all the smoke had vented, he looked completely unfazed.
“Going somewhere, Mr. Pitt?”
“Yeah, home. I’m not under arrest. I did what you people asked me to. So I’ll take the thanks of my grateful country and get out of your way while you guys handle your fugitive business.”
“Of course.” Coslow looked me over slowly. I couldn’t tell if he was disapproving of me in particular or just mildly irritated in general. It could go either way. “Will you be keeping the promise you made to Mr. Stricken?”
I was still a little flustered and oxygen deprived. “What promise?”
“You agreed to deal with the specific events Stricken alluded to. Events which would necessitate a Ward Stone in order to prevent a tragedy of unknown nature. I observed you, speaking on behalf of Monster Hunter International, entering into an agreement with Mr. Stricken. I shall check my notes.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out his little notebook, and flipped it open to a page . . . which appeared to have an entire handwritten transcript of my conversation with Stricken in it already somehow.
“That’s a nifty trick,” I muttered.
Coslow didn’t look up from his notes. “Yes. Here it is. You said, I quote, Fine, I will look into it.” He put the notebook away. “That would appear to be a verbal contract. A gentleman honors his contracts. I take contracts very seriously, Mr. Pitt.”
“I bet you do. You seemed proud of that big one you printed out for Stricken, but last I saw it had gotten blown all over the room and most of the pages had caught fire.” I didn’t know what Coslow was, with the magical healing and Stricken’s vague utterances, but there’s only so many times a guy can get kicked around by cosmic forces before he becomes pretty jaded. “I owe you nothing and I owe Stricken even less. Assuming he wasn’t just lying his ass off as usual, and there is actually a problem, I’ll handle it as I see fit. Now have a nice day, Mr. Coslow. I’m out of here.”
I began walking past him.
“Wait, Mr. Pitt.”
I paused, sighed, then turned around. “Yeah?”
The PUFF Adjuster was giving me a curious look, brow knitted in confusion. “Your involvement was not part of our initial projections concerning this particular situation. Nor is this the first time your presence was an unforeseen variable in one of our calculations. Once again, it appears you are a complication.”
He said the word like it was the most unsavory thing ever. The PUFF Adjuster seemed to be the sort of man . . . wizard . . . entity . . . whatever who really liked to keep things orderly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I do not know yet. Now that you are involved, we will recalculate accordingly before proceeding. The Subcommittee thanks you for your aid.” He popped open his briefcase, reached inside, and pulled out the clear plastic evidence bag with all my stuff in it. “Allow me to return your property.”
I took the bag from him. Sure enough, inside was my pistol, phone, and wallet. It was the same bag that I’d seen on Grant’s desk while I’d been walking out the door a minute ago, except Coslow had already been out here. “How—” Except when I looked back up, Mr. Coslow had simply vanished into thin air. I’d not heard him move, and the nearest car he could have been hiding behind was like twenty feet away, and he didn’t strike me as a sprinter. “Never mind.”
In this job, when things get weird you just have to roll with it, so I hurried up the ramp toward daylight.
* * *
Once I was free of the smoking federal building, I called in and they sent Hertzfeldt to pick me up with the van. The crew hadn’t had any luck catching the shapeshifter. I found out that when Trip had heard my gunshots he had rushed back to help me, but the Feds were already there, so he’d gone after the shapeshifter again. The delay had cost him, so the thief was long gone. Without the big red backpack to spot, Milo and Skippy had come up with zilch. Earl had caught up with Trip and used his werewolf senses to follow her scent for a few more blocks, but lost her in another garage, where she’d either had a backup vehicle stashed, or had hotwired herself a new ride.
The other Hunters had converged at the Atlanta team’s HQ, which was in a nondescript warehouse not too far from the airport. The team room had been the upstairs office, which they’d made into something like a comfy living room, with lots of couches and a ping-pong table. When Hertzfeldt and I walked in, most of the Hunters were sitting around, sullenly trying to figure out their next move. Boone was up front, standing before a great big map of the city, handing out assignments of where we should check next.
Earl wasn’t there. From my Alabama team, Trip Jones, Holly Newcastle, and Milo Anderson were there. Skippy, of course, who was uncomfortable around humans, was off doing Skippy things. The rest of Boone’s team consisted of James Mundy, who’d been an
