Soldier of Fortune: Gideon Quinn Adventures Book One

Chapter 37

At about the same time Gideon was sipping tea in the Ohmdahls' flat, Erasmus Ellison was cooling his heels in the outer lobby of the Ninth Precinct building.

The joint was crowded this morning, filled with citizens who were filled with complaints, waiting for an available officer to take their statements.

No few of those waiting were in from Marlboro Avenue and its neighboring streets, all witnesses to, or victims of, the brawl that had erupted the night before.

There were also the proprietor of Kit's Diner (unaccountably a fellow named Sol), furious over the wreckage done to his place, and aiming to file a warrant against a missing employee. Seated near the furious Sol was the owner of an allegedly stolen Edsel Comet.

Add those to the usual swarm of crimes in a city this size, and the result was a full precinct.

Ellison wouldn't have been cooling his heels with the rest of 'em, except that DS Hama had insisted he should come to formally swear out a warrant against his alleged attacker, Gideon Quinn.

Ellison had agreed, not because he had any desire to assist Nike's police force, but because to refuse would look suspicious.

Now here it was, well into the day, and his dodgers would be back at the hive, unsupervised, where Ellison was sure they'd be helping themselves to a portion of the night's takings (it's what he'd have done), leaving him just enough to avoid a beating.

Bad enough Mia was running loose with that thrice-damned draco, he'd not lose an entire night's take just so the constabulary could officially search for this Gideon bleeding Quinn.

Disgusted, he rose from the narrow slice of bench he'd managed to hang on to for the night (he hadn't even made it to standing before it was taken by a bleary-eyed tram conductor missing his coat) and stepped up to the arch leading to the foyer and sergeant's desk.

He was just about to scarp for the exit when he spied Mia, oddly in the company of half a dozen coppers, including the two who'd questioned him at the Elysium.

Odder still, she wasn't being hauled in, but rather leaving the precinct building in their company, chatting easily with a youth on the taller side of medium height and, most damning of all, that bloody draco on her shoulder.

Ellison, staring after them, was shocked, not so much by her presence, but by her attitude.

Standing tall, hands moving expressively, her face open and relaxed in a way he'd never seen.

It never once occurred to him this was what happiness looked like.

What did occur to him, once he was able to see past the red haze, was that she was going somewhere with the coppers.

Not twenty seconds later, he was out the door, watching her climb on the back of DS Hama's mag-cycle, while the youth straddled Officer Prudawe's vehicle. All around them, officers were hopping on their rides, checking their weapons, all practically glowing with eager efficiency.

Ellison hated every bleeding one of them.

As cycles hummed to quiet life, he glanced around and, oy! It looked as if some honest citizen had left their Edsel Comet right in front of the station, mistakenly assuming their property would be safe in front of the coppers' house.

What honest citizens never thought, was how many criminals passed through the precinct on a daily basis—something the Comet's owner learned when he finally finished his paperwork, and came out to find his car had been stolen.

Again.

* * *

Clive Wendell was not a happy man.