“That’ll leave me with two ounces,” I said.

“Got any big plans for those?”

“Well,” I said, “Karl’s got a birthday coming up. And since he’s a supe and everything….”

“Get the fuck out of here, Markowski. Just get out, and go home.”

I got out, but I didn’t go home – not immediately, anyway.

My first stop was the desk of our PA, Louise. I left one of the packets of Slide with her and told her to send it on to the State Police Crime Lab.

“You might also add a request that they rush it,” I told her.

She looked up at me. “You figure that’s likely to make any difference?”

“Sure,” I said. “But then, I put out cookies and milk for Santa every Christmas Eve.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

I went downstairs to see Rachel.

Once I explained what I’d brought her, she held the plastic baggie up to the light and shook it gently.

“So this is the famous – or should I say infamous – Slide,” she said.

“Also known as ‘HG’, or ‘Hemogoblin-Plus.’”

“Is that the base ingredient?” she asked. “Blood hemoglobin ?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” I said. “All I know is that’s what the dealers call it.”

“And a drug dealer would never lie about the contents of the shit he’s selling.”

“Course not. Is an ounce gonna be enough for you to work with?”

“I should think so.”

“I’ve got a couple of spares, so let me know if you need more.” I nodded toward the baggie on her desk. “You going to be able to do anything with that?”

“I have some tests in mind, as well as a couple of spells I want to try,” she said. “But with magic, as in life, results are not guaranteed.”

“Yeah, I hate that about life – and about magic, too.”

“Another neurotic heard from.”

I gave her a hard look that I didn’t mean, and she knew it. “You saying I’m neurotic?”

“Yes, but you’re in good company – most of the human race, I expect.”

“Good to know I’m special,” I said.

“You understand the difference between a neurotic and a psychotic, don’t you, Stan?”

“Maybe.”

“A psychotic thinks that two plus two equals five. Or maybe nine. A neurotic knows that two plus two is four – but can’t stand it.”

“You know, I really can’t stand jokes like that,” I said with a smile.

“Who said I was joking?”

The sun was up by the time I left the building. Christine would already be home and at rest by now, so I decided to stop by Jerry’s Diner on the way home. I hadn’t been in there since the robbery attempt a few nights ago.

No way was I going to drink any of Jerry’s notorious coffee at this hour, since I hoped to get in some sleep before sundown. But I found myself with a hankering for one of their ham and cheese omelets. I also wanted to see how Donna, the cashier, was doing.

The possibility that she might not have come into work never occurred to me. Unless it was her day off, Donna would be there. She’s descended from a long line of coal miners and is tough as a three day-old bagel.

When I walked in, she was behind the register.

“Hey, Stan. Crushed any elves lately?”

“Not since the other night, but the week’s not done yet. How you doing, Donna?”

“You mean after all the excitement? Ah, I’m OK. Takes more than a couple of diffies with guns to shake me up.” Diffy is a term some people use when referring to elves. Others consider it as bordering on an ethnic slur. Donna’s got lots of good qualities, but she’s never been what you’d call politically correct.

“I’m glad you didn’t let it get you down,” I said.

“Me?” She snorted. “Not hardly. But tell me – them little bastards aren’t back on the street, are they?”

“Nope. They didn’t make bail, neither one of them. They’ll be in County until trial, which won’t be for three, maybe four months.”

At arraignment, the judge had set bail for Thor and his buddy Car at $10,000 each. A bail bondsman could have got them released for ten percent of that, but neither elf could come up with the deposit. I guess if one of them had a thousand bucks to spare, he wouldn’t have had to stick up diners.

“I was about to ask where’s Karl,” Donna said, “but then I realized…” She made a head gesture toward the nearest window and the sunlight streaming in through it.

“Yeah, he’s home by now,” I said. “I had to stay a little later at work and talk to some people. Then I was heading home myself, but I realized that I’d probably sleep better with one of Jerry’s omelets in my stomach.”

“I never can get to sleep on a full stomach, myself,” she said. “But if it works for you, enjoy.”

So I had my omelet with ham, cheddar, and mushrooms, and liked it just fine. Then it was time to go home, so I went around back to where I’d parked my car – and found that I had somebody waiting for me.

It was a couple of bodies, actually – two guys who were leaning against my car. That pissed me off, a little. I mean, the Lycan’s nothing special, but it’s mine, dammit, and I resented these two treating it like a fucking park bench.

One was tall and broad in a blue suit, and the other one was average height and broad in a gray suit. The suits weren’t handmade, but they hadn’t been bought off the rack at JC Penney, either.

“You’re Markowski, right?” gray suit said.

That pissed me off some more. I try not to get all self-important, but I’m kind of fussy about respect. Other cops get to call me “Markowski”, and friends call me “Stan”. As far as I’m concerned, civilians can use “Detective”, “Sergeant”, or “officer” until I tell them different. I figured the chances of these two being cops were almost as good as the odds of us ever being friends.

“You know who I am,” I said. “Congratulations. Who’re you?”

“Just a couple of fans,” blue suit said, with a smile that was close to a nasty grin. They both pushed themselves off the car and slowly walked toward me.

“If you want me to pose for pictures, I’m gonna have to say no.” I unbuttoned my sport coat and pushed it open, for quick access to the Beretta on my hip. “But I’ll give you guys an autograph, if you want.” These two weren’t vampires – not standing in the light of the morning sun like that. But a silver bullet will drop a human as quick as it will a vamp – and cold iron will, too.

Blue suit’s laugh was as nasty as his smile. “Autograph – that’s pretty good. Dontcha think, Joey?”

Gray suit, whose name appeared to be Joey, said, “You don’t need the gun, Sarge. We just want to talk a little.”

Sarge. That’s three.

“So, talk,” I said. “And stand there while we do it, your hands in plain sight.”

They stopped walking forward. “No, problem, Sarge,” blue suit said.

“OK,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, we hear you’ve got an interest in this new stuff that’s on the street,” Joey said.

“What stuff is that?” I wanted to hear him say the name.

“They call it by different names,” he said. “Some people call it HG, or so I–”

That was when I heard the small sound from behind me. It was nothing much, probably the sound of loose gravel moving under somebody’s shoe, but it was enough to tell me that I was in serious trouble.

I started to turn, very fast, my right hand pulling the Beretta from its holster. But I wasn’t fast enough to avoid the impact of something hard on the back of my skull, and the next thing I knew the ground rose up to smash me in the face. Then somebody’s knee, with the weight of a good-sized body behind it, came down on my spine. I would have screamed aloud if I’d been capable of any sound at all.

I heard voices, coming as if from a long way off.

“Get his wallet, and don’t forget the watch, too,” one of them said. “They said make it look like a robbery.”

Rough hands went through my pockets. I was vaguely aware when they found and removed my wallet and unbuckled the watch from my wrist. Then I felt a tug as the Beretta came out of its holster.