"But we're family," I said. "You're Luther and I'm…"

"Please." He stopped me with a raised hand. "Everyone in the family, and everyone in the field, knows Eddie Drood. Your reputation proceeds you-like an oncoming missile." He took a map out of his back pocket, and unfolded it. "Look at this. It isn't important or even relevant, but maps make excellent cover. No one pays any attention to two tourists studying a map."

He had a point. I stood beside him, and looked at the Magnificat over the top of the map. Luther finally removed his cigar, just for a moment, and blew a perfect smoke ring. If my Molly had been there, she would have turned it into a perfect square, just to put him in his place. I settled for giving him a hard look.

"I thought tobacco was forbidden in this health conscious, zero tolerance paradise?"

"That's cigarettes," Luther said easily. "Cigars are different. Only important people smoke cigars, and no one bothers important people in LA. Even a complete health nazi will light your cigar for you, if they thought you could get them a meeting."

"My worst fears are realised," I said sadly. "You've gone native."

He raised an eyebrow. I'd never seen so much work go into the creation of such a bitingly sardonic gesture. I felt like applauding.

"At least I still serve the family," said Luther. "I've never tried to run it. Or run away from it."

I sighed, plucked the cigar out of his mouth, dropped it on the ground and stamped on it. Luther made a shocked, pained sound, as though I'd just shot his dog. I gave him my very best hard glare.

"Do you have a problem with my being here, Luther?"

He would have liked to glare at me, but his cool and laid-back persona wouldn't let him, so he settled for looking down his nose at me. There was a lot of nose to look down. Noses run in our family. (Old family joke. Really old. You have no idea.) Luther must have realised my attention was wandering, because he stuck his face right in close to mine.