– Thinking about hurting me, Pitt?

I nod.

– Most of the time.

– Naturally. It is your nature to think ill of your betters. As to what I want, well, simple professionalism. You handle security for your Clan, I oversee somewhat larger and more complex operations of a similar nature for mine. In an era of détente such as we now enjoy, I merely wish to keep open the lines of communication between our offices when threats emerge that might endanger the well being of all. Something like a Van Helsing, I would have hoped to receive a direct call rather than having to find out about it through sources of my own.

– While we’re on the subject.

– Yes?

– What sources of your own are spilling news about what happens below Fourteenth?

– Below Houston is open territory. We have alliances just as you do.

– Still dancing with the Bulls and Bears?

He blanks his eyes.

– Anything you want to know, Pitt, ask it directly. Attempt to winnow information from me and you will only become frustrated and waste your limited resources.

– Seemed that was a direct question.

He ignores it anyway.

– What can you tell me about the Van Helsing?

I hold up my hand, tick a finger off.

– He killed the Candy Man.

I tick another finger.

– He did it old school.

Another finger.

– He tainted a load of blood.

And my last point I tick off on my thumb.

– And he dumped ammonia around to get rid of his scent.

Leaving me showing him one finger.

– And that’s it.

He nods, looks at a couple papers on his pin-neat desk, ignores the finger, and makes a couple notes.

– Well, then. Dismembered corpse. Two dozen tainted pints. And you are on the job. Very well.

He places a paper in his out-box.

– Good luck finding him.

I lower my finger.

– That it?

He glances up.