By Jim Butcher
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Monica," I said. "I know this must be really hard for you. Believe me, ma'am, there are plenty of people who are nervous when they come into my office. But please, hear me out. I am not out to hurt you or anyone else. What I do, I do to help people. " I borrowed a line from Johnny Marcone. " She gave a nervous little laugh. "I feel so silly," she confessed. "But there's so many things that I've heard about …" "Wizards. " I put my pencil down and steepled my fingers in wizardly fashion. The woman was nervous and had certain expectations.
Or maybe I just have an annoying smile. Marcone seemed somewhat put off by my attitude. Maybe I was supposed to be holding my hat in my hand, but I had never really liked Francis Ford Coppola, and I didn't have a Godfather. (I do have a Godmother, and she is, inevitably perhaps, a faery. ) "Mister Dresden," he said. " That made me wary. What would someone like Marcone want me for? "My standard fee is fifty dollars an hour plus travel expenses," I told him. " Marcone nodded along with my sentences, as if encouraging me to speak.
You don't want to make an enemy of me, Marcone. That wouldn't be smart. " He narrowed his eyes at me, lazy and relaxed. He could meet my eyes by then without fear. We had taken a measure of one another. It would not happen in such a way again. "You really should try to be more polite, Mister Dresden," he said. " I didn't give him an answer to that: I didn't have one that wouldn't sound frightened or stupidly macho. Instead, I told him, "If you ever lose your car keys, give me a call. Don't try offering me money or threats again.