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An early arrival home leads to incest, swinging and more

Bel didn't have much else to offer for clever suggestions either. She was game for a bit of breaking and entering to see if anything had been left behind downstairs, but a closer and exactingly careful examination of the shop's magical wards showed that all of the old ones were still present... along with a few brand new ones. Nasty new ones. I thought I could disarm most of them, but if I fucked up the entire shop, along with several of its neighbors were going to blow up sky high. I wouldn't have any alibi for that magical fire... and reluctantly we decided to leave the place alone for a day or two.

We had never paid a visit to the other name on our suspect list, the other crooked arms dealer, one Harold Bates, esquire. While a slightly less prominent legal arms dealer, Bates' family had money, a nose well into upper society, and an uncle who was a Ward boss and senior Alderman. None of these things apparently helped him. Like Jesse Hollaway, this bird had also flown the coop, leaving behind locked doors and empty showroom display cases. Again, according to local shopkeepers, the store had never opened for business that day and vague shadowy figures had been seen inside, but no one had entered or exited the main doors. Perhaps, as at Hollaway's, a van or truck had been used at the rear service door, away from unfriendly eyes, but I was pretty certain that everything had moved underground here as well.

Another careful inspection of the doors here showed near identical levels of magical protection, almost certainly performed by the same wizard, but with the faint touches of another wizard assisting with the fire spells. Honestly, I couldn't have done a better job myself. This meant that there were at least three magicians potentially arrayed against us. Ingrid, the superb mentalist; a very superior protection magician like myself; and a rather powerful fire wizard. All working together and able to react nearly immediately to any threat.

Back in the old days, before I nearly single-handedly tackled and banished an ancient fire god, I might have been impressed, or even gravely concerned. But not tonight. That still didn't leave us with a single clue worth following up.

Our smuggling villains had known exactly what links their crooked BoF agent could betray and swiftly, and probably ruthlessly, silenced each and every one. Now we were stuck, and without a real proper lead to work with. Just for fun, we made a back-track to try and talk to the charmed street thug who'd told us about Stout in the first place, but he was gone... disappeared. He'd gone off with some mates in a bit of a hurry in the morning and hadn't returned... and never would. He was probably now part of some new underwater reef off-shore in Lake Michigan.

Every single link in the chain of evidence we'd found so far had now disappeared and we had nothing, absolutely nothing, left to lead our investigation onwards.

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Bel and I dithered over a long dinner and tried very carefully writing a report that didn't betray our investigation other than the point that David Stout's name had been casually mentioned by a witness (also now 'missing') and we had learned of the fire. Just exactly how we discovered the death of our purported witness we left rather vague. For now, we need to convince Bel's boss that we were still good well-behaved agents and that bright and early tomorrow we'd be cheerfully right back on the phony-baloney list of bogus mem-wiped non-suspects, from which we'd learn nothing now. She was already more than ready to hop the tracks and leave the reservation and go rogue, but we didn't have a single worthy direction to zerge off towards.

To hell with patience.

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