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An hour or so of careful observation made it clear to Gumshoe that there were watchers abroad; Very good watchers, professionals. He noticed shadows in places where there shouldn't have been shadows, observed the tell-tale twist of the head from the very occasional passer-by glancing into the darkness of alleys and doorways where they had caught the suspicion of somebody concealing themselves. After a hurried whispered conference with Rosie and Nether, who had emerged from his hiding-place after the clientele had been ejected, Gumshoe decided on a course of action. With my brother's assistance with the tricksy Goblin magic, he made his way out of the secret exit then, using his own New York street-wise smarts, he made his way around in a rough circle, following his nose through the back alleys and making a reasonable job - for a human, of course - of remaining undetected. Unexpectedly, Gumshoe disturbed somebody at the far end of an alley, a man dressed entirely in black; not Rigg, he was immediately certain, but a smaller man with swarthy skin and dark hair, which he took to be a henchman or hired hand of some kind. Startled by Gumshoe's sudden appearance, the goon dropped whatever it was he was holding and darted off, yelling some kind of warning - either a code word or in a language that Gumshoe didn't recognise. The detective chased him, but the man in black got away; his deftness and his head start allowing him to lose Gumshoe almost immediately in the maze of alleyways and dumpsters that threaded behind the buildings. Backtracking rapidly and - I strongly suspected - cursing profusely, Gumshoe returned to the place where he had disturbed the henchman. At first, there seemed to be nothing to be found, but then his foot nudged something hard and heavy which turned out to be a lump of cement which looked like it had come from a building site. It was the object the mystery man had dropped. Gumshoe picked it up. There was a note taped to the block, the words formed in the time-honoured way from cuttings from a newspaper pasted onto a sheet of paper, no doubt. "What did the note say?" "This could have been a Molotov Cocktail," he intoned. I drew a blank. "What's that?" I said after a moment. "A bomb," Gumshoe said slowly, clearly, "A gasoline bomb; a bottle filled with flammable liquid, and with a wick to explode when the bottle breaks." "Ah," I said levelly, "Nasty." "Indeed. And it is a very British term," the human detective went on, "The devices were used by paramilitaries of both sides in the recent Irish troubles. Rosie would know what it meant." A worrying development. Somehow, Rosie knew something or somebody that made her worth threatening. "Where are you now?" I asked. "Back inside the bar," he replied, sounding just a little weary, "Rosie and Nether are still here. I've sent Rosie off to bed. Nether and I have been keeping watch. There's no sign of anyone hanging around at the moment." "Do you want me to come up?" "Nah. I don't think there's anything you can do. In any case, I've a better idea." Gumshoe suddenly sounded smug. "There's a private security firm I know," he went on, "Did a job for the boss once, not so long ago, so he owes me a few favours. I'll give him a call, get a few of his boys around here to flash a bit of muscle. That should prevent any problems, and give me a chance to get back to my place and get tooled up." Gumshoe didn't usually carry a gun. He was clearly sufficiently rattled to break this particular habit. I hope he didn't do any stupid. "Fine. But be careful," I said, emphasising the last point. Gumshoe snorted. "You got it," he agreed, "One last thing. Nether said he was coming down." My brother, returning to the Lower Realms. Another worrying development. "Okay," I replied slowly, "Where does he want me to meet him?"
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Part 45