I was right, not to mind. Teddy’s Bentley was like riding on a cloud rocket ship down a mag train railway. It had less in common with my personal Toyota Sedan and more in common with the Space X Dragon. It had very few police extras, though. A fancy-looking laptop was on a dock in the main cabin. There was, of course, a radio that Teddy assured me could be patched into any system in the greater Alhambra County area with a few button presses. We had our own central dispatch that we checked in with to advise we were on our lunch break.

The Flying Spur’s sole concession to being a working car was the rear passenger compartment. A near-invisible bulletproof glass partition separated the front and rear seats. I noticed a few fine engravings on the glass of the same type on my pistols and rifle. Magical runes. Agent Ruthersford told me that they strengthened the glass and made the rear compartment air sealed from the front and soundproof. There was a microphone and camera system linked to the laptop. He explained that in certain circumstances, we wouldn’t necessarily want to see, hear or smell our passengers. He didn’t explain further, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.

I did soothe my own pride a bit with a quick internet search. My Hellcat did have more horsepower than the Bentley, even if it only cost a third as much. We pulled into the parking lot of Baldwin’s Deli.

We hung our badges and IDs on chains around our neck, easy for the public to see and explain our firearms. After we were seated at a back table and placed our orders, Teddy addressed me. “I’m sure you have a million questions, Cash. In the interest of time, give me the top three, and then we can get down to business.”

I thought for a moment. “Do you trust Director Barnum?”

Agent Ruthersford started. “I do forget just how perceptive you are, Agent Renshaw. Very well. No, I don’t trust her. I have worked with Chief Northcutt for several years. We have a wonderful working relationship.” He frowned. “Director Barnum was recently installed as head of the Texas Bureau. She definitely seems to have her own agenda. We have been discouraged from some investigative lines since she started, which have been troubling. It’s unclear what game she is playing. Time will tell, I suppose. Next.”

“What happened to your last partner?”

Since the first time I’d met him, I got to see Teddy’s angry face. “Did Tina say something to you?”

I remained silent, unwilling to give up my source.

“Well, I’ll need to have a word with her. Ah, well. It’s no secret. My partner was killed by a man with tattoos very similar to your Billy Williams. We had cornered him on the roof of the Omni Center’s parking garage. He used the power his tattoo granted him to generate a powerful gust of wind that blew my partner, Patrick Donovan, over the side. He fell ten stories to his death. The suspect himself was not immune to his own magic and pitched himself over as well.”

“I’m sorry, Ted, that’s awful.”

Our waitress set our overpriced sandwiches down in front of us. Teddy toyed with his dill wedge. “Yes. All in the line of duty and such. I myself was tossed into a concrete pylon. Separated my shoulder. Very painful, that.”

“You’re lucky.”

He smiled. “I guess I should explain my main power to you. I call it “Stiff Upper Lip,” as it’s part of my Refined Gentleman Archetype. I don’t resist magic as you do, but its effects are lessened on me. Especially if they would be deadly, I will always end up bowed but unbroken, as it were. It’s why I have lasted so long.” Teddy was giving that pickle a workout.

I was going to ask him next if he envisioned himself retiring, but I was being a real Debbie Downer. So I changed tack. “What’s your favorite part of the job?”

His face beamed again, and he picked up his sandwich. “Excellent question, Cash.”

He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “I’d have to say it’s bringing justice to people who soundly believe they are above human laws and ethics. Many of the people that we deal with have existed for extremely long periods of time, or on a level wholly outside normal everyday life. As such, they begin to see themselves as superior to the average citizen. Supermen.

“They think they can do whatever they want without consequence. And until very recently, in the grand scheme of things, they were right. The effort to rein in these entities is relatively nascent, at least at the governmental level.

“But, the look of incredulity on a 300-year-old vampire’s face as he realizes that he is going to prison for eating people.” He kissed his fingers to his mouth. “That’s what gets me out of bed in the morning, Agent Renshaw.” He took a huge bite of the sandwich.

“Now, you are talking Big-T,” I enthused. “So, what’s our case?”

“We are going to be following up on your friend Mr. Williams, actually.” The investigation into the magic granting tattoo went cold with the death of my partner. We’d been looking for new leads until “White Trash Inferno” went active.”

“White Trash Inferno?”

“That’s what he called himself during his short-lived but extremely violent magical career. These tattoos are insidious. Normally, a person’s ability to tap into the power of the cosmos to perform magic is inherited through bloodlines. You are born a mage or wizard or whichever term you prefer. You don’t learn or acquire the ability to use magic. These tattoos seem to work differently. They allow the person who wears them to perform abilities very similar to magic. But!” Agent Ruthersford took a long drink of peach iced tea.

“But! Instead of ‘cosmic power’ or whatever fuels most magic, the tattoos use that person’s own life force. They essentially become their own magical battery.”

“That sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

“It might be, indeed, discounting whatever dark deal these people are making to get these tattoos. But the tattoos seem to have an addictive quality. The more you use the power, the more you want to use the power. You need to use the power. And when you run the battery all the way down…”

“You explode into a fireball.”

“Or an electric explosion, or a gust of wind, or so on. Like Billy, we haven’t been able to bring one in yet. They always expend themselves trying to evade arrest and combust. Or they combust naturally on their own. It’s a death sentence, really.”

“I can see why this would be a priority for the Bureau.”

Agent Ruthersford narrowed his eyes, “You would think. But remember what I said before about the new management discouraging certain investigations? This is one of them. Especially since Agent Donovan’s death, I have been subtly encouraged to look into other matters.”

“But this lead with Billy is too good to ignore.”

“Just so!” The fire was definitely back in Teddy’s eyes. “Mr. Williams was a big blip on the radar, and with your relationship with him, we shouldn’t have trouble tracking the source of his tattoo.”

“So, you hired me because I am familiar with a lead on a case that killed your last partner?”

Agent Ruthersford crossed his arms, “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a consideration, but it certainly isn’t the only reason.” The waitress laid the bill on our table. Teddy snatched it up before I could, grinning at me.

“And this is a case the big bosses don’t necessarily want to be solved?”

“Chief Northcutt would be ecstatic. He took Patrick’s death almost as hard as I did. Director Barnum?” Teddy shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter what she thinks, however. Giving people runic tattoos that let them use magic but eventually kill them breaks about 100 different magical Accords, not to mention Texas State Statute.”

“Don’t get illegaler than that, Teddy.”

My new partner smiled. “The only question is,” he slapped his American Express Black Card on the table, “where to next?”

It was my turn to smile. “Easy, Teddy. We just need to let Billy’s old lady know that she’s now a widow.”