“I looked like a goddamn clown out there,” I said, throwing the door open. “Someone would have noticed me if they weren’t all busy with their own work.”

I tossed the shears and hardhat into the back seat, then stripped off the bright orange hunting vest, crumpled it up, and threw it on top. I unhooked the garment bag from the passenger seat’s headrest, hurrying to get my next disguise on before someone saw the gun in my shoulder holster.

“God, I’m sorry, Secret Agent O’Howell. Didn’t know this was going to be a high budget production. It was all I could find on short notice.”

I took the suit jacket out of the bag and shrugged it over the pressed white dress shirt I had been wearing under the goofy vest. The suit smelled of mothballs, but the worst thing it off-gassed were bad memories of the last time I’d worn it. I thought of child-sized caskets and red baseball caps as I fished my hand deeper into the bag for the black necktie wadded up at the bottom like a lump of coal in a sock.

“Look, are you sure you want to do this? Your plan sounds kind of…”

“You got a better one?” I asked, working on my tie.

“No, but I mean… Your evidence seems…circumstantial. At best.”

“I know I’m right.” The knot I’d made came out looking like a ball of dough a pigeon would turn its nose up at. I cursed, untangled it, and tried again.

“At least let me come up with you.”

“Yeah, what are you going to do up there.”

“I could have your back. You know, help you prod the truth out of them. Watch their faces while you do the song and dance.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think you’ll meet the dress code.” I got the tie right on the third try and smoothed it down before buttoning my jacket. “I need you watching down here, anyway.”

“And if I see anyone?”

“Give me a few minutes to get up there. If anyone comes out of there in a hurry, tail them, but keep your distance. See where they go, then call Cal and tell him to hold the message until I can get to a phone myself.” I flicked through the short stack of business cards in my wallet until I found the one with the crystal ball circumscribing an accordioned map. I passed it through the window and pointed at Cal’s home phone number. “He’ll be expecting your call.”

“You told him what’s going on?”

“Not yet. Don’t worry about him. Just worry about what comes out of there.” I jabbed my finger at the entrance to the underground lot the elevator had dumped me into after getting the boot from the Sanders’s penthouse.

Marcella tapped her temple in a lazy salute. “You got it, Howl.”

My back cracked when I stood up, and I stretched out the rest of my sore body. My right shoulder still ached from ramming Virginia’s door, but it was strong enough to lift a pound of steel if things got hairy.

I dove back into the steaming, clattering bowels of the Morales Building. A cart loaded up with cloche-covered dishes brushed my side, and the ornery blue bird pushing it hissed, clacking his beak and spouting off a melodic string of invectives. Men with earwigs and ominous bulges under their black coats were scattered throughout the tunnels, but my disguise was effective enough to get me past them with no more than a nod.

I pushed the button for the service elevator and waited for it to come. When I felt eyes on me, I stuck my finger under the flap of my ear and pretended to receive a call. My warbly reflection in the mirror-like doors made me painfully aware of how silly I looked, but no one questioned me.

I dropped inside as soon as the doors opened, pressed the button for the penthouse, and turned around to stand with my back straight and my hands folded in front of me.

The doors started to close with only me inside, but someone shouted to hold the elevator. I didn’t move, but after a quick sprint, the harried woman got the tip of her wing into the crack before it closed. The woman, a budgie in a black and white maid’s costume, pushed the door open and panted out a few subdued complaints about “you security types.” When she reached for the penthouse button and saw it was already lit, she turned back to me and gave me a sidelong look.

“Detective O’Howell?” she said, now too mystified to be angry. “What are you— I thought…”

I nodded, said, “Margaret,” then went back to staring at the doors. Margaret checked out the buttons with a particular interest for the emergency stop.

With no other stops to make and no consideration for passenger comfort, the elevator rocketed to the top floor. The brakes squealed when they first came on, but the elevator only groaned as it finished its stop at the penthouse.

Margaret found her voice when the elevator was at the top of the shaft, but she was too late. I was out the doors as soon as they opened.

“Detective O’Howell. I don’t think…” she said, meshing and unmeshing her fingers.

Her words were lost on me. I marched down the corridor from the kitchen into the main room, which now teemed with activity, and became a different person. I dropped the stern act and adopted the casual demeanor of an invited guest.

I stopped at the end of the hall to take in the lights and sounds, and search for my target. It wouldn’t be fair to say the room was filled with all manner of people. They may have come in different shapes and sizes, but I knew by their elegant dress and the delicate way they held their champagne flutes that every one of them was from society’s upper echelon.

The men and women milled about the open space, chatting and laughing under the cover of soulless elevator music. A projector threw a live video broadcast up on the wall above the fireplace, highlighting the reason for the celebration. Poll numbers had been flooding in all night, and according to all available data, Regis Fellini had won his congressional race in a landslide. These people had made Regis. Now they would reap the rewards.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice barked behind me. The radiant disdain pushed me out of the way and a gazelle with a tray of mini-quiches elbowed past. She wore a skintight dress that went only as far as her upper thigh, but even that scant amount of clothes made her nigh unrecognizable until my eyes glanced over her more notable curves. She’d been working the pole at Club Callout the night it burned down.

I looked around and saw similarly attired servers. One or two of them had been dancing in the suspended cages, and the rabbit who had served Heifer and me now served a fat toad and his pinch-faced lemming wife glasses of champagne with a price tag that would make the top shelf scotch from Club Callout seem like jug wine. It was good to see Heifer’s workers had landed on their feet, at least.

My suit, although clean, was rumpled, dated in design, and tailored to fit a younger man with less slouched shoulders and a narrower waist. The cheap polyester blend stood out in the sea of fine Italian wool and silky evening gowns. I drew a few looks, more as people noticed who I was and elbowed their fellow revelers to point me out.

I wasn’t there to schmooze with them; I was there to catch a monster.

I didn’t see him in the main room or hear his roaring laughter, so I ducked down the hall where the party extended into the sun room Cynthia used for cocktail hour, and onto the pool deck.

Rippling cerulean light from underwater bulbs lit a cluster of familiar faces at the far end of the pool. They stood by the glass railing that separated the Morales building from the starry sea of Hot Type City’s endless sprawl. Regis laughed gregariously, his fiery mane waving and his eyes sparkling with the help of an added sheen from the whiskey in his hand. Russel sanders stood next to him, puffing on a cigar.

The deputy mayor, Charles Laurie had come out to celebrate too, although his head stayed half inside his shell. He didn’t spend much time in the spotlight, but he’d have to get used to it now that Regis was moving up. He’d fill in as mayor until the next election in two years.

Even Commissioner Fosse was around. His face was as scrunched as ever, his eyes hidden under the tremendous cliffs of his brows, but I could tell by the way he swayed with the jostling crowd around him he’d drunk as much as any of them.

The media—most of which Russel controlled—would herald Regis’s victory as a victory for all of Hot Type City. In actuality, it was only a win for these people. They had stepped on a lot of heads to get Regis up to the top, and the new position gave them leverage to put their boots on even more throats.

Fosse saw me first—guess he still had some of the police instincts he built up decades ago. He bumped into Deputy Mayor Laurie, who startled, pulling his head further into his shell and alerting the others to my presence. I snagged a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray to give my hands something to do.

Russel chomped down on the end of his cigar and scowled at me when I sidled up next to them, but Regis’s face lit up. “Detective O’Howell! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Russel grumbled something about invites, but Regis went on beaming. “Funny how we keep bumping into each other. Always a pleasure of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed.

Laurie's head inched out of his hole to peer over the breastplate of his shell. He glanced behind me, and his head dipped back a degree.

“Here he is,” Margaret said, leading a yak with a soldier’s stiff posture. Behind them, almost lost in the yak’s bulky shadow, was an even less friendly face, Detective Henry’s mean underbite. He wore a suit and his swagger had a sea-legged sway, but he meant business. With all the people shuffling around in appointed positions, it seemed he was getting called up to the big league.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Sanders, sir,” Margaret said. She lowered her head in contrition. The show of submission tickled Russel and his lip smushed around his cigar in something too mean to be a smile. “I know you said to be—”

“It’s quite alright!” Regis laughed. He smacked Russel on the shoulder, jostling the smirk off his face. “He might not be on the guest list, but who can blame him for wanting to celebrate with us.”

Russel said something about security, but Regis waved him off. “Nonsense. No one would dare suggest the Delinquency Dog was up to no good. Say,” he said, turning to me. “You didn’t sneak in to heist any paintings or steal any state secrets, did you?”

“Maybe if I have time later,” I said. “I’m here on business.”

“There you go.” Regis gestured at me, then looked at the yak making fists behind Margaret. “Thanks for keeping a lookout, Margaret, but you and Boris can get back to work. I cordially invite Howl to stick around if he’d like.”

Boris bowed and turned back to retake his post. Margaret stuck where she was for a second, kneading her hands, teetering on the edge of offering a dissenting opinion. She snapped out of it when Henry pushed past, and she scurried back inside as soon as the spell was broken.

“The fuck business you here on?” Henry asked. “Out selling magazine subscriptions? Clearly the whole detective thing wasn’t working out for you.”

“Now, now, Adam, try to play nice,” Regis said. He tucked his chin and gave Henry a reproachful look before turning back to me. “What can we do for you, Mr. O’Howell?”

“Actually, Captain Roush sent me.”

Commissioner Fosse’s brow scrunched down even further, and his nose twitched, bringing his whiskers along for the ride. If he had eyes under there, they were squinting at me.

“You see— Oh, sorry, how rude of me. I’ve been here yapping and I still haven’t congratulated you,” I said. I raised my glass to Regis, who accepted the salute with a well-practiced bow.

The other men swelled with pride. It was a gross display on its own, but especially sickening knowing they were all complicit in Ethan’s disappearance. Even if they only knew about it, their failure to speak out made them just as culpable as the one who gave Guy the order.

“Right. Now that’s out of the way, I’ve got a message for Fosse from Roush.”

Russel took his cigar out of his mouth and waggled it at me. “And he sent you all the way over here to deliver it personally?”

“We tried to call, but it wouldn’t go through. Guess the phone lines are down or something.” That elicited some raised eyebrows. They hadn’t noticed it, but none of them had seen any staff answering calls in the last ten minutes—not since I used Wally’s garden shears to lop through the central line into the building. “Should have someone out to look at it… But then you’ve got yourself a paradox on how to go about contacting them…”

“Howl!” Fosse barked. “The message. What is it?”

“Oh. Right. Don’t worry, there’s nothing you need to do. Just thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.”

Fosse growled, his chest vibrating enough for me to hear over the sound of the party, the lapping of the water, and the dull roar of the wind. It was an impressive feat for such a small body.

“It’s good news!” I spoke brightly, making sure everyone was listening close. “The police found Ethan Calhoun. Roush already dispatched officers to pick him up.”

A beat. A telling delay while gears turned and scripts were re-written. Fosse’s face faltered and morphed as he adjusted his mask, but my eyes were on Regis. His lips didn’t quirk, but his eyes gave away his surprise with a moment of dullness before they sharpened again.

“You’re sure?” Russel asked. “Wouldn’t want to spread rumors around here if it wasn’t true.”

“Yessir. Well, sure enough. They’ve got it down to a few locations so it might take a bit for the officers to find them—especially with so many resources tied up with the celebratory riots. At any rate, Ethan will be safe and sound by morning.”

Henry chuffed. “Bullshit.”

The other men all turned to look at him.

“I don’t have all the details,” I admitted, “but I assure you it comes from a reliable source.”

“Sure it does,” Henry said. “I see what you’re doing here.”

“Spreading the good news?”

“And making sure your face is attached to it. You want us to think it was your sleuthing that brought the kid home, not the hard work me and mine put in.”

I put up my hands defensively. “I’m just passing the message along. We can start handing out medals and promotions when Ethan’s sleeping in his own bed. On that note, I’d better get back to the police station before Virginia gets there. She came to me at the beginning, and I’m sure she’ll want to talk to me when its all over.”

“Virginia?” Henry said.

“Oh, right, you thought she was missing. No, she ran off and hid out until she was sure it was safe. Now that we’ve got Ethan, she’s coming back. There’s still a lot of questions floating around; I’m sure she can help answer those now that everything’s settled. She’ll know who took Ethan.”

I let the culpable parties squirm as I tipped back my champagne and guzzled the whole glass. I saw a lot of worried eyes when I wiped off my lips, but Henry’s only showed confusion. It seemed the cabal didn’t trust him enough to let him in on their dirty dealings just yet.

“Well, just thought you all would want to know. Like I said, you don’t need to do anything. The police on duty will handle it from here.” I raised my empty glass and tipped my head at Regis. “And congratulations again. I see big things in your future. Russel, you better make sure your news stations are ready. Regis is about to make history.”

Regis might have been skeptical before, but now he knew for sure. He knew I knew. All he could do was bare his teeth as I turned and waded through the crowd, back to the door into the penthouse.

I fixed my eyes on the windows and watched behind my approaching reflection. Regis leaned down so Fosse could speak into his ear, and he allowed a fretful frown onto his face. He and Fosse exchanged a few covert words, then Regis straightened up and adjusted his tie. Fosse curled his finger at Henry, who had been watching me leave, and spoke into his ear next.

I walked slowly though the crowd in the sunroom, accepting a few drunken shouts of recognition. The unwanted attention was a fair trade-off for keeping an eye on Detective Henry as he weaved through the path I had blazed. When he was inside he went straight to Boris.

Henry looked confused, but he’d never admit it. He got the yak’s attention and pointed across the pool, where Fosse, Regis, Laurie, and Sanders had huddled. They had their heads together and spoke with lots of aggressive hand movements and suspicious glances to make sure no one was listening in.

Henry led Boris out, and I made a break for it. I was almost running when I dodged into the corridor to the kitchens and the service elevator. Margaret stood in front of the desk at the end of the hall with a notepad in her hand. She put the handset to her ear, gave it a quizzical look, and put it back down, then she picked it up again.

I stabbed at the button to call the elevator. The first hit was solid, but I kept tapping, as if I could encourage it to move faster. Margaret heard me and looked over, the phone dangling in her limp hand.

She started to work her mind and mouth around the question, “What’s going on?” but couldn’t get it out before the elevator arrived. I gave the garage level button the same furious assault I had given the call button until the door closed. There was no time to chat. The race was on.