Lions and tigers and I need a beer, oh my.
Characters: John Marcone and those who might run into him.
Time: Mid-morning, Sunday
Location: Heading from the bean toward the site of Harry's old office
Content: John is sure that the last time he saw Chicago it was in much better shape.
Format: Prose
Warnings:...mobster?
John Marcone had been gone for a day trip -- to a hospital in Wisconsin, in worn, unimpressive clothing and without a guard. He hadn't expected his return to be quite so sudden. Or to a Chicago that had been locked down under what looked, to him, more like the lid of a giant metaphorical pressure cooker than anything.
Technology gone--and replaced by what he was painfully aware were substitutes much more useful to the average magic user. Phones unable to call out. His people, nowhere to be found. And him, stranded on the street in his going-visiting clothes, looking like the lower middle class and not like the man who'd run this city, an hour ago.
He needed answers. Fortunately, he did have the man with the answers on retainer. If he could contact him.
But to contact the Donar Vadderrung, the gallows god turned security CEO, he needed a medium. At the moment, the only one he was sure to be in Chicago-- to be in the middle of all strife, disorder, and confusion-- was one Harry Dresden. And if Dresden tried to be cute with him, the wizard would quickly learn the truth about who, exactly-- given a choice between Marcone and his usual faithful bodyguard, Hendricks-- was the one who actually restrained the other's violent tendencies.
Time: Mid-morning, Sunday
Location: Heading from the bean toward the site of Harry's old office
Content: John is sure that the last time he saw Chicago it was in much better shape.
Format: Prose
Warnings:...mobster?
John Marcone had been gone for a day trip -- to a hospital in Wisconsin, in worn, unimpressive clothing and without a guard. He hadn't expected his return to be quite so sudden. Or to a Chicago that had been locked down under what looked, to him, more like the lid of a giant metaphorical pressure cooker than anything.
Technology gone--and replaced by what he was painfully aware were substitutes much more useful to the average magic user. Phones unable to call out. His people, nowhere to be found. And him, stranded on the street in his going-visiting clothes, looking like the lower middle class and not like the man who'd run this city, an hour ago.
He needed answers. Fortunately, he did have the man with the answers on retainer. If he could contact him.
But to contact the Donar Vadderrung, the gallows god turned security CEO, he needed a medium. At the moment, the only one he was sure to be in Chicago-- to be in the middle of all strife, disorder, and confusion-- was one Harry Dresden. And if Dresden tried to be cute with him, the wizard would quickly learn the truth about who, exactly-- given a choice between Marcone and his usual faithful bodyguard, Hendricks-- was the one who actually restrained the other's violent tendencies.