Page 20 of Equalizer
“Unlike you, I read the whole article, not just the headlines,” Calvin replied.
“How powerful?”
“Lightning bolts, according to the reports,” Calvin told him.
“Might someone use it for galvanism? Like the lightning inFrankenstein?”
“Maybe,” Calvin allowed. “There’s certainly the possibility that someone would try.”
“Looks like we can guess which families the technology witches align with,” Owen added.
“Exactly.”
“The old-school Mob families stick with prostitution, drugs, bootlegging, racketeering, bars—the usual,” Calvin mused. “Maybe even the magically engineered drugs that affect shifters and paranormals. They’ve all got covens that could figure that stuff out. And the Mobs with more forward-thinking bosses look at replacing body parts for a profit.”
“It makes sense,” Owen agreed. “But it could be messy as all hell to shut down.”
“One step at a time,” Calvin cautioned. “If we shut off the supply of new bodies, it gets harder for them to do what they’re doing. We need to find more about this showman doing experiments and the guy at the university.”
“I will chat with Arabella tomorrow and find a way to make introductions and set up a meeting,” Winston said. “In the meantime, please be careful. Witches and the Chicago Mob are a bad combination.”
The next day,Calvin and Owen parted with a kiss before they went their separate ways to investigate. Calvin promised a full report of his time with Miss Edwards and the settlement houses, and Owen pledged to fill them in on anything interesting from his investigation at the Wild West Show.
Owen deliberated over how to approach the show. He could go undercover, dressed as a handler, which might get him inside to hear gossip but wouldn’t help him connect with the people in charge.
Going in his suit would earn him the derision of the performers but might spook the management into answering his questions. Reluctantly, he decided that dressing like an agent was the better option.
“We’re not open to the public yet. Come back next week,” the man at the front gate told Owen.
Owen pulled his badge from his inside jacket pocket. “Secret Service. I need to see your head of security.”
The worker looked at Owen’s badge in consternation. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the small building that served as the event office and returned several minutes later with a tall man whose starched collar and gray waistcoat suggested he was management, not one of the performers.
“What appears to be the problem, Agent?” the man said.
“Are you the head of security?” Owen met the man’s gaze.
“No, I’m the event manager.”
“I need to see the head of security,” Owen repeated. “I’d prefer not to need to come back with the police, but asking to speak to your security person is entirely within my purview.”
He waited out the manager with a blank expression, letting the other man stew.
Finally, the manager muttered a curse under his breath. “Don’t know what good it’s going to do, but I’ll have someone escort you to the security building. Steven should be there. You need to be accompanied at all times when you’re on show property. For your own safety.”
“Of course,” Owen replied in a neutral voice.
“I’ll have Harry walk you over,” the manager growled. “If you go wandering off, I’ll make sure you get escorted out.”
Owen ignored the bluster as Harry, whom he guessed to be a clerk in the show office, walked over.
“Follow me,” Harry said with a sheepish smile.
They left the office, and Harry fell into step beside Owen. “Are you really Secret Service?”
Owen nodded. “Yes. Got the badge and everything. By the way, it’s illegal to impersonate an agent.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry said. “I just never met someone like that before. I can’t imagine what brings you to the show, but I guess it’s important—and probably secret.”
