The Cook County Hospital has become uncomfortably familiar over the years. Harry sighs as he stalks the halls, taking a long and rarely used route so as to avoid as many life-sustaining machines as possible. His nerves are fried, and he fears too much contact with the simplest of technology will result in a sudden unexplained failure. Unexplained for everyone else, annoyingly common for Harry.
Eventually, he reaches the hospital chapel - the one place in the entire hospital he can angst without worrying about the consequences. Harry pushes open the door, and is surprised to find Gentleman Johnny Marcone seated in the front pew. Chicago's crime lord looks up at his entrance and flashes a smile that lacks any real sentiment.
"Dresden, fancy meeting you in a place like this."
"I could say the same thing about you," Harry replies. He discretely glances about for Marcone's faithful bodyguard, but his search comes up empty.
"I'm alone," Marcone says, as if reading Harry's mind.
"Why? Think big bad assassins will give you a respectful notice of their attack if you're in a chapel?"
"Not exactly," Marcone replies. His expression darkens before he turns back to staring ahead at the small alter.
Harry waits, but Marcone makes no move to continue the conversation. His interest caught by the usually talkative gangster's somber mood, Harry walks to the front of the chapel and takes a seat beside Marcone. "What happened?"
Marcone smiles ruefully without looking at Harry. "First, tell me why you're here."
"Because my spidey-senses tingled and told me there'd be a bad guy here."
Marcone frowns and something flinty and cold enters his dollar-bill green eyes. Harry decides that maybe joking had been the wrong ice-breaking tactic.
"My apprentice fell and broke her arm during my latest case. I thought I'd hide in here until her mother arrives to shout at me."
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For Tonight pt1
Date: 2012-01-19 01:55 pm (UTC)Eventually, he reaches the hospital chapel - the one place in the entire hospital he can angst without worrying about the consequences. Harry pushes open the door, and is surprised to find Gentleman Johnny Marcone seated in the front pew. Chicago's crime lord looks up at his entrance and flashes a smile that lacks any real sentiment.
"Dresden, fancy meeting you in a place like this."
"I could say the same thing about you," Harry replies. He discretely glances about for Marcone's faithful bodyguard, but his search comes up empty.
"I'm alone," Marcone says, as if reading Harry's mind.
"Why? Think big bad assassins will give you a respectful notice of their attack if you're in a chapel?"
"Not exactly," Marcone replies. His expression darkens before he turns back to staring ahead at the small alter.
Harry waits, but Marcone makes no move to continue the conversation. His interest caught by the usually talkative gangster's somber mood, Harry walks to the front of the chapel and takes a seat beside Marcone. "What happened?"
Marcone smiles ruefully without looking at Harry. "First, tell me why you're here."
"Because my spidey-senses tingled and told me there'd be a bad guy here."
Marcone frowns and something flinty and cold enters his dollar-bill green eyes. Harry decides that maybe joking had been the wrong ice-breaking tactic.
"My apprentice fell and broke her arm during my latest case. I thought I'd hide in here until her mother arrives to shout at me."