Chapter 2

“Who runs the panther-piss racket in Arkham?”

Lieutenant Williams looked up sharply from his newspaper. “You leave mob work to the mob squad. Or the FBI. Preferably the FBI so they catch all the flack instead of us.”

“I’m not looking to pinch anyone for it. I just need to speak to somebody up the ladder to get some dope on anybody that might be passing through in their line of business.”

Williams gritted his teeth but jerked his head in what might have been an invitation to come inside his office. “You go out there causing trouble and I’ll have your buzzer, you hear me? Last thing Arkham needs is war on the streets. Particularly since I’m pretty sure we’d lose.”

When Vergil didn’t say anything, he grumbled on. “There are two outfits in Arkham, but they dance around each other so they don’t step on nobody’s toes. One of them sells local shine and a bit of corn from the fine farms of New England. The other one brings in brown plaid from abroad. Higher class joints.”