Page 106 of Better in Black
He also looked like he was sleeping sitting up. Jace cleared his throat. The warlock’s eyes opened, but just to slits. “You here about the Amy Milligan case?” He had a thick Brooklyn accent. “I’m tellin’ ya, she was eaten by a shape-shifting squid. There’s nothing to investigate—”
“We are not,” Jace said, “here about the Amy Milligan case.”
Spade’s eyes popped open, then widened. He sat up straight. “No dice,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t deal with screws.”
“Excuse me?” Jace said.
“No screws. No coppers, you get me? I don’t take my scratch from the blue boys. And I’m damn well not gonna drop a dime on a pal. You ask anyone, Ace Spade is no canary.”
Jace’s hand inched toward his weapons belt. “You think he’s possessed?” he murmured to Clary. “Or under some kind of curse?”
“I think he’s saying he doesn’t deal with Shadowhunters,” Clary said. “And that he hasn’t updated his vocabulary since the 1930s.”
Ace Spade grinned. “This broad’s got a brain as fine as her—”
“We’re not here on Shadowhunter business,” Clary said firmly. “And we don’t need you to rat on anyone.” Back in high school, she had gone through a film noir phase, which meant forcing Simon to watch many,manyhours of hard-boiled drunks in fedoras talking in riddles. Ace Spade seemed like he’d stepped right out of one of those movies. “This is purely a—personal concern.”
“We’re trying to track down a mundane,” Jace said.
Ace Spade blew a puff of smoke into the air. “Less jawing from you. Let the skirt spill.”
“Why are you talking like that?” Jace said.
“You want to grill a gumshoe, or you want to talk take?”
“Excuse me?”
“Cheddar,” Ace Spade said. “Cabbage. Dough. Gravy. Berries.” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. “You want me to help a screw, you’re gonna have to show me the loot.”
“Ah! I know that one,” Jace said. “You want to know if we can pay.”
Ace Spade winked at Clary. “Good thing this sap’s got a pretty face.”
“We’re looking for a Shadowhunter who had his Marks stripped about thirty years ago,” Clary said. “How much would you charge for something like that?”
“Depends,” he said. “Tell me the whole story. But talk fast, because I just took a handful of Vicodin. I got a nervous disposition. In twenty minutes I’ll be asleep.”
Jace rolled his eyes. “Let’s go, Clary. This guy couldn’t find a Behemoth demon in an underwear drawer.”
Ace Spade jumped to his feet, and bared his talons. “You find me a sharper shamus in this clogged gutter of a city and I’ll eat my hat.”
Jace took this as an invitation.
—
“You didn’t have to actually make him eat his hat,” Clary said, once they were back on Broadway. She sucked in a deep breath of relatively fresh air. It was a damp day, and the smell of wet wool coats and slick pavement hung in the air.
“He deserved it. We should have known he’d be useless. How could we trust a guy who named himself Ace Spade?”
“It’s not the worst warlock name I’ve ever heard,” Clary said.
“That’s terrible news. What could be worse?”
“Remember Zebulon Spoon?”
Jace scowled. “That guy owes me money.”
They set off down Broadway. Cool air lifted Clary’s hair, and leaves skittered in colorful whirlwinds around their feet. It felt like they were in a different kind of movie now. More of a rom-com thing. If Harry and Sally had been prepared to take down a demon army.
