car bob

Tripp Gregory tilted his head back and burst out into nervous laughter. “Oh, oh God. That’s rich,” he said. “You can’t even tough-guy me, and you think you’re gonna do it to those fucks?” He shook his head, his eyes shifting between me and… my car? “You don’t know what tough means.” He started forward briskly, as if dismissing me from his consideration—walking a little too fast. “But you will.”
I eyed the little snake. And then I got it.
“Hell’s bells,” I said in disgust, stepping in front of him and blocking his way. “You had someone wire my car while we were inside, didn’t you?”
“What the hell are you talking about,” his mouth said automatically—but his eyes had widened when I spoke, and he seemed to visibly recoil from me, and possibly from the vehicle behind me. “You got the Heebie Jeebies now, huh?”
That’s the thing about hitting guilty people in the face with the truth. Mostly, they aren’t quite sure what to do with it. If they’re in a formal setting and they’ve had time to prepare, they’ll just deny it and try to attack you instead—but if you just give it to them out of nowhere, they aren’t usually ready for it. Tripp’s reaction showed me that I was bang on.
I hooked a hand into the collar of Tripp’s jacket and half-flung him onto the Munstermobile’s hood. He flew onto it with a yelp, most of his weight transferring to his chest and stomach. I glanced around. The street was too busy for me to get away with that kind of thing without someone calling the authorities, so I had to be quick.
“How about I give you a ride back to your car?” I asked him brightly.
“Fuck you!” Tripp responded, with his typical brilliance. He tried to push himself off my car, his face pale and panicked. “I don’t need a ride.”
“No, no trouble at all,” I told him, slapping a comradely arm around his shoulders as he rose. “You can sit right there with me while I start it.”
“Get off me!” Tripp all but shrieked, and he tried to writhe out of my grip.
I crunched my grip down on his shoulders. I’m not superhumanly strong—but I am pretty much as strong as humans get, thanks to the various deals I’ve made. Tripp was in good shape—but he just didn’t have the power he’d need to get away from me unless he got violent first. I held him fast and frog-marched him toward the passenger door.
“Okay, okay!” he said. “I paid a guy!”
I tossed Tripp into the passenger door with a snarl, hard enough to bruise. “Idiot,” I snarled. “This is a public street. You have any idea how much attention a car bomb will attract here? How many people could get hurt!? What’s your man using as his trigger?”
“How the hell should I know?” Tripp complained. “All I did was hire him!”
“Moron,” I growled. “If he’s using a damned cell phone…” I took a deep breath and pushed my emotions down. I didn’t need a spare thought accidentally hexing the bomb’s trigger and setting the damned thing off. I pointed a finger at Tripp and said, “Don’t move a muscle or so help me…”
Then I dropped down to the ground and checked under the Munstermobile, even as I felt the subtle drop in temperature and the thrill of quiet energy that told me that sundown proper had arrived.
I had to squint in the twilight under the car. Tripp’s contractor had put the device on the gas tank, with wires running to the ignition. Blasting compound, it looked like, and hooked up to a battery and a cell phone. If I started the car or, presumably, if the creator (or some innocent robocaller) placed a call, it would detonate.


The Law: A Dresden Files Novella Chapter 13, Page 80-82