Cabs!
“That tears it, Sofie,” I said. “Somebody’s got a tracker on you.” I turned to look at the cab behind us, and winced. Speaking of tearing: damn stitches were acting up again. They might even be getting worse.
“Improbable: I checked twice,” replied Sofie.
“Improbable?” asked Smith.
“I’m not perfect. But I’m checking again… no.”
“What about that gizmo?”
“That’s the first thing I checked, Shamus. I cleaned it out before redoing it. They’re not tracing us through it.”
“Tell you what,” said Smith. “I’ll just go ask. Excuse me, friend?” he said to the cabbie. I knew him, a bit: Memo was reliable, didn’t gouge you on the fare, and kept his damned mouth shut about what he heard.
Only problem was, Memo spooked easily. He already looked a little nervous as he looked back at us. “Yes, señor?” he said, apprehensively. He might not talk about what went on in the back of his carriage but Memo could hear it just fine, and cabbies hate it when a Shamus shows up while on a Case. Things can get exciting.