Getting on with it.
“There’s a bomb about to go off, Clancy.” I paused to think, and I remember some recent awkwardness. “And, oh, yeah: it’s not mine.”
I got lucky: the first Flatfoot I ran into on the security detail for the sit-down was somebody I knew. The last time I had seen Clancy, he was getting a lot of commoners out of the way of a wizard’s duel downtown, which did wonders for his promotion prospects. He might even be fresh-faced enough to think he owed me a favor for the way I got that duel to sputter out. Even if he hadn’t, he’d be smart enough to listen.
Clancy didn’t look happy to see me, though. “Shamus,” he hissed (while closing one eye), “you gotta make tracks, muchacho! Before somebody sees. Whatever your mess is, I can’t help. Or make it go away. There’s Crown papers out on you.”
“Not any more, Clancy,” I told him as I gave him Gannon’s note. “I got papers of my own, now. I’d say go check with Stoneface Joe himself if you can’t read his scrawl, but we’re running outta minutes right now. …Hey, don’t wrinkle that!”