Arthur paused. He wanted to ask how Nappi knew what was in the bag, or why he was so calm about disposing of evidence. But looking at Nappi—this strange, solid fixture of the neighborhood—Arthur realized he didn't need to know.

Arthur pushed through the glass door, the bell clanking with a sound like a broken coin. The air inside was thick, smelling of star anise, ginger, and something distinctly metallic—perhaps the ancient pipes, perhaps something else.

The neon sign above the shop flickered violently, buzzing like a trapped fly. It read in bright, illegitimate pink script. To the uninitiated, it looked like a health code violation waiting to happen—a narrow, steaming wedge of a building squeezed between a laundromat and a pawn shop in the rain-slicked district of Lowbrook.