Tackles Thug

The third guy had a tire iron. No time for magic—my damned eyes wouldn't focus, much less my thoughts. By some minor miracle, I caught the first two-handed swing on my staff.
And then two hundred pounds of wet dog slammed into Cainette Number Two's chest. Mouse didn't bite, presumably because there are some things even dogs won't put in their mouths. He just overbore the thug and smashed him to the ground, pinning him there. The two of them flailed around.
I got up just as Caine came back in, swinging his flail.
I don't think Caine knew much about quarterstaff fighting. Murphy had been teaching it to me, however, for almost four years. I got the staff up as Caine swung and intercepted the sock. The weighted end wrapped around my staff, and I jerked the weapon out of his hands with a sweeping twist. With the same motion, I brought the other end of the staff around and popped him in the noggin.
Caine flopped to the ground.
I stood there panting and leaning on my staff. Hey, I'd won a brawl. That generally didn't happen when I wasn't using magic. Mouse seemed fine, if occupied holding his thug down.
"Jerk," I muttered to the unconscious Caine, and kicked him lightly in the ribs. "I have no idea what happened to your freaking keg."
"Oh my," said a woman's voice from behind me. She spoke perfectly clear English, marked with an accent that sounded vaguely Germanic or maybe Scandinavian. "I have to admit, I didn't expect you'd do that well against them."
I turned slightly, so that I could keep the thugs in my peripheral vision, and shifted my grip on the staff as I faced the speaker.
She was tall blonde, six feet or so, even in flat, practical shoes. Her tailored gray suit didn't quite hide an athlete's body, nor did it make her look any less feminine. She had ice-blue eyes, a stark, attractive face, and she carried a duffel bag in her right hand. I recognized her. She was the supernatural security consultant to John Marcone, the kingpin of Chicago crime.
"Miss Gard, isn't it?" I asked her, panting.
She nodded. "Mr. Dresden."
My arm throbbed and my ears were still ringing. I'd have a lovely goose egg right in the middle of my forehead in an hour.
"Glad I could entertain you," I said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm working."
"I need to speak to you," she said.
"Call during office hours." Caine lay senseless, groaning. The guy I'd kicked in the knee whimpered and rocked mindlessly back and forth. I glared at the thug Mouse had pinned down.
He flinched. There wasn't any fight left in him. Thank God. There wasn't much left in me, either.
"Mouse," I said, and started down the alley.
Mouse rose up off the man, who said, "Oof!" as the dog planted both paws in the man's belly as he pushed up. Mouse followed me.

Side Jobs, Heorot, Page 120-121