Helps Harry

I scowled at him. "What do you want?"
"Unless I miss my guess," Marcone said, "I want to help you."
"Yeah," I said. "Right."
"I'm quite serious, Dresden," he told me. "I allow no one to harm those in my employ. Whoever murdered Mendoza must be chastised immediately-whether or not they happen to be necromancers."
I blinked. "How did you know what they were?"
"Miss Gard," he replied serenely. "She and her colleagues have outstanding resources."
I shrugged. "Good for you. But I'm not interested in helping you maintain your empire."
"Naturally. But you are interested in stopping these men and women before they accomplish whatever goal it is that they are pursuing."
I shrugged. "You don't know that."
"Yes, I do," he said, his tone growing distant and cool. He met my eyes and said, "Because I know you. I know that you would oppose them. Just as you know that I will not permit them to take one of mine from me without punishment."
I glared back at him. I wasn't worried about a soulgaze. Those happened only once between any two people, and Marcone had already gotten a look at me. When he said that he knew me, that's what he was talking about. I'd seen his soul in return, and it had been a cold and barren place-but one of order, as well. If Marcone gave his word, he kept it. And if someone came for one of his people, he would go after them without hesitation, fear, or pity.
That didn't make him noble. Marcone had the soul of a tiger, of a predator protecting his territory. It only made him more resolved and more dangerous.
"I'm not a hit man," I told him. "And I don't work for you."
"Nor am I asking you to," he said. "I simply want to give you information that might help you in your efforts."
"You aren't listening. I am not going to kill anyone for you."
His teeth suddenly showed, very white against the tan. "But you will go up against them."
"Yes."
He settled back in his seat. "I've seen what you do to the people who get in your way. I'm willing to take my chances."
That thought, that attitude, was a little creepier than I was comfortable with. I wasn't a killer. I mean, sure, sometimes I fought. Sometimes people and not-people got killed. But it wasn't as though I was some kind of Jack the Ripper. From time to time matters got desperately dangerous between me and various denizens of the preternatural world, but I had only killed...
I thought about it for a minute.
I'd killed more of them than I hadn't.
Quite a few more.
I felt a little sick to my stomach.
Marcone watched me from behind hooded eyes and waited.
"What do you want to tell me?" I asked him.


Dead Beat Chapter 18, Page 162-164