Sets up prison meeting

He picked up his pen and clipboard again. “Gregory’s cellmate,” I said. “I’d like to talk to him. Like any old regular PI without wizard powers.”
Marcone narrowed his eyes, studying his checklist. He lifted his eyes and gave me the same unreadable look I’d have gotten from a mildly interested tiger. “Very well. He will be made available.”
I got up, nodded to him, and left. Gard was waiting for me, and I told her, “I need a land line.”
The Valkyrie took me to another trailer without a word and nodded at a phone. I got on it and called Will.
“Get in touch with Bob and Paranoid Gary,” I told him over the staticky line. “I need some more information.” I told him what. “I’ll call back for it in a couple hours. Cancel this afternoon’s appointments, too,” I said. “I’m going to Pontiac.”

The Law: A Dresden Files Novella Chapter 8, Page 47-48


Prison visiting rooms aren’t all like the ones you see on TV, with the walls of cubicles and the phones to talk through.
Pontiac didn’t have the phones, just some holes in the plexiglass.
Juan Julio Jefferson was a big, merry-looking guy, mid-fifties, with dark-bronzed skin, black hair to his shoulders and a silver beard. He had enough teardrops tattooed on his cheeks to make it look like he’d been sobbing, and he spun his chair around and swung a leg over it to sit backwards in it when I finally got in to see him.
“So,” he said. “You’re the wizard guy.”
“I’m the wizard guy.”
“Should I make a Harry Potter joke?” he asked.
“Please do,” I said. “I get them a lot.”
“Your scars are all wrong,” he said, grinning. “Where’s your glasses. Guess you really like holding your wand.”
“I’ve had worse, Juan Julio.”
“Triple J,” he said. “We’re inside.”
I answered his grin without letting it get to my eyes. “Carton of cigarettes if you can answer a few questions, Triple J.”
He spread his big, scarred hands genially. “I ain’t a rat, boss.”
“Two cartons.”
“Ain’t about cartons, cabron,” he said, his eyes hardening. “Word is I have to meet you. Okay. Fine. I don’t have to tell you shit.”
I nodded. “The questions are about Tripp Gregory.”
Triple-J leaned back speculatively. “Oh. That asshole.”
I started liking him a little better.
Paranoid Gary had told me that Triple-J had been an enforcer for Marcone for a good long while, and he was now a fairly comfortable lifer after dodging the death penalty. Word had it that when someone needed to buy it inside Pontiac, Triple-J was the Chicago outfit’s man. He might have been in prison, but he had status there—and probably knew enough to be a problem for the outfit if he didn’t get treated with respect.
“I don’t need anything about the Chicago outfit,” I said. “Looking for personal background.”

The Law: A Dresden Files Novella Chapter 9, Page 49-50


I sat back and blew out my breath. That’s why Tripp Gregory was going after Maya and company. He was desperate. “Let’s say they got upset with him,” I said.
Triple-J snorted. “They bury him.”
“Marcone allow that sort of thing?”
“Always more pimps, boss,” he said. “Mr. Marcone likes discretion. Long as St. Louis did it discreet, he wouldn’t care. Just business.”
“So Gregory was safe from them in here?”
Triple-J shrugged. “Mr. Marcone decides who gets attended to in here. Tripp didn’t rat. Marcone says he’s not to be touched. So, St. Louis decides to wait, maybe recoup their losses.” He shook his head. “Dumbass could have stayed in here a couple more years. Maybe the guys he owed are out of business by then. But he was tired of getting no women.” He shook his head. “Some men got no head for business.”

The Law: A Dresden Files Novella Chapter 9, Page 52