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with it the instant he saw it on the lot, which was a problem because he’d been hired to steal the car back for the legitimate owner.  She had been caught up in a financial dispute with her sister-in-law, who owned the lot.  The car had been seized as collateral, and the sister-in-law was attempting to recoup her losses by selling it.  It had been a complicated carnival of misunderstandings, deceptions, and outright lies, but in the end, Marlowe owned the car with a clear conscience.  
    What he hadn’t figured out until weeks later was that there was no such thing as a ‘73 Studebaker, and the original “owner” and the sister-in-law were in cahoots, the whole “case” a scam to trick him into buying the car, an otherwise unloadable vehicle because of its illegally modified provenance.  One of the oldest tricks in the book, and he’d fallen for it.  Still, this did not diminish his deep, abiding affection for the vehicle.  He especially liked the missile-shaped hood, which he had custom painted to look like a giant, bulging eyeball.  The perfect ride for a private eye.  And damned intimidating to see staring back at you in the rear view mirror.  Not so great for discreet tail jobs, though.
    Marlowe had just shoved a stack of news flimsies aside and settled into the foam-spewing, cracked red vinyl bench seat when House pinged him.
    “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the Governor is on the line for you.”
    Damn, thought Marlowe.  What did his brother want?  “Better put him through.  You know how absolute power has gone to his head.”
    The voice of Marlowe’s older brother, His Most Honorable Governor of the City, barked out from the audio implant in Marlowe’s right ear.  “Gervase?”
    “I changed again.  It’s Marlowe now.”
    “Marlowe?  Dear God in Heaven.  Can’t you just settle on one name?  I suppose you’ve changed your face again too.  No matter.  I need you down at City Hall pronto.”
    “Look, dearest broth-”
    “This is an open line!”
    “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but I’m rather busy right now.  A bar of soap-”
    “Made contact with your skin?  Wonderful!  God knows your hygiene could stand improvement.  Now get down here on the double.  That is an order.”
    “You don’t understand-”
    “An executive order, Marlowe.”
    Failure to comply with an executive order was punishable by ten years imprisonment in the Ministry of Policing Maximum Security Detention Facility.  Or, if you were lucky, death.
    “Yes, Your Honor.  I’m on my way.”
    “Good.  Gwen and Artemis are on their way to escort you.  In fact, they should just be arriving.”
    In the rear view mirror, Marlowe noticed a large, black stretch tank pull up behind him.  The plexi-sheen armored windshield was mirror-tinted, but he had no doubt that the large, shapeless forms of Gwen and Artemis, the Governor’s two goons, were in the front seat, grinning mischievously.  Probably hoping Marlowe would resist the summons so they could practice their shock-baton swings on him.  Again.  But Marlowe didn’t make the same mistake more than two or three times.  That was the hallmark of a truly talented PI.
    “Bro-”
    “Open line!”
    “You know, you could encrypt the calls you make to me.”
    “People would wonder why I bother.  I can’t afford that kind of speculation.”
    Marlowe rolled his eyes.  “Am I in my car, or do I need to board your limo?”
    “A ride in the Gubernatorial limo?  Are you insane?  What would the taxpayers think?”
    “Alright, I’ll follow Gwen and Artie.”
    “You know the way.  They’ll follow you.  And don’t call him Artie.  He hates that.”
    “I had no idea.  I’ll keep that in mind.”
    The Governor disconnected without even saying goodbye.  Marlowe started up the Studebaker, listening with satisfaction as the eight coil overhead magnetron purred to life.  The car lurched slightly and then lifted, almost imperceptibly, off the road.  A puff