Scott had one last phone call to make before he could call it a night.
    "Good evening."
    "Qué?" a woman's voice answered.
    "Is Tía Ramirez there?"
    "Sí. Hold on."
    "Yes? Can I help you?" a husky new voice spoke in a Latin American accent.
    "Hello. My name is Scott Silver."
    "Ah. Yes."
    "I was wondering if I could schedule an appointment with you sometime."
    Silence, then, "Why? Ordinarily I do palm readings. You, as I understand, you no have palms," she pointed out.
    "This is true," he admitted. "I can't argue with that."
    "Or aura readings. You, I understand, have no aura."
    "According to a couple of people I know, I don't have one of those either," he agreed.
    "I suppose tarot cards might work...."
    "I suppose." Intriguing thought.
    "Sí. I will see you," she decided. "When?"
    "I'm making the appointment, when's convenient for you? This has to fit into your schedule, not mine. I have a meeting tomorrow morning that's going to run from nine thirty until probably, oh, I think Phoenix will probably beat him up if it goes any longer than eleven."
    "Ah. Is too bad. The next day?"
    "Very well. Where shall I meet you?"
    "I have an office," she reminded him.
    "I'll see you there. What time? In the morning?"
    "In the morning," she agreed. "For you, morning good."
    "Thank you."
    Tía Ramirez hung up the phone with a thoughtful expression, walked over to a table where she picked up some rune-carved bones and cast them. "Interesting. Interesting. We'll have to see what comes from this."
    Scott then spent the night on patrol and saw nothing of interest but a distant glimpse of something that quickly disappeared—a flying pig?

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