Diefenbaker is following a trail through Chicago.

He's been trying to follow it for weeks now. He hasn't told Benton yet because because he can't make sense of it; and Benton would either laugh at him or be worried. It will be a perfectly strong, easy-to-follow trail, and then, yards or miles along, it will suddenly blend in to the general blur of human-people-smells in the city. And then, miles or yards later, or on the other side of the city, or the next day, he'll find it again. Until it disappears.

It's not like he's going to mistake this particular scent. It's wolf bitch.

Sexy, sexy wolf bitch.

No, it's not one of the Chicago coyotes, either. He's on speaking terms with most of the city's coyotes, and they're nice folks, as a rule, usually help him out on cases if he needs them, always happy for a "thank you kindly," and only a little bit shifty, as coyotes go.

And it's not one of the pack of demon-wolves he's been smelling lately, either. He's been avoiding them just as carefully as the coyotes have been. They're out of his remit, and incidentally also out of his league.

Wolf bitch, though - well, he's willing to concede (as long as Benton's not in earshot) that she might be out of his league, but damned if he's not going to test that for himself first.

