Harry and Mike the Angel followed him through the front of the shop to the front door. At the door, Cowder turned.
“Well, good night. Thanks for your assistance, Mr. Gabriel. I wish some of our cops had had your luck.”
“How so?” asked Mike the Angel.
“If more vibroblades would blow up at opportune moments, we’d have fewer butchered policemen.”
Mike the Angel shook his head. “Not really. If their vibros started burning out every time they came near a cop, the JD’s would just start using something else. You can’t win in this game.”
Cowder nodded glumly. “It’s a losing proposition any way you look at it.... Well, good night again.” He stepped out, and Old Harry closed and locked the door behind him.
Mike the Angel said: “Come on, Harry; I want to find something.” He began walking back down the long, narrow shop toward the rear again. Harry followed, looking mystified.
Mike the Angel stopped, sniffing. “Smell that?”
Harry sniffed. “Aye. Burnt insulation. So?”
“You know which one of these bins is nearest to your main control cable. Start looking. See if you find anything queer.”