The next day, my quarry stands in the kitchen, arguing over the menu for tonight’s dinner. We didn’t get to eat last night’s meal because we got a tip about rogue activity that led to a late-night stakeout and short tempers when we didn’t nab Rollo.

“No, no, no. You can’t serve steak tartare! And honestly, raw meat seems so primitive. They may be debauched degenerates, but Goddess forbid the dinner isn’t to their liking.”

Mr. Bricker spins around in a ...