by M. K. Gibson
“Why?” Cassy asked.
“I guess it’s no secret, not anymore, but he was a user.”
“Of what?” Messer asked.
Ted leaned back in the chair and shrugged. “You name it, he was on it. He sold almost all of his old god crap down at the pawnshop to pay for his addiction. He even sold that staff thingy of his a couple of days ago. The one with the snakes and wings.”
“Caduceus,” Cassy said.
“Yeah, that was it,” Ted said. “Asshole even sold some of my vintage guitars. That’s why I eat his ice cream. Labeled or not.”
“He’s telling the truth,” New Girl said, coming down the hall from the back bedroom. “Hermes’s room was cleared of everything of value, but there’s drug paraphernalia everywhere.”
“What kind?” Messer asked.
“Standard fare,” New Girl said. “Pot, coke, a little smack. But I also found these.”
New Girl held up a small metal coin and empty glass vial. From the kitchen, Gabby hissed.
“Where did he get that?” Cassy asked, pointing to the vial.
“Like I said, the pawn shop. I think his dealer works down there.”
“Who’s his dealer?” Messer asked. “I want a name.”
“Man, I don’t know. Boris? I think? Look, I just rent the back room. What he did was his business.”
Messer sighed. “Then what’s the name of the pawn shop?”
“Second Hand Treasures,” Ted said. “Over in Alpdruck’s Svartleside, on Fourth and Hulder.”
“And the coin?” New Girl asked. “It looks like a sobriety chip, but this says ‘two years’ on it. Doesn’t make sense considering all the drugs.”
“That’s from the group meetings he does,” Ted said.
“What kind of meetings?” Cassy asked.
“Therapy,” Ted said, lighting another cigarette. “Him and a bunch of other broke-down gods get together in Brightway for group therapy.”
“Thank you, Ted,” Cassy said as she stood. Reaching into her coat’s inner pocket, she pulled out a business card and passed it to him. “If you can think of anything else that’s useful, please call me.”
“Uh, sure. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Okay team,” Messer said, standing up. “Let’s check out this pawn shop. Mr. Wilkins, have good day, and thank you for your cooperation.”
“So I’m not in trouble?” he asked.
“Not now,” Messer said. “But I wouldn’t advise that you leave Avalantis. You’re not under arrest, but are considered a person of interest.”
“Especially to Cassy,” Arby said as he walked past and out into the hallway with New Girl.
Gabby followed, but paused a moment to give Ted the half-eaten canister of whipped cream.
“Thanks?” he said, and Gabby happily waved goodbye.
“Like I said, call me for any reason,” Cassy said, shaking Ted’s hand and joining the rest of the team in the hall.
When the door closed behind her, Cassy let out a small sigh and allowed the slightest smile to curl up on her lip. And of course Arby would find a way to ruin it. She looked at her partner, who was staring at her with the most impish grin.
“What?”
“How’s the spank bank?” he asked.
“Pleasantly full,” Cassy said.
“Gross,” New Girl said in a huff. Cassy ignored her. Repressed little girl needed to find ways to deal with her stress or else this job would eat her alive.
“Okay, knock that crap off,” Messer said, resuming his position as lead. “We have additional leads now. We should swing by the pawn shop since it’s nearby, then see what we can dig up on the god meeting.”
“Already done,” New Girl said as she scrolled through her data pad. “Took a few searches, but I’m pretty certain I found it.”
“How certain?” Messer asked.
“‘ReDeifyning Dreams’,” New Girl read from the data pad. “A weekly group therapy session held at the Osiris Outreach Center in Brightway.”
“When do they meet next?” Messer asked.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Good work, DeLeon.”
“I know.”
“Do you need a snorkel?” Cassy asked. “If you get any further up your own ass, you might not be able to breathe.”
“Uh oh,” New Girl said.
“What?” Messer asked.
New Girl scrolled through her data pad faster, scanning the information. “That pawn shop was called Second Hand Treasures, right?”
“Yeah, why?” Messer asked.
“Because I think we may have a problem.”
Chapter Ten
13 May - 5:12 pm
Svartleside, 4th and Hulder - District of Alpdruck
“Yes, I would call this a problem,” Messer said, staring at smoldering remains of Second Hand Treasures.
Yellow and black police tape cordoned off almost the entire block and a standard APD force field was active around the pawnshop’s entrances and windows to prevent looting.
“DeLeon.”
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“Get me a manifest of the items the APD tagged in this place before the security barrier went up.”
“Got it, Sarge,” she said, and began scrolling through her data pad.
Messer studied the bloodstains and bullet holes in the masonry that marked where at least six people had been gunned down. Messer noticed dead flowers near the murder site. They weren’t wilted, which meant someone had recently laid them there as some form of remembrance.
According to the APD report that DeLeon had pulled up, the pawn store had been the target of an attack two days earlier, shortly after Hermes’s death.
“I take it you’re not a fan of coincidences?” Cross asked from over his shoulder.
“No, no I am not,” Messer said as he continued to mentally piece together what happened.
“Neither am I. So what do you want us to do?” she asked.
“Your jobs,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the murder site.
“Okay,” Cross said, taking a step back. “Arby, you’re on street patrol. See if any of the locals know or saw anything.”
“You got it,” Deacon said, walking off.
“New Girl, see what kind of Eye Data you can pull up.”
“I’ve been trying since we got here,” DeLeon said. “But everything is coming up distorted. It’s weird, like there’s some kind of interference.”
“Well, see what you can do to filter it out.”
DeLeon nodded. “On it.”
“Gabby,” Cross said to the tall elf woman. “I don’t presume to give you orders, but since you can move faster than the rest of us, could you teleport to one of the nearby rooftops? Anything that has a line of sight on this place.”
Gabby gave her an odd look and then made intricate gestures with her hands.
“She says ‘why’,” DeLeon said as she continued to run the images through various programs.
“What?” Cross asked.
“Her hand gestures,” DeLeon said, still looking at the video feeds on her tablet. “It’s Fey Form. A kind of sign language to communicate with lesser beings.”
“I . . . see,” Cross said. “And you know this?”
“You don’t?”
Messer hid his smile. Friction was standard for new teammates.
“The reason I’m asking is because I’m extremely paranoid. My gut says that whoever burned down the shop and shot up the streets is linked to the case. People like that don’t leave loose ends. I would appreciate someone watching our backs while we investigate.”
Gabby smiled and gave the thumbs-up.
“That means she accepts,” DeLeon said with a healthy dose of snark.
“Yeah, I got that,” Cross growled, then addressed Gabby directly. “I assume you’re armed?”
Gabby’s smile turned devilish as she opened her coat to reveal several weapons, both magical and mundane, including a
four-foot-long, Elvish-made sniper wand.
“Oh, Gabby. You’re my new best friend.”
The elf woman used her smaller wand to slash at the air to create a rip in space. Through the rift, Messer saw a rooftop that overlooked their position as Cross had requested. Gabby stepped through and the rift healed itself.
“Hey Sarge,” DeLeon said.
“Yes?”
“While this video is filtering, I did what you asked and I pulled up the store’s manifest.”
“Were any of Hermes’s items listed?” he asked.
“No Sarge,” DeLeon said as she scrolled through. “Nothing flagged as a possible god relic. Not even his caduceus.”
“Keep looking. Cross,” Messer called out. “C’mere.”
“Yes Sergeant,” she said as she came to stand next to him.
Messer squatted down, and looked over the scene. “Thoughts?”
Cross knelt beside him. “Several people were gunned down here because they saw something. Same reason the pawn store was burned down. It’s a message to the locals to shut their mouths.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Messer agreed. “Whoever did this is tied to those vials and whatever was in them.”
Cross nodded in agreement. “Do we have an idea who they were? The victims?”
“Considering they were outside a pawn shop at the time of the incident, I’d say hookers.”
“They were,” DeLeon said. “APD report confirms it. And while I still can’t get clear images of what happened, I went ahead and ran a scan for the preceding few nights, and those images came back clear. I saw—”
“Same hookers night after night,” Messer said as he stood up and walked towards the remains of the pawnshop.
“Yes Sergeant,” DeLeon said.
“Typical solicitation practice for repeat johns outside of Indigo Zones,” Cross said softly.
“But why here?” DeLeon asked. “Why not conduct business in one of the city’s sanctioned areas? They’re safer.”
“Because ugly don’t sell,” Deacon said as he approached with a goblin hooker walking beside him. “Which is why fugmos like Brgha here have to sell their nasty asses in places like this.”
“Hey!” the goblin protested.
“Sorry sister. You may be like, I dunno, goblin hot? But to the rest of us, you’re freaking fugly.”
“Arby!” Cross said, chastising her partner.
“What? Since when is telling the truth wrong?”
Cross stood and shoved Deacon aside. “Sorry for him, Ms . . . Brgha, was it?”
“Yes,” the goblin, Brgha, said. “Brgha Hurgglesmythe.”
Messer looked the goblin over. She wore a black scarf wrapped around her bald head, black sunglasses, and a long black coat. She also had several flowers in her hand. He looked back at the spot where the victims had died, then back at her.
“You knew them, didn’t you?” Messer asked.
“Yes,” Brgha said. There was caution in her voice as she stared at the knife on his belt. “They were my . . . friends.”
“I’m very sorry,” Cross said. “But we are investigating their deaths, so anything you can tell us would be very helpful.”
“We don’t talk to police down here,” the Goblin said. “I only talked to that idiot because he didn’t look like a cop.”
“It’s true,” Deacon said. “It’s my curse. I’m too pretty.”
“Well, you can talk to me,” DeLeon said. “I know something about the life.”
The goblin looked the uniformed officer up and down. “Uh-huh.”
“I know the Church of St. Nicholas over at Divergent’s Point in Windport.”
Messer watched the goblin’s eyes widen a little at DeLeon’s words. The small green humanoid gave a slight nod. “Okay, y’all are cool.”
Cross gave DeLeon a sideways look, then turned back to Brgha. “Thank you.”
“I don’t know who did it exactly. But the word is it has something to do with his supplier.”
“Who’s that?” Cross asked.
“Just some powerful person no one’s seen, but everyone hears about. He runs this area and probably more. I was almost there, the night they all died. The Leshy who worked at the shop had invited me back to his place for a little exchange.”
“She means sex,” Deacon said as he leaned in close to DeLeon to whisper.
“I know,” the young officer sighed.
“So I go to his place, but he never shows up. In the morning I turn on his TV and see on the news that the shop was on fire and my friends were all . . . dead.”
“How’d you get in?” DeLeon asked.
“Boris doesn’t lock his place,” Brgha explained. “Everyone around here knows him and knows he’s connected.”
“Boris?” DeLeon said. “Did you say Boris?”
“Yeah,” Brgha said. “The Leshy, his name’s Boris Derevadim.”
Messer walked past the others and stood in front of the goblin. Again, her eyes went to the knife on his belt, and she instinctively took a step back. “Keep him away from me.”
“What’s the address?” Messer asked.
Brgha took another step back.
“Ms. Hurgglesmythe, I assume you have someplace safe to stay?” Cross asked as she stepped between them.
“Y-yes.”
“Good. Go there. Here is one of my cards. Call me if you think of anything else, or if you’re in trouble.”
“I will,” the goblin said.
“But we do need that address.”
“Coldwater Heights,” she said. “A few blocks over. Top floor, apartment 419.”
“Thank you.”
The goblin walked past them and laid her flowers on the site where her friends had died. After a moment of silence, she left without saying another word to them. As she walked away, Brgha paused to look back. Her eyes were filled with sadness for her lost friends, and with hate for Messer. She then continued walking down the street and out of sight.
Outwardly, Messer remained firm. Yet inside, he felt pain. Once again, his reputation had prevented him from being of help to others. Which was why he did what he did now. Blessedly, his new team said nothing. Perhaps they had picked up on the fact that some questions did not need to be—
“So, are we not going to talk about how Messer scared the crap out of that ugly Goblin skank?”
“Damn it, Arby.”
********
13 May - 5:47 pm
Svartleside, 7th and Hulder - District of Alpdruck
Parked a couple blocks away in his black SUV, Mr. Whiskers set down his spotter scope and laser microphone. He picked up his disposable phone and pressed the only number programmed. The phone rang, and a moment later the other end picked up.
“Is there a problem?” the Laughing Man asked.
“Yes sir,” Mr. Whiskers said. “We missed one of the hookers.”
“I see.”
“And she just talked to the cops.”
“That is a problem,” the Laughing Man said. “Do you know what she said?”
“Yes sir,” Mr. Whiskers said. “She apparently was hiding at Boris’s apartment.”
“And why wasn’t that apartment searched?”
“Pardon me sir, but I didn’t deem it necessary at the time. None of our dealers are permitted to keep product or merchandise at their residences.”
“Do the officers know where he lives?
“Yes sir,” Mr. Whiskers said.
“And did she mention my name?”
“No sir.”
“I see,” the Laughing Man said. “Then if what I’m hearing is correct, my top lieutenant did not search the apartment of one of my dealers after we took them off the street. If he had, he would have found a hooker who could link my operation to the pawnshop. But because of his sloppy assumptions, the police now know where there may or may not be a stash of Vitae and possibly godly relics. Does that about sum it up?”
“Y-yes sir. It does,” Mr. Whisker
s admitted.
“Then it sounds to me like you have several problems to take care of.”
“Yes sir.”
Chapter Eleven
13 May - 6:22 pm
Svartleside, Coldwater Heights, Apt. 419 - District of Alpdruck
Eric “Arby” Deacon was the first through the door of the apartment. He made sure of that. Cass argued, but he shot her down with a quick quip and forcefully edged his way in front of her. If there was something in there waiting for them, then let it find him first. He could take it.
His weapon was drawn as he stepped in and mentally assessed and cleared the room. The main door opened into a living room painted in green and brown forest tones with cheap furniture. At the far end of the apartment was the dining room and kitchen area, which led outside to a small balcony. From the layout, the two bedrooms were at the far end corners, which meant the bathrooms were to his right and left. But it wasn’t the layout that bothered him. It was the smell.
Places of sin and crime always had the sweet stink of drugs and the suffering of others. Nothing could cover or hide that smell. Any place where the wicked laid their heads always reeked in a way that others couldn’t detect. Even other cops.
But Eric could.
He, and anyone who’d grown up like him in the neighborhoods where tourists and police didn’t go, could always smell the corruption. It was in places like that where he and his brother had spent their youth, running with bad people doing worse things.
Eric had refused to walk away from the life, no matter how much his brother pleaded that they should. But Eric had to prove he could handle it. That he was the better twin. And he thought he had, until Derek was shot. In a place not unlike this one. His brother lived, but he never walked again. And they stopped speaking years ago, even after Eric had become a cop out of a sense to right wrongs.
Damn Messer for digging up old memories. How much did the man know?
Eric shook his head, getting his focus back on the task at hand.
The apartment was decorated in layers of filth. Old take-out boxes in various stages of decomposition lined the shelves. Dock crates doubled as a coffee table, and a top-of-the-line, paper-thin digital streaming screen hung on the wall. Amid the debris, there were random items of value that seemed out of place in the apartment. Likely goods stolen from the pawnshop, or perhaps items that had never made it there to begin with.
