by Tee Morris
“Mr. Baddings, please!”
While Julia Lesinger had been cool as an Arctic bear on an ice drift, this tart could barely contain her emotion. From the way her bottom lip was pouting, I was waiting for this intrepid explorer of civilizations past to start stomping her foot. (Talk about a great press agent!)
“I don’t appreciate you trivializing this request. I need your help, your expertise in delicate matters. I cannot afford to have my name dragged through the papers any more than usual.”
Didn’t I just hear a conversation like this earlier this morning?
Then Miss Rothchild added a final touch that Miss Lesinger had notably avoided. “Please, Mr. Baddings, I want to know who would kill…”
She paused for a minute and, with a sudden sniffle, reached into her purse for a handkerchief. Miss Rothchild dabbed her eyes, but there really was no pressing need to do so. I doubt if any tears had fallen from them in recent years.
“…my sweet Tony.”
Right. I couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle as she took the seat in front of my desk. By now, Eva Rothchild seemed pretty certain that when she left my office, I was going to toss my client aside and take her on as my benefactor. Although she really laid on the huffing and sniffling thick, Miss Rothchild was no Mary Pickford. I’m sure she was hoping those baby blues and that buxom bustline would win me over.
If she was a redhead, maybe…
“Look, toots, knock off the Minotaur tears. Maybe Daddy Rothchild can employ some of his goons down at City Hall to look into the matter for you. I’m sure they owe him some favors.”
Without missing a beat, Miss Rothchild put the handkerchief away and produced a silver cigarette case that was probably worth more than all the furniture in my office. Placing one of the smokes between her lips, she leaned into the light I offered. I think that the gesture surprised her, but I had my reasons.
Soon the case disappeared, her purse closed with a snap, and Eva Rothchild’s eyes fixed on me once more. “Mr. Baddings, I assure you that I can make your life extremely uncomfortable if I leave here without getting what I want.”
“Sweetie,” I grunted, placing the lighter back on my desk, “I can give you what you need, but what you want may be a problem. And while I know you got a father with friends in high places, I also know I could make a few phone calls to my pals at the press. A good-looking girl like you loves to paint the town with Daddy’s money, am I right?”
Eva’s motions slowed to the crawl of a bog snail, the cigarette smoke barely seeping out from between her painted lips. Her eyes narrowed and those rosy cheeks darkened as we looked at one another. (Nothing like getting into a pissing contest with a woman.)
I was the first to break the silent standoff. “How about we cut to the treasure and have a little chat, you and me? First off, I can understand how a dish like you gets all heartbroken over Pretty Boy DeMayo, but why you are so interested in Benny Riletto’s death?”
Her eyes went wide with the mention of Benny’s name.
“Oh, come on, sweetheart. You blow in here like the winter wind from Death Mountain and offer to hire me, and you’re not bothered in the least that your private dick is no taller than an end table? It was as if—” Slowly I reached for her hands, gloved in the finest white cotton, “—you knew exactly what I looked like before you came in here.”
Her gloves were a stark white. I mean, so white that they were blinding. Well, they were white until you saw the fresh grey stains evenly running across the fingertips. My eyes were tired from reading My World Book, but I wasn’t blind. I got confirmation once I got her gloves under the light of my cigarette lighter. The pristine fabric was marred by ink residue from the newspapers she had been reading. By the amount of smudge, I would guess that she had picked up every rag this morning after reading the first one that mentioned Benny. How many people in this great city had woken up this morning to a picture of me? (Damn! That must’ve packed a stronger punch than a cup of Mick’s coffee!)
Guess it must’ve been easy for this dame, as rich and connected as she was, to track me down. How many dwarves are there in Chicago, anyway? Probably had no clue that I was a private gumheel. And when she did find out, it probably unsettled her something fierce.
“Now, sister, I’m sure before you walked into you this office, you were used to getting whatever you wanted if you wanted it bad enough.” I gave her my million-dollar smile with my eye-twinkling chaser as I leaned in closer. “But you see, you’re in my castle now. You’re talking to Ol’ Billi Baddings, and when you talk to me in my place, we play by my rules. So it’s like this. You can talk to me about your involvement with ‘sweet Tony’ and Benny Riletto, and we can part as friends. If we can’t do that, you can find the same door you came in. I don’t think we want to go out of our way to make one another uncomfortable, so how about we have a little share time? Whadya say?”
Little Miss Eva did not care for being put in her place, but she could appreciate it to an extent. A small extent, but it was there. She took off her hat, allowing her hair to spill across her shoulders. The brilliant spun-gold locks framed an angel’s face, her baby blues softening the insolent demeanor she so proudly wore about her like high fashion. Yeah, even easier on the eyes, sans chapeau. I could tell she was measuring me up from the opposite side of the desk, and if that made her feel better about herself, I was happy to oblige the princess. It was her move. She was just trying to figure out how much she wanted to play with me.
“I know you’re working for Julie.”
“Julie?” I asked innocently. “Who is—”
“Julia Lesinger.”
Okay, once more with the interruption and I was going to bend her across my knee and slap her across her rump with the flat of my short sword.
“I know she hired you because I had Julie followed here this morning. And as you share a front-page picture with what is left of Benny Riletto, I can only assume that Julie hired you to investigate the death of ‘Pretty Boy’ DeMayo.”
“Yeah,” I huffed, “and those public eyes didn’t bother to catch my good side.”
“I know Mr. Riletto was one of Anthony’s associates. He would occasionally join Tony and me when we would be out on the town with a group of people.”
No surprise there, seeing as I recognized her from the mob-party picture at the Assistant D.A.’s office. “Enjoying that dangerous lifestyle?” I fished. “Lying down with the mob?”
Her upper lip curled with disdain. “On the contrary, I found Tony repulsive. You can throw as much money as you like at a greaser, but it won’t change what he is.” A fleeting smile crossed her face. “However, my keeping company with Tony repulsed my father a great deal more. That was enough of an incentive for me to be seen in public with him.”
Well, now. Isn’t she charming?
“Just seeing?” I asked casually, my eyes twinkling with mischief.
Eva tensed on that statement, gripping her purse more tightly. It was a surprise to us both when she found her voice. “Just…seeing.”
“Daddy would be so proud,” I purred with a grin rivaling the cat’s after it had dined on the canary special.
If there had been a pit of ravenous goblins nearby, Eva Rothchild would have found great pleasure in throwing me into it. By the tautness in her jaw, I was convinced any cracking sound would be coming from her teeth breaking under the strain.
“His relationship with Julie was a bit more involved than the one with me. There were a few mornings I had my driver take me by Tony’s place, and Julie’s driver would still be impatiently waiting out front. I noticed that her driver appeared less concerned about the well-being of his boss’ daughter, and more about being seen by anyone. The press, for example.”
“Or worse,” I scoffed, “you.”
The smile returned to her face. “Perhaps, Mr. Baddings.”
I shook my head, clearing my throat with a tension-breaking cough. “Miss Rothchild, you missed your calling. You should have been a
detective. If you know so much about Julie and Tony and this love triangle between the three of you, why are you knocking on my door?”
“I assume you know of my involvement with the Ryerson.”
“That I do,” I nodded, a civil smile spreading across my face. Didn’t this lady think I could read a newspaper?
“I have been concerned over the institution’s competence in handling acquisitions for some time now. From the company I’ve kept of late, I suspect that Mr. DeMayo and Riletto have been involved in illegal transactions; while I cannot prove it, I suspect Miss Lesinger is at the center of it. I want to hire you to dig for me.” Eva extinguished the cigarette—her butt falling idly next to Julia’s, as a matter of fact—and then reached into her purse for a compact, splitting her attention between me and her make-up. “After all, that is what your kind do.”
Your kind. Those two words were this girl’s subtle reminder to me of the pecking order. I’m a working stiff. A servant to the one with the greenbacks. I do the work that is beneath her. I get my hands dirty while she goes to some hoity-toity spa and has hers massaged and lotioned.
Eva continued her quality time with the compact mirror, apparently figuring that talking at my reflection instead of conversing with me as an equal would throw me for a loop. She was trying to play the same control games that elves and humans go toe-to-toe in back home. Problem was, she was in control of a carriage without a horse team. She suspected Julia Lesinger of—what, volunteering her time at the Ryerson? She could have always let it slip to Daddy Rothchild, thereby letting it slip into “civil meetings” between him and Daddy Lesinger. No, Eva wanted something tangible that could get Julia into a world of trouble and out of the Ryerson. She suspected Julie of something all right, but exactly what it was, only Eva knew.
One thing was clear: Eva wanted Julia as far removed from the Ryerson as possible.
Too bad I knew the rules of the control game better than she did. Trust me. You can learn a lot about these games when you work through Bill Shakespeare’s stuff.
“So what exactly am I digging into, Miss Rothchild?”
A smile lit up her face. The shoulders relaxed. Her head tipped back as she looked down the length of her nose, savoring her victory. Yeah, she did love the “Miss Rothchild” touch, my indication of acquiescence. It was Little Miss Eva’s bone to gnaw on for the moment.
I kept the illusion alive with my polite delivery. “If you want me to do what I do so well, I need to know what buried treasure I’m looking for.”
With a quick click-click, the compact snapped shut in her gloved hand. Her make-up was perfect once again, her eyes flashing like brilliant water-stones in the Se-Irya River that twisted through Acryonis, marking a border between races as well as lands. For a moment I thought she had been transformed into a statue of Goddess Vanity herself.
Then she had to ruin the illusion by speaking. “As you make it your job to meddle into the private affairs of others, I am willing to take advantage of your talents where Julie is concerned. Find out what she knows. Find out if she is, in fact, trying to sabotage my reputation at the Ryerson.”
“Now just a moment, Miss Rothchild…”
“Mr. Baddings, you may think that Julia Lesinger’s intentions are honorable, but I assure you that she has her own agenda in hiring you. I want to know if that agenda includes smearing my name. I may not be the heir apparent in my father’s eyes, but I am still a Rothchild,” she hissed. “I plan to protect that name by every means within my grasp. Am I clear?”
“As a seer’s ball, toots.” I swallowed hard. I was going to need a drink after this one. I thought Julia Lesinger was going to be a handful, but this one was trouble. Here she was, spouting about protecting her “family’s good name” when she mocked it in one party photo too many every chance she got. Perhaps it wasn’t the family, so much as it was her allowance, she wanted to protect.
Still, I’m not one to turn my colors to the Visiting Team when the Cubs are suddenly losing in the bottom of the Ninth. No different when you’re on the battlefield with the axe in hand. Go down swinging.
“I don’t know what kind of private eye you expected to find here, Miss Rothchild.” She started to speak, but I immediately cut in with, “But I’m not some bog leech that’ll suck blood on command! I’m spoken for. If you want to sic your royal hounds on me and make my life uncomfortable, you go ahead and try. I guarantee you a lesson hard learned not to cross a committed Highlands Dwarf. Unless you have another reason to hire my services that excludes the Lesinger family, I bid you a pleasant day.”
Her eyebrows raised slightly, the pair of full, red lips parting again in shock. I guess when you’re royalty, you just don’t get rejected by the lower classes. So I was bracing myself for more of her “making my life uncomfortable” threats. (Like dealing with this case couldn’t make it more so?)
But then, her lips curled up in a slight smile. I spent a few missions scaling Death Mountain, its talons of stone and ice serving little to shield me from the bite of the frigid winds. When she looked at me, the chill I felt was colder than my bleakest night on that faraway ridge. She held that look as she placed the hat back on her wavy blonde mane.
“My father is co-hosting a reception this Saturday night. Perhaps I could include you on the guest list?”
Now, think about this for a moment. I am a four-foot-one dwarf among a realm of humans, so that should give you an idea of how hard it is for me to get dates. Add to this how hard I have just spurned one of the richest women in this town. And now she’s inviting me to a party?
“You want to run that by me one more time, Miss Rothchild?”
“I am not one to take rejection lightly, Mr. Baddings. I get what I want without question, but I respect your integrity. I see so little of it from where I am in the world. I still wish to win you over, and perhaps if you got to know me better, I could change your mind.”
“Lady, my loyalty won’t be changing until the case is closed, but if you want to make your possible business venture a social engagement, then I’ll be there. Black tie?”
“But of course. Seven o’clock. I’ll send a driver. Until Saturday.”
“Sure, toots. See you then.”
Miranda’s scritch-scritch-scritch of the nail file went quiet as the blonde princess passed her without so much as a glance. Then the door to my office closed behind her. My eyes were fixed on the chair where she had sat, the sheen of its finish catching the glow of pink, light blue, and green across it. I couldn’t help but be surprised that Miranda was still here. It was getting late.
Counting up all the similarities between Miss Rothchild’s and Miss Lesinger’s first visits, right down to the way those two debutantes clutched their high-fashion purses, I gave a weighty sigh as I shook my head. I hate déjà vu. I really hate it. Why? Because every time I experience déjà vu, it usually serves as an omen to something bad. And I mean, bad. The kind of bad that makes you wish you had stayed in bed. This was the kind of bad that brought to the surface a regret that I didn’t listen to my mother and go into the brewing and tobacco business. It was at times like this that I wished I had no skill with a battle axe, that I had no clue where the weak spots on a Forest Dragon were, and that my only desire for excitement involved a particularly good mix of malt beer cooked up in my own brewery.
“Billi?”
I was resting my forehead in the palm of my hand. I parted the fingers, peeking through the V-opening I’d made. “Yeah? Who’s at the door now, Miranda? One of the Rockefellers?”
Miranda is a good kid. You know that by now. But did I happen to mention how savvy she is?
“You know that raise I’ve been wanting, Billi?”
“Yeah, hon,” I muttered, barely audible to even myself.
“I don’t want it if it’s going to put my boss at the bottom of some river.”
I turned to look at her face, white as a Forest Banshee. She was afraid. I really began to wonder about that elf blood again, be
cause she definitely had their intuition. “I don’t like this, Billi,” she said, walking up to me at my desk. “I don’t like this at all.”
“If you don’t like the idea of getting a raise, just say so.”
“I didn’t say that!” She gave me a playful shove. I could tell she was trying to be serious, and I wasn’t making it easy for her. “You know what I mean, Billi. There’s something really wrong with all this.”
“You’re preaching to the Cleric, darlin’.”
Hopping down from the chair and slipping on my jacket, I placed a pouch of tobacco into my coat pocket, giving it and Beatrice two reassuring pats. I then removed a pipe from the tiny tree at the corner of my desk and cast a quick glance over the Chicago streets. “Two of society’s finest coming into this office today, both with connections to the Ryerson and the mob. I’m thinking I need to pay my intellectual pal Hammil another visit.”
“Billi, don’t you think you should lay low for a couple days?”
“Miranda,” I replied with a grin, adjusting my hat and giving her a courteous tip of it, “as Little Miss Eva said, this is what my kind do.”
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what Miss Moneybags says!” The protective “big sister” side of her had now kicked in. Ah, she’s cute as a button when she gets like this!
“All right, you win. I’ll just go home for the night, maybe stop by Mick’s for a quick bite…”
In response to Miranda’s look of warning, I tucked my thumb into my palm and rested my four fingers on my heart, the sign of the Dwarven Oath of Loyalty of Service. “I swear I’m going to take your advice this time. Seriously. I guess the Singing Sword can wait one more night, but no matter what, I’m going to be the first to find it.”
“The Singing Sword?”
I then realized I had just mentioned the Sword by its nickname. I didn’t want to mention it around my girl, but I could tell Miranda wasn’t going to take something with a name like that seriously, anyway.
“It sounds important to you,” she observed with a tinge of curiosity in her voice.
