by Alex P. Berg
My stomach made its unhappiness known with a vicious, abdominal wall-shaking rumble. “Look, Shay,” I said. “I don’t know how much longer I can go. Besides, how bad can it be?”
She sighed and frowned. “Fine. But don’t blame me if this experience goes south. And I do mean that quite metaphorically.”
I gave Mark the nod. “Alright then. Table for two please.”
I think Rusty looked displeased by our decision to extend our stay, but given his half-paralyzed face, he was extremely hard to read.
He gestured toward the tables. “Have a theat.”
I picked a table that gave Shay and me a fair berth from the sourpuss in the corner. Mark followed us to the table.
“Tho… what can I get you?” he asked once we’d sat.
Shay gave me a dubious glare before turning it upon the man with the palsy. “Um…menus?”
“Oh. Right,” he said. “Jutht a thec.”
He wandered back to the hostess stand and returned with a pair of sheets which he distributed among us. I took a quick glance at the contents, which didn’t take long. The menu listed only five options, each of them with sterling descriptions accompanying the item names. The first one read: Turkey and Cheddar Sandwich: Turkey and cheddar cheese, on a sandwich. Cheese optional.
“So…what’s good here?” I asked Mark.
The man took a peek at the menu, as if he couldn’t remember everything on the page. “Um…the ham and cheethe?”
I could feel the heat from Shay’s cheeks radiating toward me. I made some quick executive decisions before her clothes caught fire.
“Two ham and cheeses, then,” I said. “I’ll take a brew. Whatever it is you’ve got fresh and on tap. And my partner will take a hot tea.”
I shooed him away before Shay bit him. He disappeared behind the bead curtain separating the front from the kitchen. I tried to engage Shay in conversation while we waited for our meals, but she still hadn’t cooled to a reasonable temperature. After a few minutes, I began to despair we might never see the droopy-jawed night manager again. Then the shopkeeper’s bell rang.
An orc—not Wayne, but similar in appearance—walked in and took a look around the restaurant. A moment later, Mark poked his head through the bead curtain, made eye contact with the new arrival, and motioned him back.
I rubbed my chin, wondering if perhaps the new arrival was a chef, when Mark reappeared with a serving tray. He placed a steaming mug of tea in front of Shay before providing me with a sudsy, yellow beverage, and finished the table service with the delivery of our sandwiches.
The latter had all the visual appeal of a stripper in her fifties, so I turned my attention to the beer. I took a careful sip, and surprisingly enough, it wasn’t half bad. In fact, it was light and crisp. Refreshing.
I picked up my hoagie—which, unless appearances deceived me, was constructed in the most minimalistic way a ham and cheese sandwich could be—and took a bite.
I chewed, set it down, and glanced at Shay. She’d just finished her own first morsel.
“I don’t want to say I told you so,” she said. “But…”
“I know,” I said. “It’s awful.”
Shay flashed me a forced, knowing smile. “How’s the beer?”
“Fair,” I said. “Your tea?”
“It’s tea,” she replied. “Which is a step up from the warm dish water I half expected.”
I picked up my ham and cheese and took another bite, but try as I might, I couldn’t convince my tongue of its worth. My stomach, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so picky, so I forged a compromise and kept eating.
Two more parties came in through the front door while we ate, a group of three goblins and a pair of elves. Both picked up take out orders, delivered to them by Mark in brown paper bags with the tops folded over, just as the dwarves’ breakfasts had been yesterday morning.
After they’d both left, the suspicious man at the back table rose, joined Mark at the hostess station, and engaged him in a short, hushed conversation. Then he left, but not before shooting a dubious glance in Shay’s and my direction.
I leaned into my sandwich for another bite and almost took off the tips of my fingers. I’d consumed the whole thing, and I’d drained my mug of ale. When I checked Shay’s plate, I found she’d even eaten some of hers.
Say what you would about the quality of the food, but at least the Delta Deli’s entertainment was top notch.
27
I gave my weary feet a break and treated Shay and myself to a rickshaw ride back to the precinct—and by treated, I mean used the department’s coffers—but I didn’t think the trip from the relatively nearby Delta district would cause too much commotion. The Captain, despite his gruff exterior, never put up much of a stink when the transportation budget disproportionately benefited his sole female detective.
I thought we’d make it all the way back to our desks in silence, but as we transferred from the wheeled cart’s confines to the hard ground in front of the station, Shay deviated from the norm. “You’ve been abnormally quiet the whole trip back.”
It wasn’t a question. More of a statement of fact. I responded in kind. “Conversation is a two way street, you know.”
“Oh, no,” said Shay, wagging a finger. “I’m smarter than that. I knew I should wait.”
I held the front door open for her and peered at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen that look on your face before,” she said with a smile. “The one you donned as we left the Deli. You wore it right up until now. It’s your ‘I’m concocting a crazy theory’ face.”
“See, now,” I said, “I take exception to that word. Crazy. It implies my theories aren’t grounded in facts, when more often than not, they are.”
“More often than not?” If Shay wore glasses, she would’ve looked at me over their brims. “You realize that’s an objectively verifiable statement.”
“Whatever,” I said. “I’m often right.”
“Like that time you thought your favorite mystery writer was a shapeshifter?”
“Hey, I wasn’t that far off.”
Shay settled into her chair, and I followed her lead.
“So,” she said. “Lay it on me. What’s your newest hypothesis, based on the best bits of conjecture and guesswork your mind has to offer?”
I smiled and leaned forward in my chair, thankful for the opening. Truth was, despite my defensive nature regarding them, I didn’t require a lot of prodding to divulge my theories. Usually I forced them on people whether they liked it or not.
“Well, you don’t have to ask me twice.” I intertwined my fingers and lifted a provocative eyebrow. “I’ve been thinking about the Delta Deli. There’s clearly something fishy going on there. Pastor Bellamy said they did good business—and they’d have to if they wanted to stay open. But the place was barren, both today and yesterday morning. And not surprisingly. The sandwiches were terrible. But there was a clientele. Takeout business didn’t seem too shabby. But why? That food wasn’t like a bottle of fine wine, expected to improve with age. And no one in their right mind would go back for seconds. So what are they peddling?”
“I’m completely on board with you so far,” said Shay, “but I’ve got to admit, I’m disappointed. This isn’t a crazy theory. These are observations. Obvious ones, if I say so myself.”
“Well, then buckle in, tenderfoot,” I said, “because I’ve got three words for you that’ll bring Lanky’s and Burly’s murders and the Delta Deli into a horrifying new focus.”
Shay lifted a dubious eyebrow.
“Black…market…beef.”
Shay blinked. “Come again?”
“Think about it,” I said. “The deli is clearly selling something, delivered via those brown paper bags. Nobody is dining in because they’re too afraid of other people realizing what they’re eating. And if you’ll recall, not a single human came by for a pickup order. Admittedly, I’ve never heard of elves dining on human fle
sh before, but at least for them, it’s not cannibalism. And it explains Lanky’s disappearance from the morgue.”
“His name was Buck, remember?” said Steele.
“Whatever. I’m going to keep calling him Lanky. The point is, he’s a prized piece of flesh. Given the high price beef fetches, a big guy like Lanky must’ve been a tempting target.”
“Daggers, are you listening to yourself right now?”
“You bet I am,” I said. “And I’m hearing nothing but sense. Even Burly’s death and reappearance fits. Burly, like Lanky, was a big guy. A huge hunk of meat just waiting to be harvested. But he had a problem. You saw his skin. Before we learned about the timing of his murder, I was sure he suffered from a degenerative disease. So what if I’m right? Maybe the folks over at the deli realized they couldn’t serve him to their customers. That he was a health hazard. It even explains Wayne’s disappearance with ‘intestinal distress.’ He must’ve sampled Burly, gotten sick, and so they dumped him in the street.”
Shay regarded me with a mouth half open, squinty-eyed look.
“If I’m interpreting that facial expression correctly,” I said, “then, yeah, I feel the same way. Good thing I ordered us the ham sandwiches, huh?”
“That’s…not what was on my mind,” said Shay. “Rather I was thinking I shouldn’t ever encourage you again.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “If you think it’s a flawed theory, then poke some holes in it.”
“Well, for one thing, Cairny said Burly died about four days ago. Why would the deli owners kill Burly, let him sit around in their kitchen ripening for three days, and then decide he wasn’t worth serving? Oh, and there’s the part where you seem to think a business that specializes in selling human hobo flesh would be concerned with proper sanitation and health practices.”
“Hey, a business’s reputation is its livelihood,” I said. “If word got out about some bad beef, it could be the end of the line for Wayne and his slack-jawed buddy Mark. But, hey, I’m all ears if you have a better theory.”
Shay shook her head. “Daggers, you know that’s not what I do.”
“But maybe it should be,” I said. “You pick up on far more details than I do when we visit crime scenes, stuff you don’t even realize, I’ll bet. All those details swirl around in your mind like butterflies during a storm, until you go in there with a net and try to make them behave—at least, that’s how it works with me. The point is, you have to put work in. Stretch those creative muscles. It’s the only way they’ll grow.”
Shay sighed and gave me a sideways look. “I don’t know, Daggers…”
“Nope. You’re not wriggling your way out this time.” I tapped a finger on the desk. “I want to hear one crazy theory from you, right now, that ties everything together.”
“I don’t have one,” said Shay. “What am I supposed to—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Say whatever comes to mind. It doesn’t have to make sense at first. Think of it as an exercise. A way to pull unformed thoughts out of your subconscious and refine them into something meaningful.”
Shay looked at me with an odd expression on her lips, then nodded. “Ok. Fine. I’ll try it.”
Her body language indicated she wanted to take the conversation in a different direction, but she didn’t fight me. “Let’s see…where to start. Well, for me anyway, this case hinges on the mysteries of Lanky’s and Burly’s bodies. If we can explain their circumstances, I think the rest will fall into place. The most important part is why anyone would bother stealing Lanky’s corpse?” She stuck a finger in the air. “And something you mentioned in your theory actually makes sense. What if…Lanky’s body is valuable? But why?”
“This is good,” I said, encouraging her. “Keep it coming.”
“What if Lanky’s body was valuable for medical reasons. Somebody needed him for an experiment, or to harvest his organs? No, that’s too crazy. That’s almost on your level of hypothesizing.” Shay gave me a look before her eyes widened. She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! Perhaps it wasn’t Lanky’s body per se that was valuable. It’s what was on it!”
“But we searched him,” I said. “He didn’t have anything on him.”
Shay wagged her finger, her smile spreading. “Not so fast. We gave his pockets a cursory search, but we were looking for the usual sorts of things. Cash, personal items, anything that could identify him. Who knows what else he might’ve been carrying? Perhaps something small. Something easily hidden. It could’ve even been in his body.”
“Are you suggesting Lanky might’ve been a drug mule?” I asked. “If so, you’ve just volunteered to tell Cairny she needs to give Burly a rectal exam.”
“Maybe. Or maybe not… It depends on what Lanky could’ve been carrying. But lucky for us we still have Burly in our care.”
Shay sat there, index finger on her chin and her eyes boring holes into the ceiling. As I watched her, I felt a burst somewhere around the middle of my chest. Not a heart attack, thankfully. Something more ethereal. Pride, I think. Seeing my partner test the limits of her own creative prowess, all thanks to some cajoling on my part, made my day. With a little luck, it might make hers, too.
I stood. “You’re doing great. Sit here and keep at it. I’m going to grab something to keep the creative juices flowing, something brimming with caffeine. You want me to brew you a tea while I’m at it?”
“Sure,” said Shay distractedly, and then, with a glance and a smile, “Thanks, Daggers.”
I made my way to the break room, the pride within me expanding to encompass a few other emotions I’d been sorely lacking in recently: joy and hope.
28
As I wandered into the break room, I couldn’t help but notice a large, grey mass, swathed in chinos and a tweed jacket, draped across the couch.
“Quinto,” I said. “Good gods, man…what happened to you? You look like you got trampled by a herd of elephants.”
“I did it,” he said, barely moving as he glanced in my direction. “I prevailed. Almost got the best of me, but I’m made of stern stuff.”
“That sounds like my line,” I said. “Except I’d add a witty quip to the end. Something along the lines of, ‘I’m made of stern stuff—red meat, whiskey, and the soul of a fifty-five year old barroom arm wrestling champion, to name a few.’”
Quinto ignored me and pointed to a side table at the head of the couch. “Mind handing me my mug?”
A cup of tea steamed merrily from the table’s face, thankfully free of the odd licorice smells of yesterday’s version. I grabbed it and passed it to the big guy. “So…what exactly did you conquer?”
“The Captain’s paperwork,” he said as he took a sip from his beverage. “I finished it.”
“Get out of town.”
“No, really,” he said. “I handed the mountain off to the old man about fifteen minutes ago. Been laying here ever since.”
My brow furrowed. “What time did you get in this morning?”
Quinto shrugged. “I don’t know. Four, maybe?”
“FOUR AM?” I cried. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It’s called a sense of pride, my friend,” said Quinto. “Helps me get things done. Although, I have to admit, I’m regretting it at the moment. And that regret will only worsen the later it gets in the day.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said as I approached the coffee pot. “Pretty much everything people do at four in the morning they end up regretting.”
I poured myself a tall cup of joe before delving into the wild unknown that was the tea box. I flicked through the packets as I poured hot water into a fresh mug.
“You’re a tea drinker, Quinto,” I said. “What do you recommend?”
That made the big guy sit up. “You’re switching sides? Are you feeling ok?”
“Did you not notice the coffee in my first cup?” I asked. “I’m getting something for Shay.”
“Oh,” he said, slumping back into the couc
h. “Well, that cardamom tea is pretty nice. Has a festive flavor, if that makes any sense. Or you could do the regular black stuff. That’s what I normally get.”
“Cardamom it is, then.” I popped a bag of the former into the hot water and took a seat across from Quinto as I let it steep.
“So,” said Quinto. “Seeing as I’ve been locked in a vault for the past, oh, I don’t know, ten hours, why don’t you fill me in on the case? Since I finished his paperwork, Captain agreed to let me tag along with you and Steele for the remainder of the day.”
“Aren’t you a lucky guy?” I said. “Not much to relate, though. Oh, except for the fact that we found another formerly living homeless dude dead by the same M.O. as Lanky. And that we ruled out the GIs as murderers. Oh, and that the second dead hobo was murdered about four days ago and may have been dumped in the street because his corpse didn’t meet the quality standards of this city’s black market meat providers.”
“Say what?” asked Quinto.
“Well, that last part is speculation, but the rest is true. Weird, huh?”
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Quinto.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re trying not to drown in the evidence, but I’m sure we’ll pull the threads together into a life jacket soon enough. Depends on what else Cairny can tell us about our second body. Speaking of which…how was your date last night?”
“Oh, it was great,” said Quinto. “Flimflame was top notch, though I thought the food preparation theatrics were a bit over the top.”
“Come again?” I said. “Was this a dinner or a show?”
“A little of both,” said Quinto. “Flimflame is one of those iron plate griddle restaurants. You know, the ones where they juggle utensils and light onions on fire?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, and I thought flaming onions sounded more like chemical warfare than dinner, but I figured Shay would be more than happy to explain the fad to me if I so desired.
“So everything between you and Cairny is still hunky-dory, then?” I asked.
