by Jaye Wells
He laughed but it didn’t sound amused. “Cut the shit, Prospero.”
I finally looked up. “I’m just giving you a chance to tell me the whole truth.”
“You calling me a liar?” The acid in those words threatened to eat away at the connection between us.
“I’m saying maybe you downplayed some details, is all,” I said carefully. Truth was, ever since the meeting with Yü Nü, I’d been fighting a bad feeling about Morales’s original version of the tale.
“Details are just decoration. What really matters is at the end of the day, I helped put away a lot of bad guys because of that case. “
It was such a perfect Morales answer that I laughed out loud instead of getting angry. “Ends justified the means? That’s what you’re going with here?”
“How’s the weather up on that high horse, Cupcake?”
I cleared my throat and looked back out the window. He wanted a fight, but I wasn’t playing that game. “What do you think Gardner will do if she finds out?”
He waited a beat too long before answering. “If I’m lucky, she’ll just fire me.”
“And if you’re unlucky?”
“She’ll have me arrested.”
“Shit.”
“Right.”
An image of Morales being led in chains into a prison filled with people he put there made me shudder.
“Surely there were extenuating—”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about it, okay?”
I bit my tongue to hold in my automatic retort. Morales and I often sparred verbally, but he rarely ever spoke to me in actual anger. Normally, he was the cool customer while I ranted and raved. What’s more—and I didn’t want to really admit this to myself—it stung me in a soft spot that I rarely acknowledged. As much as I kept him at arm’s length in some ways, I’d taken his commitment to me for granted. The fact he’d keep me at arm’s length over something this big and impactful on both his career and our relationship from me made me feel insecure—and that made me angry.
But Morales and me? We didn’t do heart-to-hearts. So, I didn’t call him on it. I just let it lie there between us like a pile of dog shit we’d both tiptoe around for the next couple of days instead of cleaning it up.
“He’s turning,” he said.
Several car lengths ahead of us, Hung had exited the bridge and turned right.
“They’re going toward the cafe district,” I said. “It’s really going to suck if all of this trouble was just to catch them grabbing some chow.”
“Even if that’s the case, why risk it?” Morales said. “Volos knows we’d cry obstruction if we caught him with Hung. Why bring him out in public like this?”
From long experience, I’d learned that my guesses about Volos’s motives were usually not nearly as fucked-up as the truth, so I didn’t bother responding.
Morales followed the Mercedes through traffic into the trendy area where the wealthy members of Babylon society ate appetizers and overpriced, tiny entrees in converted warehouse lofts that overlooked the river. The area used to be the Mundane version of slums, but ambitious developers, including Mayor Volos, had invested in the area and transformed it into a place where the hip and beautiful went to see and be seen.
The Mercedes pulled up to a valet stand in front of a two-story red brick restaurant called Nirvana. After we watched the pair walk inside, we drove up the block to find a space that wouldn’t require us waiting on a valet guy to bring the car if we needed to get out of there quickly.
“Okay,” I said, “What’s the plan?”
“I think we should go inside, ask for a table, and see if they’re meeting someone.”
“We’re not going to be able to get a table in a place like that.”
“So, we’ll go to the bar or I’ll distract the hostess while you see what you can see,” he said. “Actually, reverse that. The last time you went to do recon, we ended up being threatened with a duck.”
I couldn’t really argue with that, so I just nodded. “Let’s do this.”
As it turned out, Nirvana was a Buddhist-themed restaurant, which meant there were about a million Buddha statues inside and no meat or alcohol.
Without a bar to hide in, we had no choice but to ask for a table. Just beyond the massive smiling Buddha that sat behind the reception area, diners sat on grass mats on the floor with low tables between them. The lady at the reception wore a simple gray smock and her head was bald as a baby’s.
“We just had a cancellation, so we do have a table available,” she said in a serene voice. “If you’ll follow me.”
Morales and I exchanged a shocked glance, but we didn’t exactly relax. The entire way to our table, we both clocked the open space for signs of Hung and Volos. But they weren’t in the main dining room. Before I knew it, we were sitting in haphazard half-lotuses on grass mats.
I leaned forward, both to ease the pain in my hips and to whisper to my partner. “You see them?”
A server appeared to pour fragrant tea into our cups. He didn’t speak or make eye contact, which was fine, since we weren’t there to chat.
“I’m betting they’re upstairs,” Morales said.
On the far side of the restaurant, a set of bamboo stairs led to the second floor. I hadn’t noticed the hostess showing anyone else up there, but I did see some anxious-looking servers scurrying up there with trays laden with covered dishes.
“Welcome to Nirvana.” The man wore the saffron robes of a monk. He had no hair, and a smile as serene as a spring meadow. “I am Bodhi, your guide on this enlightened culinary journey.”
“Hey, Bodhi,” I said. “What’s upstairs?”
He blinked at my abruptness. “A couple of private dining rooms and the meditation chamber.”
I nodded and looked at Morales. “Bingo.”
“I’m afraid the private rooms are booked several weeks in advance.”
“Tell me about the meditation chamber,” Morales said.
“Any guest may use it for a few moments of quiet contemplation.”
“Awesome,” I said. “Thanks.”
He lowered his chin and briefly closed his eyes to acknowledge his acceptance of my gratitude. “Your journey will begin with a salad made of pickled lotus roots. We will then move on to the main course of sweet zucchini dumplings and—”
I held up a hand. “Just bring us whatever.”
Bodhi bowed and walked away, but I could have sworn I saw a muscle in his jaw clench at my behavior. As a rule, I tried not to be rude to people who handled my food, but this was an extenuating circumstance. We weren’t really there to eat, and Bodhi talked so slowly and calmly that I was at risk of falling asleep in my jasmine tea.
“All right,” I said, “get up there. If you run into trouble, hit the panic button.”
He rose slowly. “Don’t eat my lotus crap before I get back.”
I toasted him with my tea. “No worries there.”
Over the rim of my cup, I watched his progress across the room. He looked like a dark shadow against the enlightened background. I spotted three women and a couple of men tracking his progress, too. Guess they hadn’t mastered the practice of not desiring things yet.
Morales was halfway up the bamboo steps when Bodhi reappeared with a tray. Two tiny plates on top each held what appeared to be a single black bean, a white cube and a dot of green sauce. “Oh, man,” I said, “I don’t know if I can eat all of that.”
Bodhi didn’t respond, because he was too busy looking around.
I waved my tea cup around. “Can I get a refill?”
He lifted the tea pot. “Where’s your companion?”
“To the brim, please. I can’t get enough of this stuff,” I said, trying desperately to distract him by being obnoxious. I glanced over and realized Morales had made it up the stairs. “Anyway, he went to the little monk’s room.”
He seemed to accept this. “Please enjoy.”
I wanted to ask him if more food was coming
, but decided I’d pushed his buttons enough for now. “Thanks!” I beamed and made a show of picking up the single bean with my chopsticks. I popped it in my mouth. “Mmm.” Truth was, the bean had about as much flavor as a mouthful of air.
Bodhi scurried back to the kitchen.
I was washing the nothingness off my tongue with tea when my phone buzzed.
A text from Morales: They’re in a private room. Third voice inside I don’t recognize. There’s two guards outside. White, look like L.E.
L.E. as in law enforcement. I frowned. Volos and Hung had shown up without any security, which meant they had a dining companion in that room who needed lots of muscle. Interesting.
My phone beeped again. In the meditation room. Walls thin so I can hear Volos meeting. Something about favors owed. Shit, hold on, someone just came in to meditate.
I wrote back: Do I need to come up?
I still hadn’t received an answer by the time Bodhi returned. To console myself during the wait, I’d eaten the rest of my “salad” as well as Morales’s.
Bodhi took in the two empty plates and the empty chair across from me. “Is your companion ill?”
I shook my head. “He enjoyed that so much, he needed to go meditate on it.”
He seemed to accept this and made quick work of clearing the plates.
“Actually,” I said, “now that I think about it, I could probably use a little reflection, myself.” I patted my lips and threw my napkin on the table. “I’ll be back in a second.”
At the top of the steps, I found a small altar with a statue of a laughing Buddha and lit candles. To my right, I clocked the door with the two guards. When I appeared, they looked up, hands going automatically to their hips.
I waved at them lamely and turned to the left toward a door with a discreet sign that read meditation. I’d only taken two steps in that direction when the door behind the guards flew open. A round of male laughter escaped the room. I froze and turned to watch.
Hung emerged first, followed by a man I didn’t recognize, but his power suit and bearing marked him as a power broker. He looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t get a good-enough look at him before the guards stepped between us.
Before I knew it, John Volos came into the hall. When he saw me, he froze. “Kate?”
“Morales!” I hissed over my shoulder.
The guards, sensing trouble, stepped in front of the man I didn’t recognize.
Volos pushed one of them aside and came toward me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hey, John,” I said, my tone overly bright. “Morales!”
The door to the meditation room opened and my partner emerged.
“Volos, what the hell is the meaning of this?” the man behind the guard said.
“Take him out the back way,” Volos tossed over his shoulder. “Now.”
Before I realized what was happening, the guards took off like two ninjas, spiriting the man away down the back hall.
I started to go after them, but Morales grabbed me. “Focus on Hung,” he said, his voice low but uncompromising.
“Step aside, Mr. Mayor,” he said. “We have some questions for Mr. Hung.”
Gardner’s warning not to engage unless we saw some actual illegal activity came back to haunt me. “Hold on,” I began, but Morales shot me a look that promised retribution if I didn’t have his back. I sighed and backed down.
Volos took advantage of my uncharacteristic silence. “Special Agent Morales, I already told your partner that Mr. Hung has an alibi for the night of Krystal LeMay’s murder.”
“Yes, and you also told her that you weren’t willing to put that in the official record. Unless you’ve changed your mind, we have no choice but to question him about the case.”
Hung still hadn’t said a word. He just stood there, looking unflappable and aloof. I watched him just in case he decided to run. His gaze met mine, and something in his eyes—a glint like the edge of a blade—sent a shiver of warning down my back.
“I warned you that if you didn’t back off, I’d have you pulled from this case,” Volos said.
“Yeah, you say lots of things,” Morales shot back, “like when you said Hung left town.”
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Volos said, ignoring Morales’s zinger.
Realizing he’d been addressing me, I pulled my gaze from Hung to look at Volos. “Who was that guy?”
He pulled himself up straighter. He almost looked relieved. “Our business here has no bearing on your case, Detective. Unless you’re willing to make a charge, I suggest you back down.”
“Better yet,” Hung cut in. Hearing his voice for the first time was a shock. I’d expected an accent, but he had the cultured diction of an Ivy Leaguer, smooth but with enough scorn to make you feel judged. “How about I call my lawyer and you can explain to him why you are harassing me.”
He reached for his pocket.
“Watch yourself,” I barked, pointing my gun at him.
His eyebrow quirked, as if I’d amused him. “Relax, Detective.” He pulled out a state-of-the art smartphone—at least five generations better than the one I had in my pocket. He touched a couple of buttons and put it to his ear. Then he turned his back on us, like we were of no consequence to him anymore.
Meanwhile, Volos had pulled his cell out, too. I figured he was lawyering up, as well, until I heard him speak into the mouthpiece. “Gardner, it’s Mayor Volos.”
“Fuck,” Morales whispered behind me.
“You want to explain to me why your top two agents are harassing me and my dinner guests?”
He winked at me as I seethed. Behind me, Morales radiated frustration bordering on rage.
“Yes, I’ll send them on home. I’m sure you understand that I must insist that a real murder detective be put on the case from now on?”
That dig had me clenching my fists until my nails scored half-moons into my palms.
“Yes, that’s fine.” Volos held up his phone. “She’d like to speak to you.”
Morales moved forward like a man walking to the gas chamber. He held the phone to his ear. He didn’t say anything, but I could hear the high, tinny tones of Gardner’s shrieks in the otherwise silent hallway.
Finally, he said, “I understand, sir.”
He clicked a button and handed the phone back to Volos with exaggerated care.
“Now,” John said, “Mr. Hung will make an official statement but only at the Cauldron Precinct and only to Detective Duffy. If either of you interfere in this investigation from this moment on, you will find yourselves unemployed. Am I clear?”
Morales’s jaw twitched. I stared so hard at Volos, I was surprised lasers didn’t shoot out of my eyes.
“That’s all,” he said in a cheerful tone.
Summarily dismissed, we both trudged down the steps. At the bottom of the stairs, Bodhi was waiting for us. I was closest, so he handed the check to me. “Please never come back.”
I opened the bill to see that the going price for enlightenment was three hundred bucks.
“Oh, and namaste.” Somehow, he managed to make the word sound a lot like fuck you.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When we got back to the gym, Gardner loomed at the top of the steps with her arms crossed. She looked like a parent who’d stayed up waiting past curfew. Except we weren’t teenagers and our punishment would likely be a lot more painful than losing the car for a week.
“Office.” She spat the word and turned on her heel before we even reached the top step.
Morales and I climbed the remaining steps in silence, ignored the pitying looks the rest of the team was shooting us, and made a beeline for Gardner’s office.
She slammed the door behind us, but as she came around the desk, her movements had that slow, deliberate quality of a person trying to rein in their temper. She didn’t sit down to address us. She just paced back and forth behind the desk.
“I just got off the phone with Eldritch. Ap
parently, Mayor Volos and Mr. Hung showed up to his precinct looking to file an official complaint against the two of you. In addition, Mr. Hung asked to make a statement to Duffy about his whereabouts on the night of Krystal LeMay’s murder.”
“Sir, LeMay was poisoned by tea delivered via a courier,” I said. “Hung didn’t have to be there—”
She slashed a hand through the air and kept pacing. I hunkered down in my seat and ignored the warning side-eye Morales shot me.
“Now, I was fairly certain when we talked earlier that I gave you a direct order not to approach the mayor or Mr. Hung unless you witnessed anything illegal. Is that correct?”
Neither of us dared speak, so we just nodded.
“I thought so,” she said, “and based on the report I got from Mr. Volos, you interrupted a business meeting.”
I raised my hand.
“Not now, Prospero.”
“But sir, that’s not what—”
“It doesn’t matter what actually happened. Don’t you get it? When it comes down to our word versus the mayor’s, who do you think Eldritch is going to believe? Who do you think my bosses are going to believe if those official statements are sent to them?” She stopped herself and sucked in a deep breath. “How did you even know they were meeting?”
I hesitated because everything I’d said so far ended up pissing her off. Instead, Morales fielded the question. “Detective Prospero has a CI at City Hall who informed us of the meeting.”
Her eyes widened. “What CI at City Hall? I never approved paperwork for that.”
“He’s sort of an unofficial informant, sir,” I said. “I’ve been paying him out of my own pocket.”
“Who is he?”
I shrugged. “Just a guy.”
“What is his connection to Volos?”
“There isn’t one, exactly. He’s just always there and sees who’s coming and going.”
She tilted her head. “Prospero, please tell me you’re not relying on a homeless person to spy on the Goddamned mayor.”
“Forgive me, sir, but what does him being homeless have to do with it? He gave us good intel.”
“I want official paperwork on this man.”
