Black City Dragon

by Richard A. Knaak

  As Eye have pointed out before, a rather unsaintly saint . . .

  Shut up.

  I turned Claryce toward the door. As we walked, I replied, “What do I think? I think Galerius has something more than just revenge going on. Do you realize that the only reason we set this off was because Diocles saw the same figure, probably one of Galerius’s hoods, and paid attention to his actions by the altar?”

  “You’re right! Does that mean . . . could he have also known about Diocles in the church?”

  “I have to believe that. No one knew Diocles and me better than Galerius . . .”

  “I still don’t even understand exactly what we went through. What was it? Illusion?”

  “No. Reality. Not our reality, but a small, temporary reality created by the coin . . . or rather, what’s in it. Galerius has somehow imbued it with a bit of the card’s infernal essence. Each card can adjust reality in a different way. So, apparently can the coin, at least within limits.” I remembered what’d happened in the movie theater and the vague comments by the odd trio, whose true purpose I still didn’t understand. A chill ran down my spine. “No, this is about more than just revenge . . . a hell of a lot more.”

  Claryce hesitated at the door. She stared at the empty interior. “Poor Diocles . . . do you think . . . was he killed?”

  “He died a long time ago,” I blurted before I could stop myself. At her horrified look, I quickly added, “I don’t know. We can only wait on that. I’m more concerned about what Galerius has planned for tomorrow . . . and how I can stop him, if that’s at all possible.” A thought—yeah, a desperate one—came to me. I had a possible source for more pertinent information right in front of me. “I need to make a call, but I’d better do it from your apartment, under watch or not. I’d rather he meet us there than the house.”

  “You mean that elf you met? Oberon’s servant, Leighton?”

  “Laertes. No.” Not Laertes, who I didn’t trust at all yet, but someone who, like me, seemed to end up in the middle of things despite himself. “I think I need to speak with Detective Cortez.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Detective Alejandro Cortez, and it wasn’t because he was the sole Mexican I knew to be on the Chicago Police Department in any role, much less one of command. Cortez always struck me as earnest and adaptable, not to mention far too clever for his own sake at times. He didn’t entirely believe my supposed existence as a hunter and debunker of ghosts, especially after landing in a few questionable situations involving bootleggers and Feirie. Thus far, I’d managed to keep him in the dark about the latter, but it was getting harder.

  Once back at Claryce’s apartment, I pulled out the weathered business card Cortez had given me long ago. Picking up the candlestick telephone, I got the operator’s attention and gave her the detective’s office number.

  The telephone just rang. After it’d done it enough times, I hung up. Claryce came back from the kitchen with a pair of coffees. She set mine down on the small table on which she kept the telephone, then sat down on the couch with hers.

  “Not there?”

  “Yeah. It’s funny. I’m always tripping over Cortez, and now that I want to talk with him he’s gone.”

  “What about the number on the back?”

  “Hmm?” Turning the card over, I saw what she was talking about. It was funny, though. I couldn’t remember there being a number on the back when Cortez had given it to me.

  Retrieving the operator, I called. The phone rang twice before a musical female voice answered in Spanish. I understood what she said, but chose to speak in English instead. Cortez didn’t know I was fluent in Spanish—and a lot of other languages alive and dead. I liked to keep any advantages I had.

  “Please say that again?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for Detective—sorry—Alejandro Cortez.”

  There was a pause, then, “This is Senor Medea?”

  Despite her strong accent, she pronounced my last name perfectly, with the first ‘e’ short and the second long, followed by a short ‘a’. Of course, she also pronounced it as if singing it, which was a welcome change to any version I’d heard.

  You are growing lost in your thoughts . . . the dragon remarked with his usual sarcasm.

  He was right. I shook my head to clear it, then answered, “Yes. Is this Maria?”

  “Si.”

  “Your husband always speaks your praises.” Not only was it true, but I figured it couldn’t hurt either Cortez or me if I said it.

  Her laughter was also music. There were rumors of talking movies taking over in a year or so. If so, the makers would be behooved to find voices like Maria’s.

  “You are kind . . . and brave. I am honored you know my husband.”

  It was a slightly oddly worded compliment, but I thanked her immediately. “Is your husband at home?”

  “He was with our oldest son, but he should be finished now. Let me find him. Forgive the wait.”

  I heard the receiver settle on what I assumed was a table. There was a short silence, followed by a brief, unintelligible conversation. I heard someone drag the receiver from where it was set.

  “Hey, Nick Medea! This is a surprise!”

  “Hi. Sorry to interrupt things on your day off.”

  “It’s all jake, Bo. I was just playing with my son. It was time for him to settle down for a while, though, so your timing is good, you know?”

  “Still, I appreciate your wife not being annoyed.”

  “My Maria? She’s got the patience of a saint. She married me after all!” Cortez chuckled. Then, in a calmer voice, he added, “In fact, she even asked if I’d heard from you lately? Funny, huh? She’s good like that.”

  I’d only seen a photograph of the detective’s wife, but she wasn’t easy to forget. Although on the petite side—especially noticeable against her husband, who was tall for the average Mexican—she radiated a presence, even as an image. Her long, thick black hair framed an attractive face whose foremost feature was her piercing dark eyes. You could almost swear she could see into your heart even through the photograph.

  I was fairly certain she had at least a touch of magic to her. More than once she’d made a remark to her husband that’d had some significance to my own situations. Still, I’d done my best not to include her at any time. Neither she nor Cortez deserved that.

  “Had a client in one of the less respectable parts of town,” I started. “I overheard something not related to what I was there for. Thought I’d pass it on.”

  “Yeah? I’m all ears, Bo.”

  “Something big’s supposed to happen at some launch. Involves an airship, I think.”

  “Not much to go on. Anything more?”

  “Sorry. I only caught that. Doesn’t ring any bells? I was hoping maybe the police might’ve had some special security assignment for it that you knew about.”

  There was a pause on his end. I could picture Cortez toying with one of the countless Luckies he no longer actually smoked, but then figured that Maria wouldn’t even let him get away with that much in front of the children.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t even tell you that if it was true, you know? It isn’t, but if it was, I’d have to deny.” He thought for a moment more, then added, “I’ll listen around. Sometimes, the big cheeses, they forget themselves around the ‘greaser.’”

  Someone in the more-than-a-little corrupt Chicago Police Department had hit on the idea of taking the Mexican who’d fought his way up to detective and using him wherever there were cases that might be embarrassing to those above. If Cortez did his job, they took the accolades. If Cortez failed, he took the blame and more.

  Fortunately for Cortez, he was a lot smarter than the brass. Smarter and more daring. He’d not only survived where he shouldn’t have, but even managed to thrive a little.

  Of course, that was before he crossed paths with me. Now, he risked a lot more.

  “If there’s anything to it, then we’re pre
ssed for time, Cortez.” I told him what Galerius had told me about when it was all happening, naturally leaving out Galerius himself and everything magical.

  “Aah! Got you, Bo! I’ll make a couple of calls. Not everybody looks down at the little greaser. Got some friends in the know, you know?”

  “Got it. Listen . . . still be careful.”

  “You sound like my Maria. Maybe you should be a little careful, too, Nick Medea. Seems your job keeps wanting to turn you into one of those ghosts you’re supposed to be kicking out!”

  He hung up, saving me the necessity creating any more excuses. It was true, though. For someone who supposedly spent his time assuring people that the spirits they believed were haunting them weren’t real, I was getting into a lot of very real danger. Each time I hoped to put an end to dealing with the detective, something new arose.

  I could see Maria’s dark eyes in my mind, this time with a reproving look that would’ve made the dragon wilt.

  “Do you think he’ll be able to find out anything, Nick?” Claryce asked.

  “I don’t know. Half of me hopes not, but we need to find out what’s going and fast—”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  We both remained silent. Then, a look of recognition spread over Claryce’s face. She went to the door. However, before she could speak, the knocking resumed.

  “Who is it?” Claryce asked.

  “Tony Ford. Mike’s friend.”

  Claryce looked at me. With a nod to the door, I indicated that it was her call.

  She unbolted the door. I scratched my chin, an action that also made for quick retrieval of Her Lady’s gift.

  My first glimpse of the figure at the door almost made me reach for the sword. The brooding figure standing there could’ve been one of Capone’s or Moran’s enforcers. He was as tall as me but wider at the shoulder and dressed in a simple dark brown suit and overcoat, the latter open and, thankfully, not revealing any easy to grab weapon. Of course, the thick hams he had for fists looked like pretty good fighting tools in themselves.

  Neither the cap he wore low nor the thick brow beneath it could shadow his strong blue eyes. Those eyes drank in the entire scene— including where my hand was—with the natural aptitude of a predator. The scars across the right side of his face and the slightly awkward bend of his nose bespoke of at least one pretty damned nasty moment in his past. I suspected that moment might’ve been the Battle of Belleau Wood, a bloody struggle that’d been near the location where Claryce had last heard from her boyfriend.

  Recovering from her momentary surprise, Claryce stepped aside. “Come in, Tony. I wasn’t expecting you just yet.”

  “Got in early.” He gave me a nod, which I returned.

  “Forgive me. Tony, this is Nick. Nick, you remember I told you that Tony was arriving soon.”

  “I do.” I rose and extended my hand. He studied it for a moment as if unsure what it was, then gripped it. He was strong, all right, but I returned in kind. At the same time, I noticed that the scars on his face hardly compared with those on his hand, especially the knuckles. I couldn’t help thinking that Tony Ford had been in several battles beyond those of the Great War.

  “Friends call me ‘Quiet’ . . . not that there’s many left who do.”

  “I remember you from his letters,” Claryce commented. “You two were good friends.”

  “No one like him.” Tony finally took off his cap, revealing a somewhat unruly head of black hair. I tried to identify his background, but failed. Depending the angle, he could’ve been Irish, German, Greek, or a few others. I finally suspected that whatever land his ancestors had called home had either been overrun several times or had itself been the pillager of many countries.

  “Please sit down, Tony. Would you like some coffee?”

  He sniffed the air. “Can I get what he’s got?”

  Claryce made a face. “Oh, dear God. Another one. All right. I’ll be right back. Just sit.”

  Tony obeyed like a soldier. I returned to my seat.

  “Battle of Belleau Wood,” he remarked without warning. When I only looked at him, he shrugged and explained, “Everyone always wonders. Not everyone asks. I just tell it now. Get it over with.”

  “Is that where your friend was lost?”

  “Quiet” Ford spent the next minute living up to his nickname. Finally, he replied, “Never found him. ‘Course, we never found a lot of guys. It was like that all the time . . . except when we were just finding pieces and trying to figure out who they belonged to.”

  I’d seen much the same over the centuries. It never really faded away. I could see that Tony had experienced far more than some and could sympathize. Most of the few friends I’d made during the past sixteen hundred years had died violently, too.

  “Here we are.” Claryce returned with another cup.

  “Quiet” accepted the coffee with just a dip of his head. He studied the contents, then took a deep sip. After swallowing the coffee, the former soldier eyed it again, then took another, longer sip.

  “Good,” he said after swallowing.

  “I don’t believe this,” Claryce muttered as she sat down on the couch next to me. “I just don’t believe this.”

  I decided to cut in. “Claryce said you came to Chicago for a reason.”

  “Yeah. Should’ve done it when I got discharged. Had a few things going on though. Tough things.”

  As I expected, he didn’t bother to elaborate. I could appreciate that.

  Claryce drank some coffee. “So what is it you needed to see me about that concerned Mike and why now?”

  “Mike left a few items here in Chicago. He’s got no family, except you.”

  I didn’t have to look at Claryce to sense her discomfort.

  She shifted her position. “Tony—”

  He shrugged again. “Sorry. Not what I should’ve said. You’re all he had to talk about. That’s it.” Tony picked up his cup again. After another long sip, he went on, “Like I said, I meant to take care of it after the war, but . . .”

  We both waited for him to continue, but he merely stared at his coffee. Finally, I made a slight rattling sound with my cup and saucer.

  Quiet looked up. His frown managing to widen more, he reached into his coat pocket. From it, he removed something small enough to hide in his fist. He extended the shut hand to Claryce.

  I brought mine forward instead. After a hesitation, Tony dropped it in my hand.

  The key was small, tarnished, and could’ve unlocked anything as far as I was concerned. I turned it over to Claryce, who studied it closely before looking at Tony again.

  “What’s this for?” she asked.

  “A boat . . . I think. On Lake Michigan. That’s where the rest of his stuff is stored, I guess.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that for some reason. “You guess?”

  Quiet went quiet again. Then, “Things have gotten hazy after more than seven years. Like I said, I should’ve done this right after the war. I’m pretty sure he told me some things to say, too, but I’ve not been able to remember them so far.”

  “Thought he was your best friend.”

  Those sharp, blue eyes stabbed at me. I stabbed right back.

  Claryce put a warning hand on my wrist. To Tony, she replied, “Certainly after all you’ve been through, that can be understandable. To be honest, most of what I remember about Mike I’ve begun seeing as if from a vague dream. It sounds horrible, I know—”

  Tony shook his head. “No. Sounds like me.”

  Something bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t their agreement on how difficult it was to recall Claryce’s long lost boyfriend. It was something else, something at the edge of my thoughts.

  Claryce toyed with the key. “What made you finally decide to contact me?”

  “His birthday.” Tony’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I suddenly remembered. I wrote you as soon as I could. It’s tomorrow, by the way.”

  That caught t
he attention of us both. “Tomorrow?” I repeated. “Are you sure?”

  “I guess so. Yeah. Mike made a big deal out of it the last time before we moved on into the front. It’s right.”

  There were no such things as coincidences. “What’s this key for? The boat?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Where’s the boat located?”

  “Don’t know.”

  I was getting frustrated and I saw that Quiet could tell that. His hands, which had over the past few minutes finally relaxed, now curled into fists again.

  Rising abruptly, Claryce reached for her guest’s cup. “Did you want more coffee, Tony?”

  Gaze still on me, he rose. “No. Done here. Thanks for your time, Miss Simone. Mike had a good eye.”

  I joined them. Claryce managed to get between us, finally breaking our view of each other. She touched Tony lightly on the forearm. “Where are you staying?”

  “Don’t know. Got here a little later than I thought. The weather. Haven’t looked yet.”

  “No.” She considered. “I know a place. Let me get the address for you. Do you want to join us for dinner later?”

  Tony put on his cap. “No, Miss Simone. I’ve overstayed. I’ll take that address and be off.”

  “All right. Nick, would you do me a favor and grab the cups? You can just set them in the kitchen while I get Tony the address.”

  I knew what she was doing and reluctantly agreed. “Sure.”

  As I moved past him with the cups, Quiet tipped his cap my direction. I couldn’t tell whether he meant it politely or not, so I pretended like I hadn’t noticed.

  Claryce had hurried ahead to the kitchen. I set the cups down on the counter next to the Kelvinator and started to head back.

  “Stay here and behave!” she muttered.