by Tee Morris
Since then, “It’s my treat this morning,” served as our greeting whenever our paths crossed. A brief reminder of how we met. Sometimes it was his treat, and sometimes it was mine. This morning, it really would be his treat, and with the “grumpixies” nipping on my ankles, I was going to let him make good on his offer.
“Morning, Jer,” I said, looking up at the tall, imposing gumheel with a smile. “How are things at the precinct?”
He glanced at his watch before answering, “I wish I could say slow.”
“No you don’t,” I grumbled, slowly wriggling my feet in my shoes. “You would hate the jobs you’d need to do to make ends meet.”
“And that’s the difference between you and me, Billi,” Jerry said, his chuckle seeming to sing in harmony with the door’s bell, “I get paid regardless. You’re working client by client, right? I’ve been worried about you and Mindy since things turned south.”
I could feel my eyebrow lift slightly. Mindy? I knew Jer was a single guy and pretty particular about what kind of maid caught his eye, but Mindy? Didn’t take a detective to catch that clue. I wondered if Miranda was aware of the little soft spot Jer was nurturing for her.
“Yeah, Mindy is holding up okay, all things considered,” I said, punching Miranda’s newly-discovered nickname. “I make sure that when things are tight, I take the hit, not her. Call it that guardian angel in me.” More like the cranky lycanthrope that guards the gates for some warlock. I’m a lot of things, but I’m no angel. “It’s the odd jobs I take on to fill in those gaps. I’m feeling that service to two lords this morning.”
As we waited by the counter for a pair of coffees and pastries, Jerry kept checking his wrist watch. It was just too early to be rushing this morning; but between his comment about wishing things were slow and the frequent glance at his time-keeper, Jer had another breakfast date closing in. Probably a sit-down with O’Malley. That would be a rough start to anyone’s morning.
The two of us parked our duffs at a small table by the window that held the pawn shop within its frame. I didn’t want to say anything about it, but I didn’t feel too comfortable about the choice of seats. Not that I didn’t understand why he chose this table. I understood all too well. He probably needed to step back to that time, just for a quick moment, to remind himself of how close he'd been to buying the shire. Moments like that keep you rooted. I know they do for me. Kev and I would sometimes linger over a battlefield after a skirmish, enjoying a pint or three and sharing a toast to having lived to see another day.
The problem with reflecting like that is getting stuck in the past. It’s okay to pay homage to your brush with Death, but sometimes pitching pavilions and making base camp becomes too easy.
“Serving two lords?” Jer was still getting used to some of my hometown sayings. “How’s that?”
“Eh, Monday was a Waldorf kind of day. Two performances. Still feeling it.”
“Two? Didn’t you tell me that two in a day was pretty tough?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I did. But it had been a slow month so I needed to make up for it.” I watched Jerry begin to slip away on me. Good thing I knew the quickest way to bring him back to the present time. “Monday wasn’t a completely shit day though. I picked up a case.”
“Really?” he asked, blinking quickly. “Something out of the ordinary?”
“Could be.” That’s it, Jer. Come back to your Real World. “Hell, I might even have some fun with this case.”
“Then you really can’t call it a job, can you?” Jerry snickered, smirking for a moment before taking a sip of his black coffee.
I returned the laugh before taking a bite of my breakfast. “It’s the best kind of job,” I commented in mid-chew. “This is a case where I can actually enjoy myself.”
“Those are so rare. I envy you, Billi.”
“Be envious over this beard that women can’t resist.” My hand slapped lightly against the side of my rotund stomach, “Be envious over this frame, a picture of solid health! Provided you’re me, of course. But over a case? Nah. Even with the little moments of respite, a case is a case. A job’s a job.”
“Maybe you’re right, Billi, maybe you’re right.”
Jer took an abnormally large bite of his pastry, his cheek swelling out from the food. For a second, I wondered if my friend was trying to get in touch with his inner bovine.
“Good Danish?” I asked.
“Mmmm…” Jerry grunted. He swallowed so quickly that I swore I could see the quarter of Danish work its way down his throat. Had it not been for its greasy texture and the icing drizzled on top, it would have gotten stuck on the descent. “Sweet,” he finally said, checking his watch just before slurping his coffee.
“Jerry,” I said, setting my mug down. “You’re checking your watch more than a scout checks a strange wart on his hand that he picked up after brushing up against a patch of blue moss. Now if that wart starts spreading and you get a craving for raw tree bark dipped in ditchwater, then you’ve got a problem. So what are you worried about? Time traveling? Missed meeting? Otherwise, that watch of yours ain’t going nowhere.”
A second swig of his coffee and Jerry wiped his mouth clean, still working on a few bits of breakfast as he considered me from across the table.
“This is the problem with having a morning bite with a detective. You can only keep up a pretense for so long,” he admitted, his stare never leaving mine. “I still think you should be working for Chicago, gumboot. You’d make a great addition to the force.”
“C’mon, Jer,” I scoffed. “Do you really see a Dwarf like me tearing through the Academy’s obstacle course? I have a tough enough time getting my thirty-six inch waist out of bed, let alone over a seven foot wall.”
Jerry spit his coffee back into his mug and then grabbed for a napkin, “You think you could wait to make comments like that until after I take a drink?”
Chicago’s Finest had a point there. Coffee through the nose is never a pleasant thing.
Still, it’s fun to watch.
“But yeah, Billi, I was hoping to catch you this morning, seeing at it was so close to the crime scene. I know it’s a gamble asking you this, and hey, if you want to kick me in the shin, I deserve it; but I was hoping you would be…you know…”
“In between clients?”
“Yeah, Billi.”
I savored another bite of the sweet breakfast (a much smaller bite than my friend was taking across the table), chasing it with another swig of java. “So why are my brilliant detective techniques needed on one of your crime scenes? You’re no chump when it comes to this, you know that.”
“I know that, sure. But there are those crime scenes that are just…”
“Weird?” I asked.
“Yeah, Billi,” Jerry uttered. “Weird.”
“We’re talking a murder scene here, right? We got a dead body stinking up the place?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
In a matter of speaking? Yeee-ikes. What was at that crime scene? It was too bad Jer was so straight-laced. I think he desperately needed a drink.
“Well, since your stiff isn’t in a hurry, how about we finish breakfast?”
***
Chicago’s Finest weren’t interested in keeping things low key. With the paddy wagon and two additional police cars on the scene, you would expect this place to be like an Orc’s corpse, with the press covering it like crows enjoying a feast. Instead, there was not a public eye in sight. Chicago was still waking up, so the privacy and the convenience of manpower would be short-lived. The windows now looming over me displayed pedestals mimicking Human necks, fingers, and wrists. They were plain in their bareness, blending in with the ripples of crushed velvet surrounding them. Jewelry stores like this one, like all shops that indulged people in the extravagances of the Roaring Twenties, were considered true rarities now. Merchants of frivolous luxuries had started disappearing, and now these places were as uncommon as enchanted cloaks that granted thei
r wearers invisibility or swords that could conjure fire. Rare treasures, indeed.
The temptation to try and pull a job on one of these stores, however, was all too common. In desperate times when people lost jobs and nest eggs disappeared, desperate measures were employed. Crime started to increase, and there was hardly anything anybody could do about it. Vendors like this rock-man here became bright, glittering targets to the would-be thief. They weren't always easy prey, though. Some of these places were rigged better than some strongholds and keeps I had seen.
Jerry stopped at the door and looked down at me. “Ready for the show?” While that was his trademark question before revealing a crime scene to me, the look on his face was a bit of a surprise. He seemed genuinely concerned.
“Listen, Jer,” I said, snorting slightly at his handmaid-like behavior, “the concern is touching and all. I mean it. Gets me right here in the ticker, but don’t worry about me. Regardless of what they’re saying on the street, I’m a big boy and I can handle it.”
“Okay, Billi. Come on in.”
I walked into the jewelry store and immediately dropped.
Chapter Six
All that Glitters...
Jer’s hands wrapped around my arm, slowing my fall. I still felt the cold marble through my slacks and the slight sting from my knee striking the floor, but with my eyes screwed shut I didn’t see a thing. Not that I needed to. The smell was that powerful.
“Woah-woah-woah, Billi,” my friend whispered quickly. “You okay? You haven’t even seen the body yet!”
“Yeah, Jer, I’ll be alright.” The reassurance didn’t convince me, even though I knew it was my own voice talking. Nothing sounds convincing through clenched teeth.
C’mon, Baddings, you know what you’ve gotta do, I whispered silently to myself. And yeah, I knew what I had to do. I just didn’t want to do it.
Because Dwarves spent a lot of time working in the dark, we’ve developed really talented honkers. We had to train ourselves to sniff out various gems, and the better we got at this skill the more we could use it in other ways, such as how to tell if someone was lying, sniff out the ingredients for black powder, or know if a woman was in the mood for a serious tavern tickle. You can understand how this sense of smell worked really well for me in this profession.
The only problem was controlling this talent.
Especially in sudden moments like this, overpowering aromas could easily knock me on my ass. I, like many of my people, had to not only develop my nose’s abilities but also practice turning off this ability. Not easy in the least. I mean, how do you ignore or cut off one of your senses? We Dwarves discovered it was not so much ignoring the smell as it was acknowledging the offending odor and then focusing on some other aroma, no matter how subtle it might be. By concentrating on the second scent, we could—in a manner of speaking—filter out the nasty smell and be able to function. Farmers in particular had this down to an art form. (Hell, you would too if you were dealing with dung all day.) With Dwarves like me who started off in the mines, this safety valve was a little dangerous. Focusing on and filtering out certain scents, you could potentially discover a precious deposit of ore, a claim that would set you up for life. The only drawback: Your life would come to an abrupt halt as you died on account of bad air around your mother lode and yourself.
I was still teaching myself this “good air-bad air” trick and was finally getting a handle on it, but I wasn’t ready for something like this. With a nod, I took in the stench, and I felt my stomach protest. Find the other scent quick, Baddings, or you’re shooting your cookies all over Jerry’s loafers. I took in a second breath, and caught whiff of the slightest hint of Burma Shave.
I’m really glad you’re not a beard man, Jerry.
“Yeah, I think it’s passing.” Both my feet were now firmly planted on the floor. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and took in another breath. The Burma Shave was working, but barely. I could still smell that powerful stink all around us. “Sorry to give you a scare like that.”
“What is it, Billi?” Jerry then motioned to the display cases on either side of us, “You allergic to the lush life?”
I gave a gruff laugh in reply, and was thankful my breakfast stayed put.
The morning sunlight was just coming into the windows and it was a really beautiful sight. From the looks of this vendor, the stones he peddled were from all over the world, from only the finest lodes that man had unearthed. I was eye-level with the displays so I couldn’t see all of what this guy had to offer, but the stones in eyesight were impressive, even to me. I can’t remember when I had seen such craftsmanship, such care put into presentation and setting of gems.
And the closer I got to the cases, the harder I focused on Jer’s Burma Shave.
“As you can see, Billi, it doesn’t look like anything’s been taken.”
This was going to be really difficult to prove without stepping on toes or ruffling feathers. I figured I’d just follow Jer’s lead and keep my yap shut for now.
“Is that what makes this case weird, Jer? You come to a crime scene, but no crime is committed? I’d call that a lucky break.”
His hand grabbed my shoulder and I came to a sudden halt. I was so focused on Jerry’s scent that I didn’t notice the cops and photographers around me. A pair of shooflies were snapping away, taking pictures of the ceiling. The other uniforms were craning their necks, all of them staring up.
My eyes went in the direction of their gazes, and I saw the poor sap. He was now part of the intricate décor, a décor now slightly cracked and crumbling from the force of his impact. There are ugly ways to die, and I’d pretty much seen ‘em all in my days at war. I’ve seen beheadings, disembowelings, and even a few people torn apart.
I searched my noggin for a time I’d seen a man embedded into a ceiling. My brain was drawing a piss-poor hand, while the corpse above me held a Royal Flush.
“Okay, Jerry,” I said, my eyes not leaving the macabre sight, “I’ll give you this one: This is weird.”
“Coming from you, Billi, that really is saying something.”
I tipped my head to one side, narrowing my eyes on the body. “Any idea how he’s staying up there?”
“We’ve been thinking about that,” Jerry said, his hands pushing his coat open before coming to rest on his hips. “Either he hit the ceiling so hard that it somehow wrapped around him and is now holding him there, or...”
“Impaled on the sprinkler system?”
“That was our next guess,” he groaned.
“And you’re asking me, how did a grown man get all the way up there without the use of explosives, which would have left a calling card; or a catapult.”
Jer shook his head as he looked around, his eyes pausing at a center case, the only one that appeared disturbed. A pedestal had been knocked over, its diamond bracelet cascading over it like a silver mountain brook winding down towards a valley. “I don’t know, Billi. I know that O’Malley isn’t one of your biggest pals, but you were pretty helpful on the Riletto case.”
My bushy reds raised slightly. “O’Malley say that in his report?”
“Are you kidding?” Jerry peppered his question with a guffaw. “His report read like a Zane Grey novel, and apparently you weren’t mentioned.”
“Ain’t that a shame,” I huffed.
“No, actually, it was another detective. New kid, so he didn’t know how big of a mistake it was mentioning you being invited to the scene. I still think the Chief left his door open so we could all hear the dressing down he gave him, just so we were all reminded the ‘policy’ when it comes to private dicks. Especially concerning the ones who make him look bad. I got a chance to see the report before he rewrote it.”
“Before he rewrot—?!”
“Easy, Billi,” Jer cut me off, casting a glance at the other officers who were still trying their best to examine the crime scene without a ladder. I picked up a few whispers about the coppers calling in a nearby fire company,
but there was still the problem of getting the ladder into the jewelry store. Jerry turned his eyes back to me, and his voice was just above a whisper. “Look, there are a lot of things I don’t really approve of when it comes to O’Malley. He’s still the chief, though, and he’s got a lot of loyal soldiers, okay?”
Glancing past Jer’s waist, I made brief eye contact with a couple of uniforms. One of them happened to be motioning to me, and with a shake of his head and the frown he wore, I knew that I was a guest of Jerry’s, not of Chicago’s Finest. Word was probably going to reach O’Malley either in a report or over a pool table, but at least Jerry was untouchable. A spotless record, an impeccable performance in case solving, and the support of the press—Detective Flannigan could get away with this little indulgence. At least, for the time being.
“Anyway,” Jerry continued, “this rookie was pretty grateful for your contribution, so I figured you might give me something—anything—I could take back to the desk.”
I looked back up to the body. He looked pretty snug. “Watch him, Jer. If you see anything slip free, let me know.”
The floor directly underneath the body was, more or less, undisturbed. No one really wanted to do any close-up examination until they were certain that body wasn’t going to fall on top of them.
Underneath a thin layer of plaster and powered tiles I could make out scuff marks. Black.
“Jer, can you shed some light on our stiff’s shoes?”
Jerry motioned to a pair of uniforms, “Any one shoe in particular?”
“Let’s go with the right,” I said to the uniforms now armed with flashlights.
Two tiny orbs of white slinked around the ceiling and finally met up at the victim’s right foot. With the extra light, we could all see the polished surface of a high-end loafer glinting back at us. Black.
“What have you got for me, Billi?”
“You’re not going to like it.” I motioned to the scuffs in front of me while still looking at the lit shoe high above us. “The victim stood here, and it was probably a matter of bad timing, but he walked in on the perps and they took action.”
