The Case of the Pitcher's Pendant

by Tee Morris

  Here was where Miles flinched. I’d struck a lode there.

  “Miles,” Archie began, his eyes finally switching from me to him. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, the smile on his face contradicting the look in his eyes. “I’m hearing a lot of conjecture but nothing of substance.”

  “You want substance?” I barked. “How about I gi—”

  Without thinking I reached into my coat pocket, and again Archie moved with that unstoppable speed over to me. I felt my hand being slapped away—hard—and then a quick punch to the chest—harder—that sent me back into the couch. I bounced off its cushions, and was back on the floor.

  Archie, now on the other side of the room, held an impressive diamond broach in his fingers.

  “Nice, huh?” I wheezed. “Now, tell me you recognize it.”

  The stone twinkled in the parlor’s light. It was hard to forget anything that impressive. “This is one of Waterson’s. It was in the case the night of the first attempt.”

  “The first attempt when the manager unexpectedly showed up, right?”

  “Well, yeah,” Archie said, turning his eyes back to me. “Things got out of—”

  “No, you were set up. Miles was counting on that survival instinct to kick in, and for you all to take care of a problem he had—a manager who knew.”

  Archie’s brow furrowed. “Knew what?”

  Now it was Miles’ turn to shift uncomfortably. I was tired of being the only one doing so. (Granted, Miles was in less pain than me.) “Archie, we can talk about this later. If Baddings is here, the police can’t be—”

  When Archie spoke, his voice was a lot louder than it should have been. “Knew what?!”

  “It’s a fake, kid.” I nodded to the stone in his hand. Damn, that thing stank! “That whole thing is a fake.”

  Yeah, little ol’ Miles was starting to lose that ice dragon demeanor. He was looking more like a Goblin caught with its claw in the cookie jar. You know, the cookies that belonged to the Orc General?

  “Archie, once we tie up this loose end,” Miles said, motioning to me, “we can talk about this. You recall how we spoke about cooler heads prevailing in times of crisis?”

  The broach slipped out of the ballplayer’s hand and shattered at his feet. It was good as copies go, but unlike the real thing, these copies were fragile.

  “Miles?” The hurt in his voice was a touch sobering. “What’s going on?”

  “Archie, I’ll explain everything once we are out of here.” Miles was on his feet. He gave his tie a slight tug and then pulled the Roscoe from his coat pocket.

  I closed my eyes as I heard the hammer pull back, and then an acrid scent assailed my nostrils.

  That bitter scent, my noggin quickly registered, was not gunpowder but electricity; and Miles was back in his seat, catching his breath.

  The Second Baseman for the Baltimore Mariners was standing with his back to the window overlooking that quaint little courtyard. We both watched as the gun in Archie’s grasp folded on itself. The lump that had apparently been the ace up Miles’ sleeve fell to the floor with a dull thud, the hammer still pulled back but now unable to strike true.

  “When did you start carrying a gun, Miles?” Archie asked.

  “Now, Archie, I can imagine how this looks—”

  “Really?” he snapped, a slight tremor cresting in his voice. His knuckles were growing as pale as the rest of him, his fists so tight I was expecting blood to come out of his palms. “Please tell me how this looks. Please!”

  There went the voice again. What had My World Book said? The Pendant of Coe knows no boundaries to what it blesses upon its bearer, so long as the desire is strong and no doubt lingers within.

  Yeah, I think this kid had no doubt he was being set up to be a sucker.

  “I know that the private dick here had a piece you’d told us to pinch, and it’s a fake. I know you told me that Sammy and Big Joe were meeting us outside of town at a safe house where we were going to come up with a better plan on hitting your place. I also know you had me take care of Shuffle because he was going to blab to the cops. And you wanted me to do the same thing to this guy here. That’s what I know!” I flinched as he suddenly pointed at me. “I’m not some hired gun, you know? I ain’t no killer.”

  “No, Archie, no you’re not,” Miles agreed as he slowly removed himself from his throne. His eyes were locked with the ball player’s as he kept a wide berth between the two of them. “That’s not what we all agreed to, but Mr. Patterson had become a problem, a problem that needed a decisive solution. The same can be said for Mr. Baddings here, and as you have relieved me of my gun, the responsibility now falls on you.”

  “Not until you tell me where the guys are!”

  I heard the soft popping of stitches. I blinked my eyes hard once, then twice. I wanted to be sure of what I was seeing. Archie was looking pale; and considering what dark magic can do to you, this was no surprise. But he was also…growing? Yeah, I could now see some serious definition forming under his modest shirt and coat. His neck seemed to thicken like porridge left out to cool.

  Miles’ hands lowered to his side. He nodded, resigning to Archie’s demand. His expression was tight, a combination of disappointment and frustration, but with a deep breath, he looked up at Archie. “Fine. You want the truth. Here is the truth of the matter: you are a killer. You killed Mr. Patterson as he was about to upset our opera. We live in desperate times, and what would happen to you in light of an injury? You wouldn’t be enjoying the hospitality of the Jefferson, I assure you.”

  His fists slackened. The neck seemed to swell for a moment, then shrink. Miles was clouding the kid’s confidence. How the hell did he know to do this?

  “I had to secure all our futures, Archie, so we are killers together. I had met with Mr. Saint and Mr. Murphy on Sunday, informing them the operation was going to end here and now. When they refused to let this last job go, I had to take matters into my own hands. Now is the time to back out, and since they couldn’t see things my way, I dealt with them.”

  Archie’s stance faltered, and his hand braced against the smooth glass of the atrium. C’mon, kid, I thought, you can’t afford to lose it now. “So Sammy and Big Joe…” and his voice trailed off. This was going to get bad. Really bad. “And what about—”

  “Riley? Ah, yes, Riley…”

  Riley? Not “Mr. Jenkins”?

  “Well, Riley can see you through the window, and he’s about to kill you.”

  Archie’s hand and neck seemed to explode simultaneously, and his face twisted into an expression that was part shock, part confusion. His mouth opened, but only a pathetic hacking sound emerged. When he turned to look through the now-shattered window, its shards falling away as he pulled his ruined hand back, his head wobbled so unsteadily I half-expected it to drop off his shoulders. He strained to see across the way, and tried to take a breath. That took Archie back a few steps, and then he crumpled to the ground.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Down, But Not Out

  That’s a rough way to go: The last thing you see is your teammate putting a slug into you. (Hell of a shot , though.)

  My voice was back, but of the rest of me was keen on staying as still as possible. “That was nicely handled, Miles. You think fast on your feet when you need to.”

  He eyed Archie’s corpse for a minute and then sniffed. “Yes, I think I did handle that well. Granted it was not how I planned it, but the end result was the same.”

  From a connecting room—what appeared at a glance to be a kitchen—came the crack shot, Riley “Scooter” Jenkins. “Nice way to keep Scooter here out of the way while you kept Archie in the dark,” I complimented. “When were you going to let him know about all this?”

  “Oh please, Mr. Baddings,” chided Miles, “do you think for a moment I would have told him I was planning a getaway for just the two of us, Riley and myself?” He looked at Riley, and the look they shared�
�lingered…and then he sniffed again. “As you, no doubt, assumed, I was expecting you to come by, Mr. Baddings. I received word about the botched robbery tonight.”

  “You probably also heard about how only one guy showed up at the safe house, too,” I added.

  “That gave me pause, I must admit. My associate explained to me that Mr. Murphy showed up alone on account of you dispatching Mr. Saint at the boutique, so I should thank you for taking care of that matter. It was a safe assumption I would be entertaining you tonight. I allow Mr. Randalls to work his magic, and then tie up any remaining loose ends while over the Great Lakes.”

  I was finally able to prop myself up against the couch, really, really wishing for that healing spell I never learned. “Scooter” stopped next to Miles, the ball player’s fingers splaying around the handle of his heater.

  “So let me see if I got all the pieces put together here right, Miles. You seem like a smart guy, and a smart guy would have figured out that there was something to the Mariners and the bank robberies that followed them wherever they went. That’s when you dug into the these ball players’ pasts, found out one of them had a record, and that this ex-con was a front man of a group of ne’er-do-wells that liked to live way beyond their means.”

  “Miles, can we please go now?” Scooter insisted.

  “Riley, the man is a detective,” he cooed in reply. “Let him enjoy some job satisfaction.”

  With a slight snort, I continued. “So you passed yourself off as a fan, invested into the team, and then you approached these two-bit bank robbers because that’s all they were—two-bit hoods. But you turned them into something special with the high priced heists, didn’t you?”

  “That I did,” Miles stated. “With such power at their disposal what they needed was better management of their talents—”

  There was my in. “And you needed a way out, didn’t you?”

  Miles probably hated being cut off as much as I did; but while he was hardly the pallid sight he’d been while Archie channeled the pendant, Miles did give that air of someone caught in a lie.

  “How did you put it to your ol’ pal, Bruce? ‘Tough times aside, I’m able to meet the needs of even my harder-hit clientele.’ Didn’t make a lot of sense to me when I first heard it, but when I visited your store the morning of the murder, it clicked into place.” Miles’ peepers grew larger than Mick’s Wednesday Hot Plate Specials. “You’re right. It’s a bad habit, eavesdropping.”

  The surprise yielded to a hard, dry laugh. “You were the munchkin at the Rothchild party?”

  Okay, Miles, if I live through this, I’m going to have to kill you. You know too much.

  “You needed an out when your manager, Samuel Davenport, brought to your attention that one of the store’s premier pieces looked a little dodgy. He’d been with the company for eight years, no doubt worked his way up the ladder to manager, so I bet he had developed a keen eye for the rocks. You got a lot of high profile clientele, so it’s a safe guess that they don’t want some whelp taking care of them. They want you. If they can’t get you, they get the manager.

  “That master plan of yours, swapping out real stones for fakes and selling your needy clientele high quality Troll crap was brilliant. If any of your folks discover you’re selling them shit, they’re faced with a dilemma: admit to purchasing and wearing fakes without knowing any better, or keep up appearances. Your clientele is all about appearances.”

  The hammer pulled back on Scooter’s gun. It was time to roll the bones and hope they didn’t come up Medusa’s Eyes.

  “You guys were a convenient happenstance, Riley. Timing was everything.”

  His finger was around the trigger now. I hate being on the opposite end of boom daggers, I really do.

  “Miles?” Riley swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving me but his words definitely intended for someone else. “What’s he on about?”

  There was something about that tone. It was unnerving me, but I couldn’t really put a finger on it.

  “Miles?”

  At that, I didn’t put a finger on the reason so much as I suddenly ran my fist through it.

  Yeah, I knew that tone all too well from my grundle’malking days. Some dames were understanding that a soldier’s lifestyle did not lend itself to settling down, siring the dwarvlings, and buying a few acres of farmland. Enjoying a tavern tickle was all about the moment. If the maid wanted you to carry a lock of hair, a small wreath of heather, or a token for luck in your breast pocket, that was mighty sweet; but simply put, a kiss was not a contract.

  The harpies that seemed to miss this facet of the pre-battle boff, we called “Battlefield Biancas”. These broads would give you a hell of a grundle’malk the day before you set off for the front. When you got back from the battlefield, you would learn that falling to an Ogre’s club or a Goblin’s short sword might have been a better fate. These Battlefield Biancas would be waiting for you at the city gates, latch themselves to your arm, and decide to enjoy a “Welcome Home” celebration with you. It was all good until you were about to head out with the boys afterward…and that’s when the joyous tone in her voice would suddenly be swapped out for, “Just where do you think you’re going?!”

  And that was the tone coming out of…Riley?

  “Oh, come on, Miles, are you kidding me?” I asked. I was going to call this pitch like I was seeing it. “You’re holding out from your betrothed, here? You didn’t tell him about the necromancer’s scheme you cooked up?”

  “I believe that is enough job satisfaction, Mr. Baddings,” Miles said curtly.

  “Miles, you didn’t answer me,” Riley insisted. “What’s he on about?”

  “We can talk about it on the plane,” Miles answered, checking his watch. “We’re on borrowed time here, so kill him and be done with it.”

  The gun then turned on Miles. Riley slowly backed between us, inching his way towards Archie’s corpse.

  “No, we’ll talk about it now.” He motioned to the body behind him. “If we need to get across town, we can move like jackrabbits with the necklace, right?” No answer. His arm straightened, extending the muzzle towards Miles. “Right?”

  I wasn’t much of a threat, slumped and leaning against the couch for support. That, and my haversack of weapons was over by Archie.

  “Talk,” Riley barked at me.

  “Sure thing,” I said. “Davenport—the guy you all murdered—probably picked up on a fake brought into the store. Miles assured Davenport he’d personally look into it, but Miles was actually putting him off. I bet you the farm, tavern, and family mule that Miles was even clocking in some extra time at Waterson and Sons just to make sure he could curtail any more questions and concerns from his ‘fine manager’.

  “Then he figured out there was something about those Baltimore Mariners. What perfect timing! So he concocted a con that would set himself up nicely. Give you guys a bit of direction, all leading to a hit on his own store as the final score. I assumed he confided in you that his store was full of fakes and he was intending to swindle his insurance company for millions?”

  Riley nodded. “Well, yeah, that was the real plan, sure.”

  “And with you keeping an eye on Trouble for Miles, the two of you schemed out how to wrap everything up once this job was done. I just bet you two were going to take off for somewhere a little more tolerant of your lifestyle. Europe, perhaps? With the settlement check reaching your port-of-call, it would be just the two of you happily ever after. The baseball star and the well-to-do jeweler.”

  Riley’s eyes jumped between us, and he finally muttered, “Canada.”

  I had hit the mark, and Miles’ voice, peppered with a pinch of panic, confirmed it. “You have two choices here, Riley: Shoot this circus freak and come with me right now, or talk with the police. I’m certain, if you plead guilty to murder, you will merely earn life in prison.” He cast a glance to the corpse. “But seeing as how you shot him in the back: premeditation. You may get the chair. Come now.
Shoot him and let’s go.”

  I chuckled at Riley, ignoring Miles’ rising panic. I had to keep the kid’s attention on me. “Really? Got your passport?”

  It took a moment for the kid to answer. “Miles took care of it.”

  Now I had to laugh. (Shit, I hoped that wasn’t a broken rib I felt.) “Have you seen it? You might want to go over the details, in case you’re flying incognito. You’re part of the Baltimore Mariners. You think no one’s going to no—”

  My head flew to one side, thanks to the mean mule’s kick Miles planted. More blood on the fine couch, but Miles wasn’t coming back here. That was a given.

  “That’s enough!” Miles shouted. “Kill him and let’s go!”

  “Gun’s still cocked, Miles,” Riley said, his head tipping to one side. So that’s how a guy looks as a lover scorned. “I wouldn’t move too quickly. Considering the nights we’ve spent together, you of all people know how jumpy I am.”

  Okay, push back that vision conjured before me. Please, for the love of the Fates, push it back. Back. Back. Got to stay focused here.

  The ice in Riley’s voice helped me focus. “Where’s the passport, Miles?”

  “It’s waiting for us at the airport, in the charter plane, packed with the rest of our things, Riley.” His eyes narrowed on the young ballplayer’s. “And don’t think we’re not going to talk about this further when we’re in the air!”

  Riley shook his head. “Actually, we should address this now. If you’ve packed up my passport where I can’t get to it, it’ll be a little complicated getting into Canada. Won’t it?”

  It got way too quiet for my liking.

  “I got a lot of reasons to pull this trigger, don’t I?” Riley asked Miles. Or maybe he was asking me. “But I’m not gonna, because you’re needed. So I’m going to help myself to the pendant, and then we’ll head on out. All three of us.”

  Come again?

  “Come again?” Miles stuttered.