by Alex P. Berg
Exactly. I worked in homicide. Even though I was off duty, I was still a cop—a detective, no less—and that gave me several advantages. Might as well use them, just as I had at Grant Street.
I took a deep breath and headed toward the museum’s front door, currently guarded by a quintuplet of thugs. I made a beeline for the one in front, a thick-necked john with a wide forehead and a serious case of cauliflower ear.
The guy saw me coming and shot an aggressive finger my way. “Get lost, bub. Museum’s closed.”
“You in charge?” I asked.
“You deaf?” he replied. “Scram.”
I reached into my coat for the black leather wallet that housed my official insignia—something I only now realized I should’ve left home given my meeting with the Wyverns—and the goons all reached for their nightsticks.
“Whoa.” I held up a hand. “Slow down. I’m a cop. See?” I extended my badge.
Cauliflower Ear took it and gave it a once over. “Detective J. Daggers. That you?”
“No. I forgot mine in my other jacket and had to borrow my buddy’s. Come on, man.”
Cauliflower Ear’s sides failed to implode from laughter. He motioned to one of his flat-headed compatriots. “Sorkin. Take a gander at this. Look legit to you?”
Flathead took it and peered at it through narrowed eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was ex-police or merely an expert on forgeries, but either way my brass satisfied him. “Yeah, it’s the real deal.”
Cauliflower Ear took it back. “Okay, flatfoot. Whaddya want? Museum’s closed, despite whatever pull you think you’ve got. And it don’t look like you’ve got a hot date to impress, irregardless.”
I took advantage of the fact that all detective’s badges looked the same, irrespective of assignee’s department. “The word’s regardless. And I’m not here for a guided tour. I’m with robbery. We need to talk.”
The mention of my division, a lie though it was, caught his bulbous ear. “Robbery?”
“You’re got the Trogeré brooch exhibit on display at the moment, correct?” I asked.
Cauliflower Ear eyed his buddy with a blank expression on his face. Flathead nodded.
“Um…yeah. That’s right.”
“Well, you might not have it on display for much longer if you don’t listen up,” I said. “My team and I at the 5th have been monitoring a gang of professional thieves known as the Crimson Blues.” It was a stupid name, but the first thing that came to mind. “Heard of them?”
Cauliflower Ear shook his head.
“Exactly,” I said. “Their own mothers barely know who these guys are. They’re ghosts, but luckily they make noise, and we’ve had our ears to the ground. We’ve known they’ve been planning something big for a while now, but we didn’t know what. Then this afternoon we intercepted an encrypted message from one of the Blues. We just figured out what it said. Want to take a guess?”
I could see the gears in Cauliflower Ear’s head grinding. “They’re…coming after the brooch exhibit?”
“Tonight,” I said. “Right after closing, as far as we can tell from the message. For all I know they’ve already been here.”
Cauliflower Ear snorted. “I don’t think so. We’ve got this place locked down tighter than a…a… Sorkin, help me out.”
Flathead lifted a finger and opened his mouth, but I beat him to the punch. I didn’t need to hear what vulgar metaphor he’d use, though I was pretty sure it would involve an underage girl.
“Look, you don’t understand,” I said. “The Blues are pros. They’re not going to waltz in through the front door. They have special equipment. Inside knowledge. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d paid people off. Not to mention some of them have supernatural abilities.”
That last part came to me out of the blue…or had it? Something about Ted rubbed me the wrong way. He’d been quiet—too quiet—and how had he ascended that crumbling building? I hadn’t noticed a staircase anywhere.
My appeal fell on a deaf, fist-mangled ear. “Sorry, pal. I’m sure your intel is good, but we would’a noticed if something was underfoot. We’ve got all the entrances covered and guards patrolling the inside as well.”
I felt my in slipping away, but I wouldn’t let myself be outwitted by a guy who took more shots to the head for a living than I did. “Just escort me to the exhibit. If nothing’s out of place, I’ll leave you be and let my team know it was a false alarm. If not…”
I left the last bit unsaid. Better to let it fester in the goon’s mind.
He chewed on my proposal for a few seconds. “Alright. Fine. Sorkin and I’ll take you. But no lollygagging, ya hear? Billings. You’ve got point until I return.”
Cauliflower Ear pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the front doors, and led me in, Flathead at my back. The Metro stretched out before me as I entered, its wide, open interior the perfect foil to the drab, heavy, outdated exterior.
Too bad I couldn’t see any of it. The lighting was pretty dim.
We briskly walked through several sections—fine art, antique arms and armor, and fossilized remains—passing a couple guards along the way before heading up a flight of stairs to geology and gemstones. There, after a magnificent display of purple and white geodes that probably weighed as much as a small barge, we found the Trogeré brooch exhibit.
It sat in the middle of a dome-like room, well lit by braziers that burned bright despite the hour, on a waist-high pedestal and protected under thick panes of crystal-clear glass. A few smaller display cases ringed the central one, but I ignored them and headed for the main event.
Cauliflower Ear extended a hand as we got close. “See? What’d I tell you? Everything’s in its place. Now let’s move it. I need to get back to my post.”
The guy’s commitment to standing in one place and glaring at passersby was commendable, but I made him wait. I sidled up next to the glass case and peered into it. A dozen thoughts raced through my mind. How would I distract the guards? How would I get through the glass? Could I liberate one of the brooches and sneak it out without Cauliflower Ear and his buddy giving me a pat down?
I got distracted by the contents of the case. Not the octopus brooch, wrought of platinum and studded with onyx and black diamonds, or the hydra, which featured dozens upon dozens of emeralds and a pair of gleaming ruby eyes. But there, in the third spot, rather than a hummingbird, was a white paperboard placard. On it, someone had drawn a racy pinup of an elf with her hindquarters prominently displayed.
I tapped the glass. “You…might want to take a look at this.”
Cauliflower Ear grunted as he joined my side. He looked at the display, for real this time. His eyes widened.
“Holy shit!” he said. “Sorkin! Get backup!”
I’m sure Sorkin would’ve done exactly as instructed, but like the rest of us, he was distracted by the sudden crescendo of heavy, heavy footsteps.
Bonesaw barreled into us from behind, smashing into Sorkin with the force of a bull. The flat-headed thug went flying, crashing into one of the satellite exhibits with a crunch. I dove to my side, trying to avoid Bonesaw’s fist as he collided with Cauliflower Ear, but the big ogre clipped me with his shoulder.
It wasn’t much, but it sent me spinning. I rolled as I hit the floor, three, four, five times until I bumped into another of the satellite exhibits. I shook my head and rose to my knees. By the main display, Cauliflower Ear aimed his nightstick at Bonesaw’s midsection—how had the guy pulled it out so fast?—but even armed, he was no match for the ogre. Blood streamed from the side of his face, and after a swing and a miss, Bonesaw put him down with a right hook.
He followed it with a fierce overhead smash to the display case, which exploded in a cloud of glass slivers that tinkled musically as they showered onto the floor. With a meaty hand scraped from the encounter, Bonesaw reached in and grabbed the hydra brooch. He turned toward the exit and bolted.
Before the big dude even s
howed me his backside, I’d honed and finalized a plan. Someday, I’d have to track him down and buy him a beer—assuming he didn’t crack me in half and eat me first.
I rose to my feet and took two steps toward the display case, but as I ran, the air around me crackled and popped. A thread of darkness from over by the wall zipped through the air. With a shimmer, Ted appeared by the display and reached for the octopus.
I’m not sure if I qualify as a quick thinker, but I am quick at reacting. Without slowing, I lunged forward and brought up my knee. Ted’s fingers closed around the brooch. The air shimmered again, but it was too late.
My knee collided with the bearded guy’s head with a sharp crack, and he dropped to the floor like a forty pound sack of potatoes. The brooch flew, clattering across the marble.
Although I wasn’t a lawyer, I’d spent enough time around them to be fairly sure my flying knee strike would adhere to Cobb’s guidelines. I didn’t know how long it would keep Ted out of the game, though, and now that I knew what he was capable of I felt a pressing need to vamoose in a hurry—not that Bonesaw’s exit gave me any other option.
I raced to the octopus and pocketed it as I glanced at the others. Cauliflower Ear lay on his back, out cold, while Flathead crouched on his hands and knees, puking and oblivious to my deceit. I shouted at him as I ran after Bonesaw.
“Watch that dwarf! I’ll head after the ogre.”
Flathead barely nodded as I darted down the hallway and back toward the geodes.
27
A ray of light crept across my face, and I cracked an eyelid. The plaster of my ceiling stared back at me with cold disinterest. I turned my head and glanced at the floor. My bed frame cast less of a shadow than usual.
With knowledge of the sun’s position fresh in mind, I closed my eye, but my stomach growled in disapproval. Apparently it thought I should get up, and seeing as my gut was one of my most significant decision making organs, I obeyed.
I pulled myself out of the covers and shifted my feet over the side of the bed. I blinked and stretched, favoring my right arm ever so slightly, but other than the bruise I’d received when I’d struck the satellite display, I didn’t have a scratch on me.
I still couldn’t believe my luck, and not just in regards to the timing of Bonesaw’s appearance. His all brawn, no brain, smash-and-grab approach had wrecked havoc on the guards, sending them running around like chickens with their heads cut off. By following in his wake, I’d managed to get down from the second floor, out the Metro’s front doors, and into the night’s welcoming arms by doing nothing more than shouting a few orders and projecting an air of urgency. But the real miracle had been the utter ease with which I’d delivered the brooch to Cobb. Given Ted’s question about re-theft of the prizes, I was sure he’d be after me with blood on his mind in a New Welwic minute, but I saw neither hide nor hair of the dwarf on my trip back to the empty lot. Either my knee had put him to sleep for longer than I’d thought or his unique abilities didn’t help him much in the tracking department.
Of course, giving Ted the slip didn’t mean I was out of the woods by any stretch of the imagination. Cobb, though pleased, had been tight-lipped after my delivery of the brooch, and though he said his organization would be in contact with me, I got the feeling I was far from being inducted into the Wyverns’ ranks.
There was also the problem of my identity. Cauliflower Ear and Flathead had seen my badge, but at least in that respect I had a fighter in my corner. The Metro would undoubtedly try to keep the theft under wraps to save face. In the meantime, they’d go to the police. Specifically, they’d head to the 5th Street Precinct to get my help. I just hoped the Captain could hold them off and cover for me until I finished my investigation.
I got dressed and headed to the kitchen, where I made myself a pot of coffee. With a mug in my hand and my stomach making itself known, I stared into my pantry, trying to decide upon a plan of action.
I sighed. The only problem with having groceries on hand was that you still had to cook them to turn them into a meal.
After a few moments of contemplation, laziness and a fear of the culinary unknown won me over. I transferred my coffee to a thermos, grabbed my leather jacket, and headed for the door.
I jerked it open and jumped, but at least I didn’t yelp, the same of which I can’t say for the person who stood there.
Shay, dressed in a cowl neck sweater, slim wool trench coat, and flared slacks, pulled her hand back from the door. She pressed it to her heart as she exhaled. “Good heavens, Daggers. You frightened me.”
I blinked. “Steele. What are you doing here?”
She lifted her other hand, which I only now realized held a hefty brown paper bag. Delicious smells wafted from its lips—nothing I could discern, but something packed with spices. “I was bringing lunch, at least until you scared me half to death. I figured you’d be home, so…” She smiled and shrugged.
“As a matter of fact, I was just heading out to get something to eat.” I smiled back. “You know, I’m not sure if I should be thankful you thought of me or disappointed that I’m so predictable. I’m leaning toward the former.”
“As you should be.” Steele glanced at my thermos. “I noticed you said something to eat and not lunch. You, uh…just waking up?”
“You’re too good of a detective for your own good, you know that?” I waved her in. “Come on. Make yourself at home.”
Steele entered my abode and shrugged out of her outerwear. “Does that mean I should track mud all over the place and leave dishes and clothes wherever I please?”
I snorted as I shut the door. “You know as well as I do that expression means you should act as you would in your own home, not as I would. Besides, your basic premise is flawed.” I waved a hand at my living room as I took her coat.
Shay tracked my gesture and followed it with a hint of a smile. “So all it takes for you to clean up is mandatory administrative leave? I can see why your wife left you.”
I slammed an imaginary knife into my heart and twisted it as I hung her coat on a brass rack. “The things boredom will do to a man. I even stocked the pantry. I think that hasn’t happened since before the new mayor’s administration took over.”
Shay gave me a sideways look while she rummaged in my kitchen for silverware. “Have you even lived in this apartment that long?”
“Exactly.” I settled myself at my round dining table, barely big enough for two. Some might call it small. I thought of it as cozy—and cheap, which had been a bigger selling point. “So what did you bring?”
“Something a little different,” she said as she joined me. “I think you’ll like it though.”
I opened my mouth and lifted a finger, then retraced my steps.
Shay eyed me as she opened the paper bag. “I saw that.”
“And I stopped myself before I said anything. Besides, it smells good.” I nodded toward the bag as I set my thermos down. “So?”
Shay pulled out a pair of cardboard fold-top boxes. “Chicken masala with fresh baked flat breads. And not a vegetable in sight.”
“Probably because they’re in the sauce.”
Shay smirked. “Who’s too good of a detective for their own good, now?”
I opened my box, and a wave of savory smells overtook me: garlic and cumin and coriander and chilies. Big fat chunks of chicken, charred black and brown, dripped with thick orange sauce. My mouth watered. I took a bite.
“So?” said Steele.
I chewed and swallowed. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
My candor and graciousness surprised her, but less than it once might’ve.
After a couple minutes of silent rumination during which I completely housed my chicken and roughly half of the flatbread, I broke the ice. “So how’s the investigation going?”
Steele took a more measured approach with her lunch. She gave me an evil grin over a forkful of orange-slicked poultry. “Didn’t weasel al
l you wanted from Rodgers and Quinto yesterday, I assume?”
“Oh. You heard about that.”
Shay waved her chicken around. “Of course I did. You think those two could keep their mouths shut?”
“What did the Captain have to say about that?” I asked.
“Nothing. I didn’t tell him, and neither did Quinto and Rodgers. Lucky for you.”
I wiped a triangular piece of bread through the remains of my sauce. “You haven’t addressed my first question though.”
“Because the Captain said not to.”
Chicken into mouth. Steele chewed. Gods, she could even make that look sexy.
I tested my luck. “Not precisely. Unless I’m mistaken, the Captain only said I was off the case—meaning I couldn’t take part in the investigation or help you and the gang out. I never heard him say anything about not keeping me up to date on your progress.”
“Actually, he addressed that specifically in our meeting a couple days ago. No schmoozing with Daggers, he said.”
“Did he, now?” I lifted a brow. “Maybe he meant it more in the self-promotional sense than the gossip one. Like, no taking advantage of Daggers’ absence to advance your station at work.”
Shay lifted an eyebrow. “You’re trying a grammatical approach? How desperate are you?”
“I’m like a teenage boy on the verge of getting a girl’s shirt off for the first time.”
That metaphor didn’t go over well. I tried a different strategy. “You know Rodgers and Quinto gave me an update. You wouldn’t want to seem like a stick in the mud compared to those two, would you?”
“Daggers…”
“Seriously, what happened to you? You used to be cool.”
“If I give you something, will you shut up?” A miffed glare accompanied Steele’s statement.
I leaned back in my chair, hiding my smug smile. “I’m all ears.”
Shay speared another cube of chicken. “We’re making progress with Barrett. After going through the West and Smith shipping invoices with a fine-toothed comb, we used the inconsistencies to track down a pair of shipping containers that shouldn’t have been on site.”
