Crucible Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 5)

by Alex P. Berg

  Droot blinked. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I know my face looks funny, but I’m not always joking,” I said. “You need to scram now. But before you do, I’ll need your championship ring.”

  Droot looked down at his hand. Apparently, he wore it even in his sleep. Reliving the glory days, much?

  “What?” he said. “Why?”

  “So I can prove you’re dead.”

  Droot looked at me as if I were crazy, but he nonetheless twisted the gold- and jewel-encrusted bauble off his finger. “Your supervisor is still going to receive a strongly worded letter, mind you.”

  “Just make sure it’s postmarked from far away,” I said. “Your anger I can deal with. Your metaphorical blood on my hands is another.”

  I took the ring and turned back into the dark of night. Sometimes I wondered why I tried, given the thanks I got. But at this point, I wasn’t sticking to my path for Droot’s benefit. The person on the line meant much more to me than he did.

  35

  I took a look around as I approached the precinct’s broad front doors. At this hour of the night, there weren’t any beat cops lounging around the front. Of course, given the cold, even if there had been I’m sure they would’ve all moved inside. Lucky for me, however, there was one intrepid young soul still out looking to make some coin.

  I waved the runner over, a kid in a ratty wool coat who couldn’t have been older than ten. “Isn’t it a little late for you to be out?”

  The kid shrugged. “Work’s work.”

  “Don’t I know it.” I reached into my coat pocket and produced an envelope. “I need you to take this to Detectives Rodgers and Quinto. Don’t read it. Don’t lose it. Don’t give it to anyone else. Don’t dawdle. Understood?”

  The kid nodded.

  I gave him descriptions of my pals and the address of the warehouse, along with a shiny silver eagle for his troubles and the promise of more if he delivered it. His eyes widened, and I knew my missive was in as good a pair of hands as I could hope for given the hour.

  He ran off, and I yanked on the front door’s handle.

  Inside, a pair of lanterns burned bright near the entrance, but the rest of the pit sat dark, cold, and lifeless. At the creak of the doors, a bluecoat sitting at the front desk glanced up. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Smithers? Smuthers? Something with an ‘s’.

  His brow furrowed. “Detective Daggers? Aren’t you on leave?”

  “Duty calls.” I headed toward the stairs.

  The poor bluecoat rose to his feet. “Uh…but sir. Captain said you weren’t supposed to be here. He made a point of saying so in a meeting a few days ago. I mean, I guess he might’ve meant during regular business hours, but—”

  “Take it up with him in the morning,” I barked over my shoulder. “I have work to do and lives are on the line. Deal with it.”

  That shut the guy up, although I felt bad for snapping. He was merely doing his job, and he didn’t have any idea what I was up to. Nor did I intend to have him find out. I descended into the morgue and headed into the examination room.

  As I’d expected, Griggs’ and Barrett’s bodies had been cleared from the exam tables, all of which now were empty, shiny, and gleaming from a fresh clean. I snaked my way through them and crossed to the cadaver vaults.

  I grasped the polished steel handle of the middle vault, farthest to the right, cranked it, and pulled. It rolled out on greased wheels with a whisper, but it was empty. I closed it and moved on to the next.

  I worked my way through a dozen vaults, two-thirds of which were empty, before finding one that fit the bill. A tag affixed to the body within read ‘Dexter Sampson,’ who’d apparently died from complications suffered from a broken leg after he’d fallen at a construction site. I didn’t recognize him or the name, so I figured he must’ve been one of Elwswood’s or Drake’s cases. I hoped they’d forgive me—just as I hoped Sampson’s family would.

  I crossed over to the nearest exam table in search of a scalpel.

  36

  The door screamed, and I returned to squalor. A light still shined in the back, behind the staircase.

  Floorboards creaked as I walked, announcing my presence. When I turned the corner, I found Cobb precisely where I’d left him at the folding table. Unlike our solo meeting at the shipping container warehouse, he didn’t have a book in his hands. Perhaps he’d forgotten to bring one with him this time—or he’d hidden it under his jacket upon hearing the door and floorboard’s horrible symphony of groans and moans.

  He eyed me with his patented cool expression, neither surprised nor relieved at my arrival. “We meet again.”

  “And I’m as charmed as I was the first time.” I glanced over my shoulder into the shadows, for piece of mind. “Am I to assume I’m the first one back?”

  Cobb crossed his arms. “Would I be here if you weren’t? Besides, I’m fairly sure I outlined the terms of the competition in a way that could produce only one victor.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “True, but I wouldn’t put something crazy past Bonesaw. He’s surprised me before.”

  I reached into my jacket, produced a manila envelope, and tossed it to Cobb. He caught it with a deft hand, undid the string that kept it closed, and peered inside.

  “Nicely done, Mr. Baggers.” Cobb dumped the severed finger and ring combo onto the table, where he picked it up with all the care one might afford a cocktail weenie. “A beautiful ring, isn’t it? And you made quite the surgical strike, if I might say so.”

  Did the man notice my use of a scalpel? Would that tip him off?

  “What did you expect?” I said. “That I’d bite it off? That’s where Bonesaw and I differ, you know.”

  “Yes, thankfully.” He returned the severed finger with the championship ring to the envelope. Then he stared at me.

  “So,” I said after a pause. “Here I am, your unlikely champion. You asked me to take part in a large scale jewelry heist, and I did. You sent me after a vertically-challenged drug pusher, so I tracked him down and gave you the means to locate his cache. You asked me to get nasty, and I showed I can do that, too. So what’s next? Are you going to make me bribe a councilman? Extract protection money from an unwilling shopkeeper? Wrestle a bear? Or am I in?”

  Cobb ran his tongue across his teeth, his nose wrinkled and smug. I wanted to punch him in the face, but on the outside I was as cool as a cucumber.

  “Unlikely champion, indeed,” said Cobb. “But, regardless of my feelings on the matter, you did in fact succeed—and I suppose you couldn’t be any worse than that ogre. So yes…you are in. If not yet one of us.”

  I’d started to breathe a sigh of relief until I caught that last part. “Come again?”

  “Don’t worry, Baggers. It’s not another test. You’ve shown yourself capable. But that alone doesn’t make you…Wyvern material.” It was the first time he’d mentioned the gang by name. “There’s someone you’ll need to meet, and should that go well, an initiation before you become a full fledged member of our society.”

  That seemed cryptic. “So…do I wait for another note to get slipped under my door? Or do we do this now?”

  Cobb stood and grabbed his lantern. “Come with me.”

  I guess that answered my question.

  Cobb stepped past the table and rounded the corner toward the front, but after a couple steps he stopped at a door set into the wall under the staircase. He turned the handle and pushed on through to another stair headed down.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Are you telling me we’re already here? This is your hideout?”

  “Not exactly,” said Cobb.

  Dust rose from the planks as I followed him down the stairs. “So, what then, exactly?”

  “There are tunnels under much of this city. Some official, others less so.” Cobb turned and caught my eye. “We’re smugglers, after all. If you plan on joining us, you might want to get used
to operating underground.”

  The stairs doubled back on themselves twice before we reached a landing. Cobb turned a corner and started down a long corridor. Wood paneling lined the sides and ceiling, worm-eaten and rotten, as if we’d been transported to an ancient, long forgotten mineshaft. Streaks of black mold ran up and down the walls in stretches, located under cracks in the paneling above where water likely seeped and trickled. Though the corridor was dry at the moment, in the springtime it probably became an asthmatic’s nightmare.

  “How long of a trek is this going to be?” I asked. “Are we talking a quick jaunt or a half marathon? Because if it’s the latter, I would’ve stopped for coffee on the way.”

  A rusty iron gate materialized through the gloom, and Cobb stopped before it. “It won’t be far. A few more of these gates and we’ll be there.” He produced a keychain from his pocket and slid it into the keyhole. The lock turned with a heavy clunk.

  I nodded toward his keychain. “Do I get one of those once I’m initiated?”

  “If you have need of traveling this route, yes,” said Cobb. “Though I should ask…how are you with lock picking? If rusty, that might be a skill you should practice.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Cobb held out his hand. “Ladies first.”

  I gave him the old snap and point. “Don’t tell me you’ve been hiding that sense of humor from me this whole time. But honestly, you’ve got the lantern, and I don’t know where we’re going. Shouldn’t you lead?”

  “I need to lock the door behind us,” said Cobb in an irritated tone. “Otherwise I wouldn’t carry the keys, now would I?”

  I stepped on through, thinking perhaps I should stop antagonizing the man, but it was so difficult when in my mind I pictured him playing a crucial role in the horrible events that had befallen both of my partners.

  The gate clanged shut, and I turned, ready to go.

  Cobb was on the other side of it.

  37

  My heart sank, but I played my part. I forced my eyebrows to furrow. “Is this part of the initiation? Because I was under the impression there’d be paddles involved.”

  Cobb backed away from the gate, a smile creeping across his face. Yup—I definitely wanted to punch him.

  “Sorry, Baggers,” said Cobb. “I’d love to stay and chat and hear more of your clever witticisms, but I’ve other things to do. I hope you understand. I’m sure you will eventually. Despite your persona, I get the feeling you’re not as dumb as you look.”

  Cobb turned and started back down the corridor. I grasped one of the rusted metal bars and yanked. The gate clanged in its lock, but it didn’t give.

  “Cobb! Wait!” I called. “Let’s talk this over.”

  Like the true heartless bastard he was, he didn’t even slow. His footsteps receded, and the light of his lantern faded until it left me in complete and total darkness. I tried the gate a couple more times, but despite my best wishes, the lock didn’t spontaneously shatter into a thousand shards. With the weight of responsibility crushing my back and shoulders, I slumped forward and rested my head against the metal bars. A thought that had raised its hand in an effort to get my attention now stood and made itself known.

  I’d been played.

  Somehow, the Wyverns must’ve discovered I was a cop—one that was still employed rather than one who’d been expelled for his violence and immorality. But how had they known? Perhaps Lazarus had been wrong. Maybe there was an informant at the Grant Street Precinct after all, and when asked about Drake Baggers, he’d told the Wyverns he’d never heard of me.

  Or maybe it was simpler than that. Lazarus had indicated he thought the 5th Street Precinct had a mole in its midst. Perhaps upon hearing my assumed name and former occupation come across their collective desks, the Wyverns had solicited information from all their police sources. Someone at the 5th could’ve easily made the connection between my real name and fake variant. Drake Baggers. Lazarus had been right. I was an idiot to think no one would recognize the similarities. How difficult would it have been to train myself to react to something mundane, like John Johnson?

  Of course, if the Wyverns had discovered my true identity, why had they treated me the way they had? Why invite me to take part in the crucible at all? Why not summarily ignore me following Lazarus’s recommendation? Or a more morbid thought—why not make an attempt on my life? Clearly the gang no longer had any qualms about murder, not after their disposal of Barrett and Griggs and Cobb’s instructions to me to similarly eliminate Jeremy Droot.

  Instead, the Wyverns had welcomed me to take part in their trials, and stacked the deck against me with individuals who, I could only assume, they’d instructed to lose—although Ted, for one, seemed intent on getting that brooch at the Metro. So why had the Wyverns strung me along? The obvious answer was to keep me out of the way, but out of the way of what? Was I closer than I knew to tearing the veil from their whole organization? What was the key? It must’ve been something to do with Barrett or Griggs’ investigation, because I couldn’t imagine I’d stumbled across anything else that had me knocking at their doorstep. Even then, Steele, Rodgers, and Quinto knew far more about those investigations than I did. Was that why they’d kidnapped Steele? Because she knew something crucial? Something she’d shared with me at our last meeting perhaps?

  Steele. I’d put myself in this position for her, at least once Rodgers and Quinto had delivered their news. Now I’d squandered whatever chance I had, and she was in even greater danger than I’d previously suspected.

  I stood there in the starless subterranean night, the metal bars of the gate pressing into my forehead like knives of despair. The darkness was so complete I couldn’t even see a whisper of a ghost of their form, but I could feel them. Suffer their cold bite. Smell their rusty coats and the mildew and mold beyond. Hear the scratch of my own nails as they scraped against their surface, and the irregular drip drop of water somewhere in the chasm behind me.

  I lifted my head and turned. Where was I anyway? And that sound… I was mistaken. It wasn’t the patter of drops on stone or earth. It was too alive. Too pained. What was it?

  I walked forward slowly, my hand held out at my side, trailing along the wall. After a few steps, it gave way. I swept my other arm before me and touched nothing. A room, then. Of some size, perhaps.

  Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I ventured onward in the direction of the sound. Was it…sobbing? After a few more paces, it stopped—possibly in response to my footsteps.

  “Is…someone there?”

  I heard a mumbled response, relatively close.

  I took a few more steps forward, and my hand brushed against something. Heavy wool. An arm. Slender. Strands of long hair, holding in them a hint of lilac.

  I recognized the fragrance. “Steele?”

  Another mumbled response, but clearly in her voice.

  I brought my hands up across the smooth skin of her neck to her face, where I found the gag. I reached around back and located the knot. I undid it and ripped the thing away.

  She gasped. “Oh, sweet mother of the earth, that thing was foul! I could barely breathe, and I… When they brought me here, I was blindfolded and scared, and I couldn’t… I mean, I… I…”

  I slid my hands down her arm where I found a heavy cord binding her wrists behind her back. I discovered the knot and, despite my meaty digits, made quick work of it.

  The cord fell to the ground. Shay slammed into me, her arms wrapping themselves around my neck.

  “Oh, thank the gods, Daggers,” she said. “No. Thank you, I mean. I knew someone would come. I thought so. I hoped so. Quinto or Rodgers, maybe, but you… You…”

  Her arms clutched me tight, and her long, lean form pressed against me. The lilac scent of her hair filled my nose. I felt the curve of her breasts underneath her jacket and her warm breath on my cheek. More importantly, I felt her. Warm, alive, safe, and in my arms.

 
; I leaned in and kissed her. Her mouth pressed against mine, soft and tender and wet. I tasted her lips. I breathed her breath. I felt her body stiffen and…

  She pushed me away.

  I felt her hands on my upper arms. “Daggers, I…”

  The flood of emotions nearly drowned me. How could I be such a fool? So selfish? So impulsive? The woman had just been kidnapped and imprisoned, for Pete’s sake!

  “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I wasn’t thinking. I just… I felt your touch, and, and, your smell, and I was so relieved that—”

  “Oh, screw it.”

  Steele’s body pressed back into mine, and her hands dug into the hair at the back of my head. Her lips locked with my own, but not hesitant this time. Bold and free and welcoming. They parted, ever so slightly, and I embraced them fully.

  After a minute of fireworks and party streamers and a band blaring out its finest, happiest tune, I came up for air.

  I heard Shay take a deep breath, and I could hear the pounding of her heart—or maybe it was mine.

  “Well,” she said. “That just happened.”

  “I know. It was awesome. You, uh…down for seconds?”

  “Slow down there, cowboy,” she said, and I could picture her demure smile that accompanied it. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in some sort of underground dungeon, imprisoned by a ruthless gang of killers who may or may not come by at any moment to finish us off and silence us for good.”

  “Yeah, it does kind of put a damper on the mood,” I said. “Then again, I’ve heard some girls are into public exhibitionism. The thrill of being caught really gets them going. I figure this could be a similar sort of thing.”

  “Focus, Daggers,” said Shay. “If you’re here, then I assume you came to spring me loose. So what’re we up against? What’s the plan?”

  “Ah, yes, uh…the plan.” I tried to shift my brain from the utterly fantastic amazingness that just happened back to the task at hand. “Well, um…”