by Lyn Forester
Drake holds out the bottle of wine. “Do you remember receiving this?”
She squints at the label, rips at her bottom lip with her teeth. Her shoulders get a little more scrunched, and Reagen shoots him a glance, nodding her head toward the woman. She wants him to do the damsel in distress thing. She expects it after the last couple days. But Nate had really worn him out last night.
With a deep breath, he straightens his spine and forces a smile onto his face. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”
Even though his tone comes out with more of a rumble and less of the purr he aimed for, it seems to do the trick.
She takes a small step closer to Drake, eyes focused on his shoulder. “It came in last Wednesday.”
“Did anything about the delivery seem odd?”
“The delivery guy was different from the normal one.” She picks at the edge of her apron, eyes on the ground. “He wasn’t nice.”
“What happened?”
“It wasn’t the normal time for deliveries, and Jack wasn’t in yet. I didn’t want to sign for it. He got really angry, and said I’d get in trouble because it had already been paid for.”
“So you took it in?”
Her shoulders hunch up again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Yeah.”
“Would you recognize the man if you saw him again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She shrugs. “He was really average looking, and he had his hat pulled down over his eyes.”
“Does the lounge have surveillance on the street or inside?”
“No. It’s against customer privacy.”
He glances at Reagen, and she nods in confirmation. She hasn’t noticed any hidden cameras.
“Did you talk to the manager about it?”
“No. I’m not supposed to sign for deliveries. But we get stuff from Red Castle all the time, and I didn’t want to get in trouble. I told Jack, and he said he’d take care of it.” She peeks up from between her lashes. “Are you going to tell my manager? I really need this job.”
Tears fill her eyes, and Drake hesitates. He doesn’t want to lie and say they won’t, because there may not be any other choice. But he doesn’t want to deal with a crier right now, and she looks ready to burst.
“Do you recognize this man?” Reagen pulls the server’s attention away from him, her palm-port extended. Burgus’s image shows on the screen.
“Yeah, that’s Keith Burgus. He bartends here sometimes when we get really busy or Jack needs a day off.”
“When was he last here?”
“Wednesday for the late shift. After that customer died, Jack had to go to blue guard headquarters to file a report.” Her bottom lip trembles as she glances between them. “Is he okay? Did something happen to him?”
Shit. She didn’t know.
As a free floater, Burgus wouldn’t necessarily register all of the bars he worked at part-time. It made sense that he didn’t list this place on his employment file if he was stealing from the lounge.
“So Mr. Burgus showed up after the death?”
“Yeah, about twenty minutes.” She nibbles on her lip. “I think he lives around here. He always shows up pretty fast when we’re in a crunch. That’s why our manager, Malini, likes him.”
Drake shifts the bottle of wine in his hands and stares down at the label. Burgus had had the same bottle in his apartment, but he hadn’t been here before Halrow died. The timing doesn’t fit for Burgus to be Halrow’s supplier, and if Halrow was a supplier, he would know not to drink the contaminated wine. A dealer, even a regular, wouldn’t stick around after a death. Too much risk of exposure when the blue guard arrived.
He shifts his gaze to Reagen, who watches him in silence. Her impassive face tells him nothing. He can’t tell if she’s reached the same conclusion he has.
She lifts an eyebrow, asking if he needs her to take over. He turns back to the server and extends the bottle to her. “We need you to open this.”
She takes the bottle and clutches it to her chest, her eyes traveling over each of them. Pause for their clothing, the dirt on their shoes, Reagen’s I.I. badge. “You know this is eight hundred credits a glass, right?”
“I know you’re overcharging by a hundred credits, two hundred since it’s not selling well.”
A pink flush infuses her cheeks. She hadn’t expected him to know anything about wine. With hesitant steps, she walks over to the bar and reaches beneath the counter to pull out a corkscrew.
“I should scan your datband. It’s company policy.” She casts a furtive look toward the bartender, Jack, who bustles between customers.
“Just open the bottle.” Reagen steps to the server’s other side and blocks her view of the bartender.
“I’m so going to get fired.” A fine tremor shakes her hand as she uses the curved top of the corkscrew to cut the foil off the neck.
“Don’t worry,” Drake soothes, sidling up to her right. “I can cover a glass of wine.”
The sharp tip of the opener punches through the rubber cork and spirals down. After it’s fully locked in, she wiggles and yanks until the pink-tinged cylinder pops from the neck, red drops adding new stains to the white of her shirt.
Reagen leaps back, hand over her mouth and eyes transfixed on the bottle. Startled, the other woman turns toward her. The bottle tips, an arch of red spraying out toward Reagen, who stumbles back, then launches herself over the counter. The movement is fast, and she’s on the other side, away from the mess before the customers in the bar take notice. She comes to her feet on the other side, pressed against the low wall that separates the bar from the main lounge.
Wide indigo eyes swing toward him. “Drake, get away from the wine.”
In the next breath, the sharp odor of spilled booze reaches him, underscored by a thick scent of sap. He steps back, with only slightly less panic than his partner. Checking his clothes for any damp spots, he jumps the bar to join Reagen at a safer distance.
His maneuver, far less graceful than his partner’s, pulls the attention of a couple customers further down the counter. They nudge their neighbors, who turn to stare.
“What’s going on?” Deb stares at them in bewilderment, half the wine bottle’s contents splashed down her front in a diagonal stripe. Red bleeds outward, like a fresh wound.
“Deb.” Drake holds his hand out toward the waitress without going closer. “Put down the bottle and go change. Rinse off.”
“I don’t understand.” Bottom lip trembling, she sets the bottle down and backs away.
“Go to the bathroom and strip. The wine is contaminated.” He turns to Reagen. “Can it seep in through her pores?”
“I don’t know. You’re the drug expert.”
“Not this drug.”
Deb doesn’t move, shivers wracking her body as tears flood down her cheeks. She’s a silent crier. Her arms stand out from her sides, fingers curling like a child in need of a hug. But Drake refuses to step closer.
She’s covered in Ash.
“Deb, that’s coming out of your paycheck!” A red-faced woman storms over from the lounge area. Her dark gold, pinstriped business suit hugs the lean curves of her body and glows against dark golden skin. Halfway to them, she leans across the bar, red heels off the ground, and grabs a clean towel. “This is the last warning you’ll get. You’re still on probation from last time.”
“I’m sorry, Manager.” Deb’s quiet snuffles become steadily louder under her manager’s censor. Soon she can be heard over the quiet murmurs in the background. From the other end of the bar, the curious customers crane their heads to discover the cause of all the commotion.
Drake steps forward to block the manager as she moves toward Deb, towel in hand. “Don’t go any closer.”
“Who are you?” The manager stares up at him with narrow golden eyes, and he realizes she must be a Koevhern halfbreed. Poor woman got all her height from her human mother.
“Are you the lounge’s manager?”
The
woman stands taller, shoulders thrown back. “Obviously. I’m Malini. Now who are you people, and why are you causing a scene in my bar?”
“I’m Ms. Thorpe and this is my partner, Mr. Esten.” Reagen extends her badge for the manager to see. “Your server’s in danger. Is there a shower in the employee changing room?”
“What are you talking about?” The woman leans around them and a frown twists her red lips.
Drake glances at the nearby customers and drops his voice. “The wine bottle your employee just opened is contaminated with high levels of Ash.”
The manager’s mouth drops open, then snaps shut with an audible click of teeth. With a quick, tight smile for her customers, she steps around Drake and up to the counter, well away from the spilled mess. “Deb, go clean up in the shower. I’ll comp the water cost for today, so make sure it’s nice and hot.”
Her soft tone seems to be the girl’s undoing. Her head falls back, as she lets out a full on wail. Red splotches break out over her neck and cheeks. Drake hopes it’s from the emotions and not an early reaction to Ash. When this case is over, he’ll have extensive tests run on how Ash can be absorbed into the body. They need more info than they currently have on the illegal form of this drug.
“You’re not in trouble, Deb.” Drake tries to soothe from a safe distance. The fact that none of them will come near her sets the server off more.
The three of them share a helpless look. Reagen whispers, “We need a human.”
The manager glances toward the bartender who slings drinks as he tries to distract the customers. Then she turns to the front of the lounge, to the host who has a line forming at her podium. At last, she focuses on the stage, squares her shoulders, and strides away at a brisk pace.
A moment later, prerecorded music leaks from the speakers, and the quiet strum of the guitar cuts off. When she returns, she has a tall, lanky man at her heels. He frowns in concern, hands stuffed into his pockets. Dark brown eyes shift between Drake and Reagen, then focus on the crying server.
By this time, Deb has dissolved into hiccups and dry heaving. If she doesn’t get to the shower fast and calm down, they’ll have an even bigger mess on their hands.
“You want me to take her where?” The musician shuffles forward another step, uncertain as he looks from their small group to the woman behind the bar. “Why do you need me to do this?”
The manager stares at the mess. “I need to have this cleaned up, and she’s not budging.”
He brushes soft brown curls from his eyes and glances up at Reagen. “Why can’t you take her?”
“I don’t work here.” She folds her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed at the guy.
“I contract for music, not this.” He waves a hand in the server’s direction, and Deb bursts into fresh tears.
“I’ll pay you extra,” the manager grits out through clenched teeth.
“Double.”
With a quick glance at the puddle of red on the counter, she nods her head in begrudging defeat.
The musician shuffles to the hinged section of countertop and around to Deb’s side. As soon as he’s within reach, the sobbing woman tries to fling herself at him. He holds her at bay with a hand on each shoulder, arms stiff. Firm, he moves her until she faces the opposite direction and marches her toward the door on the right side of the bar.
Conversation goes quiet as she passes the customers on the stools. Once the pair disappears through the door, the talk becomes louder, high pitched with excitement. They’ll have a good story to tell when they go home tonight. As long as it’s not the full story, it should be okay.
The manager swings around, hands on hips. “How long before you notify the blue guard?”
Already, Drake can see the calculations running through her head, the revenue loss. She’ll need to do some PR, too, with two visits from the guard in less than a week. People will start to say her lounge can’t be trusted. Businessmen will take their clients elsewhere.
“Give us a minute while you find someone who can safely clean this up,” Reagen says. She grabs Drake’s sleeve with her fingertips and tugs him to the back corner.
He leans close so his head almost touches hers. “What are you thinking?”
“The wine definitely killed Burgus and Halrow.”
“But why them and not anyone else?” Drake runs the ball of his tongue piercing against his teeth, ignoring Reagen’s frown. “The bartender said they’d served another bottle. Why haven’t more bodies shown up?”
“Quantity. They serve the wine in tiny glasses.” She nods her head toward the lounge, where a couple in a booth sips from thumb-sized glasses. “The wine glasses at Burgus’s apartment were three times that size.”
“They are way overcharging these people.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Halrow was a pureblood. He would easily have died, even from that minuscule amount.”
“Agreed. They’re lucky most of their clients are human.” She huffs out a breath. “Fuck. We’re lucky they’re mostly human. More dead bodies, and the city would be on lockdown.”
“But there are no dead bodies here today,” Drake says slowly. “And you’ve been telling every guard we meet this is a blackout case.”
She frowns. “That’s a very gray area you’re skipping into.”
“We work in the gray.”
“No, you work in the black. I work in the gray.”
“Your gray area is my gray area.”
“Shut up, and let me think.” She rocks on her heels, a slow sway as she stares at the ground.
Not much to think about as far as Drake’s concerned. If they call in the blue guard, they’ll shut down the shop, confiscate the remaining bottles of wine, and kick him and Reagen off the scene again. At this point, they might risk the fines and kick them completely off the level.
If they don’t call the blue guard, the lounge gets to stay open, and they can take the wine with impunity.
Reagen seems to reach the same conclusion. “I’ll have to hack into the Halls of Justice and backlist a blackout case, to cover our asses.”
“I can have someone at Black Corp do that, if you want.”
“Fuck no. Those sloppy assholes will leave fingerprints everywhere.” She scowls at him. “I’m still waiting for the palm scanner at my apartment to be fixed.”
“That’s a whole different set of people.” He waves his hand in dismissal. “The hackers don’t have to leave their dark rooms. They’re way faster on the job.”
“I’d still rather do it myself. I want to know we’re covered if this ever gets discovered.”
“Aww, you care what happens to me, too. I’m feeling kinda fuzzy on the inside. We should hug.” He spreads his arms.
She leans away from him, palms out. “Don’t get excited. I’m covering my own ass. You’re just a necessary byproduct.”
A broad smile spreads across his face. “You think I’m necessary.”
The corners of her mouth twitch up a fraction.
From over her shoulder, he sees the manager march back toward them, red heels snapping into the tiled floor.
“Okay, talk to me.” She points a gold-tipped finger at Reagen. “You work for Investigators, Inc., so I know you don’t have to report this to the guard right away. It’s all case dependent with you people.”
Reagen raises an eyebrow as her face slips into a pleasant mask. “You have nine bottles of deadly, illegal drug in your storeroom. Black Corp and the Blue Hall will want to know why.”
The gold-tipped finger curls toward her palm as if to hide. The manager’s arm drops, the air of calm authority splintering. “I don’t suppose you take bribes?”
Reagen taps her foot. “No.”
Drake nudges his partner. “But we’ll cut you a break.”
The manager latches onto the offer. “What do you want?”
“You expedite the transport of the remaining bottles to the Blue Hall freezer on Level 7.” Reagen’s foot stills, a smile pulling at her lips as she adds, �
��Tag it for Medic Carmichael.”
Drake hides his wince. The touchy medic who runs the morgue will not be happy. He can already picture the bushy-eyebrowed scowl awaiting them.
“I can have it there first thing tomorrow morning.” The other woman nods. “I’ll have Jack deliver it personally.”
“One hour,” Drake interjects.
“Excuse me?” The woman sputters out a laugh. “That’s not possible.”
“That’s the offer.” Reagen lifts a hand, palm faced upward. “One hour and this stays quiet. Any time after that, and we’ll have to have outside channels collect the evidence.”
“And don’t leave it up to Deb.” Drake pictures the frazzled woman and shudders. “Send it with someone reliable.”
The manager forces out a smile, all teeth and no happy. “Got it. Anything else?”
“Clock’s already ticking.”
She storms away, off to find someone to do the dirty work.
Reagen turns to give Drake a considering look. “You have any way to get black market earth relics?”
He blinks in surprise at the sudden change of topic. “I might know some people. Why?”
“We need a really good bribe for Carmichael.”
~
“Do you think the protesters are still swarming Central Plaza?” Drake asks when they leave the lounge.
“I don’t know. We could try checking the news.” Reagen turns to gaze toward the city center.
The skyline of Level 11 leaves so much more clear air above the city constructs that the holo-sky appears even higher than usual. Only the elevator lifts between city levels and the Halls of Justice at Central Plaza reach the hologram ceiling.
Being able to see the silver towers, even from here, makes Central Plaza seem closer. The citizens on this level must feel the constant watch of the guard. A mingled feeling of safety and quiet threat. If a citizen’s personal file gets five red marks in one year, they’re under immediate threat of deportation. Half the number of marks needed on the lower levels.
“It will take us too long to find a store with live video feed.” Drake’s stomach rumbles. “Let’s cruise by the plaza. If it’s too crowded, we can take the shorter circle around and head back to NuArc. We can stop and get something to eat on the way.”
