by Alex P. Berg
“Did you find a large quantity of blood in the bat enclosure?” asked Shay.
“Blood?” said Azalea. “No. Should I have?”
“Not necessarily,” said Shay. “What about in the camel enclosure? Or anywhere else on the property?”
“Goodness, no,” said the zookeeper. “Now you’re making me worried. I thought the people who’d broken in were simple vandals, but now you’re implying they’re…what? Twisted animal torturers?”
I folded the map and returned it to my jacket. “We already told you, your lion and camel are fine. I assume the rest of the animals are too, though the baboon lost in Rucker Park might have to watch his back for dope heads and muggers. It’s the vandals themselves who didn’t fare too well.” I pointed in the direction of the bat cages. “Did you find anything in the cage when you looked this morning? Items of clothing, more snacks, footprints, anything that might help us identify who was here overnight?”
“Can’t say that I did,” said Azalea.
“And in this area?” I asked. “Anything?”
“Just the snack foods.”
I looked at Shay. We stood in silence for a moment. My partner chewed on her lip. Eventually, she broke the silence.
“Thanks for your help, Ms. Pope. We’ll see ourselves out, and I’ll make sure to address the issue with the Mackinaw Street Precinct and send word to animal control.”
Azalea nodded and gave us a perfunctory return thanks. We turned and headed back toward the front gates, the path’s gravel crunching underfoot.
Shay waited until we’d cleared out of the zookeeper’s earshot to speak. “So, Daggers, you’re my go-to source for crazy theories. Normally I’m dismissive of them, but I feel like I could use one right about now.”
I snorted. “Me too.”
“So you have nothing for me?”
We locked eyes. “Oh, I’m pretty sure we’re on the same page about the implications of Zookeeper Pope’s testimony. But with that said…I have no idea what any of it means. And I certainly don’t know who killed Chaz or why.”
35
We trudged back into the captain’s office at the precinct and collapsed into our chairs. Steele spread over hers like cheese on a burger. I’d like to pretend I sat up straight, my back a steel rod and my mind crisp as a fresh leaf of lettuce, but I’d only be fooling myself. Thoughts, clues, and theories packed my mind like cotton balls in a jar, ready to pop all over the place at the slightest release of pressure. My knees and legs felt weak from the miles I’d put on them, and my feet hurt. Of course, I was smart enough not to mention that fact, not with Shay wearing heels and likely feeling as if the hot winds of hell itself coursed through her toes.
“You know,” I said. “Could be that wearing heels is a good idea now that you’re captain. Get your toes callused.”
Shay shot me a confused glance. “What?”
I realized that despite her initial claims of psychic ability, she couldn’t actually read my thoughts, at least not more than your garden variety ‘wants sex, needs a beer and a sandwich’ variety.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking about your high heels and how your feet must feel, and that got me to thinking about callused toes and how they might be useful when you need to put your foot up someone’s ass. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Trust me, it was more amusing in my mind…”
“I’d hope so, because it wasn’t at all outside it.” Shay rearranged herself on her cushions and glared at the cork board.
“Not even a smirk?” I said. “This case must be wearing on you more than I thought. Or it was a terrible joke. Both valid possibilities.”
Shay’s face softened. “Don’t take it personally. I get snappy when I’m tired. I think the coffee’s wearing off.”
It probably would’ve even if Shay hadn’t spent the majority of the night creating a circular groove in her apartment’s floor. The sun had set on our way back to the station, before we’d even left the zoo. The clock in the corner read six fifty-five.
“Let’s face it,” I said. “It’s time to go home and get some rest. And I don’t just mean you. Me too. We can pick this up tomorrow.”
Shay considered my words. Her lips twisted. She seemed on the verge of agreeing when once again a knock sounded at the door.
We both turned. Rodgers stood outside the frame, his knuckles poised at the side of the wood. He sported one of his trademark toothy white smiles, but it faded as he set eyes on Shay.
“Steele? Dang, you look…”
Shay gave him a second. “Look what?”
“Um…nothing,” said Rodgers. “Just remembering words of wisdom I’ve learned from my marriage. Got a minute?”
“Why not. Have a seat.” She nodded to the empty chair in front of her desk.
“Great,” said Rodgers, taking the proffered chair. “Remember how you sent me to that music magazine to investigate Yellow Cobra’s past? Shablam?”
“We remember,” I said. “And to be honest, you basically volunteered to go.”
“Whatever,” he said. “The point is I found a reporter who covered Yellow Cobra since their inception, and he was able to shed light on their interpersonal relationships.”
Shay didn’t look terribly interested, but she made a perfunctory effort. “Go on.”
“Well, first and foremost, the band’s been rife with infighting for years, almost since the beginning,” said Rodgers. “According to the journalist I talked to, Chaz was a firebrand. Always mouthing off. Always trying to shine brightest in the spotlight. Always taking credit for the band’s successes, whether he deserved the praise or not.”
“So,” I said. “That’s typical diva behavior. Not exactly unexpected for the frontman of a rock band, and not particularly different than the reports we’ve already heard.”
“True,” said Rodgers, “but what we didn’t know was how close Yellow Cobra had come to falling apart. According to the reporter, everyone butted heads with him at some point or another. Twice Chaz threatened to scuttle the band if everyone didn’t get in line and follow his creative direction, and on another occasion, B. B. threatened to leave but ultimately stayed after Chaz threatened to blackball him.”
I sat up a little straighter. Hadn’t Billy Charles mentioned something about B. B. wanting to strike out on his own? Or rather, that he should.
“What exactly do you mean scuttle the band?” I asked. “And blackball how?”
“Blackball in the traditional sense,” said Rodgers. “He claimed he’d use his influence in the rock sphere to make sure B. B. never got another gig if he left. But as far as scuttling the band, apparently Chaz was the founding member, and the deal he signed with Benson Forsythe didn’t surrender his rights. He wrote the songs, owned the copyrights, and owned the rights to the band’s name and likeness. So, for example, if the other guys in the band wanted to strike out on their own, Chaz would’ve had the legal right to pick a bunch of scrubs off the street and keep performing under the Yellow Cobra name.”
Shay perked. “But I’m guessing if he died, that would no longer be the case.”
Rodgers smiled. “The journalist didn’t know. That’s for a lawyer with a copy of his intellectual property agreement to decide, but in most cases? Yes.”
“Which gives B. B. a motive for murder,” I said. “As well as Benson Forsythe. More so than we already suspected.”
Thankfully, Shay didn’t bring up my supernatural suspicions about the band manager. “Forsythe? How so?”
“For the reasons we already discussed,” I said. “He was losing money, stuck in a contract with Chaz with no way out. With a new frontman at the helm, and the Yellow Cobra name and brand intact? It could give the man a new lease on life.”
I heard heavy footsteps, followed by a deep voice. “Hey, look. It’s a party.”
Quinto had joined us at the door, a sheaf of papers in his oversized mitts.
Shay waved him in. “It is now
. What do you have?”
Quinto lifted the papers and approached the desk. “Your suggestion turned out to be spot on. We should’ve gone after the low hanging fruit first, but all the crazy elements of this case got us distracted, I guess. I dug in the archives, running background checks on all the major parties on your board. And wouldn’t you know it? A couple of them stuck out.”
All evidence of exhaustion had left Shay. She sat up like the proverbial rod to which her name alluded. “Who?”
“Diamond, or should I say Mickey Drummond,” said Quinto, peering at the sheets. “He has priors for blackmail and extortion. Served two years. And wouldn’t you know it, but his pal Dennis served four years for assault and battery.”
“A big guy like him?” I said. “I’m shocked.”
“Hey now,” said Quinto. “We’re not all bad.”
“He wore a skull and crossbones t-shirt, though,” I said. “Kind of a giveaway.”
“And that’s not all,” said Quinto. “I just received news from a runner. Yellow Cobra? They’re playing a show tonight.”
“And I think we all know who’s singing and playing rhythm guitar,” said Shay.
I eyed her. She shot me and Quinto a glance. The big guy gave me and her a nod. Rodgers seemed upset at being excluded.
“So…what does this mean?” Rodgers said. “Diamond and Dennis did it?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Shay. “But I’d wager my lunch money the pair was involved, probably with another member of Yellow Cobra or its management. And lucky for us, they’re all getting together in one spot. I say we head back to the Moxy, gather up the lot of them, and put this thing to bed.”
The metaphor might’ve not been the choicest given our collective exhaustion, but her sentiment was well taken. I had my suspicions about who’d been involved, but I needed to put their feet to the fire, drug overdoses or alibis be damned. Only then might we finally get some answers.
36
A crowd had assembled outside the Moxy’s exterior, mostly held in check by movable posts strung together with rope. A pair of bouncers—Dennis not among them—had herded the assembled masses into some semblance of a line. The patrons shuffled forward, eager to hand the bouncers their cash and be let inside. Among them I saw an overabundance of young ladies, some with wild hairstyles and brightly-colored locks, others with studded leather jackets and tight denim pants. Some even rocked homemade apparel with Yellow Cobra patches and embroidery. As I skirted them, heading toward the side door with Steele, Rodgers and Quinto beside me, I overheard snippets of conversation.
“A special showing? Can you believe it? Normally they only perform a few nights a week.”
“Two nights. But I overheard the band has big news to announce. Maybe another international tour?”
“Not what I heard. Rumor has it they booted Chaz from the band.”
Gasps.
“Not Chaz! They can’t replace him!”
“That’s not what I heard. Someone told me he left of his own accord. He’s going to start a new band. Green Panther.”
“You’re all wrong. I heard he got drunk last night and quit. Now he’s groveling trying to make his way back, but the rest of the band won’t let him. Not like they need him. B. B.’s my favorite. He’s the real creative spark.”
I left the argument of who was better than who in my wake and cracked the side door. With the sun having set, the club’s interior no longer seemed so dark and oppressive, but a low roar emanated from inside. Cigarette smoke wafted into my nostrils, as did hints of other burnable herbs and cured plants of questionable legality.
I nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s check the ready room.”
We headed down the steps to the door with the gold star affixed to it. I tested the handle and found it amenable to my touch.
“Freeze!” I said as it swung open. “NWPD. Hands in the—”
I stopped in mid-phrase, realizing the quartet of floozies with fluffed up hair who lounged across the sofas inside weren’t particularly impressed with my vocal ferocity. They peered at me with glazed eyes, mildly confused and unfazed by the lingering smell of camel droppings and the implications thereof. I know I wouldn’t have sat on those couches, not after having seen what the camel had done to them.
“Say…” the one closest to me said as she puffed on a cigarette. “You’re not with the band.”
The one on the end noticed me, as I did her. Thankfully, or not depending on one’s viewpoint, her shirt actually covered her breasts this time.
“Hey,” said Crystal, swiping her mostly blonde bangs out from in front of her face. “You’re the detectives from earlier. You ever figure out what happened to Chaz?”
Shay wasn’t in the mood for any crap, literally or figuratively, I imagined. “Where is everyone, Crystal?”
“Who?” she said. “You mean the band? They’re already on stage. Well, behind the stage, I think. You know…getting ready?”
“What about Diamond?” asked Shay.
Crystal’s face lit up. “Didn’t you hear? He’s taking over for Chaz. He’s finally getting his big break!”
Or taking it, I thought. “And his buddy, Big D?”
The light left Crystal. “I don’t know. Up around the stage, too, I guess.”
One of the floozies on the couch blew out a long puff of smoke and eyed Rodgers. “Hi there, cutie. You like to rock?”
Rodgers gulped. “I’m having flashbacks to when I met Allison. Get me out of here, Quinto.”
Quinto shook his head and muttered under his breath. “Lucky bastard…”
Shay pointed a finger at Crystal. “Stay here. Don’t get in the way.”
“Get in the way of what?” she said, but we’d already turned and headed back the way we’d came. We left Quinto by the side door, in part because he’d better hold the exit in the event that Big D tried to make a break for it, but also because his rock quarry-like face was better equipped to rebuff the groupies’ attempted affections.
Rodgers, Steele, and I wormed our way through the side halls toward the front of the club, pushing past patrons who’d jammed the spaces in hopes of finding a spot for quiet conversation. As we walked, I heard the occasional twang of a guitar or cymbal crash over the crowd noise.
After much effort and mumbled apologies, we forced our way into the music hall proper. Seemingly the instant we did so, a hush fell over the crowd. I turned my eyes toward the stage to see the Yellow Cobra guys, Sammy, Ritchie, and B. B., the latter in a frilly long sleeve shirt that hid his mauled chest, walk onstage to wild applause. With them strutted Diamond, outfitted in a bejeweled black leather vest that matched his stage name in sparkle if not value. They all headed straight to their instruments, Ritchie diving behind his drum set and the others snagging their guitars.
“Thank you!” shouted B. B., waving at the crowd. “Thanks for coming! We are…Yellow Cobra!”
With that simply announcement, the band attacked their instruments. A cool catchy melody swept over the arena. “Creatures of the Night,” I quickly realized by the lyrics. Diamond sang.
I turned to Steele, speaking in a voice loud enough for her and Rodgers to hear me but hopefully not so loud as to upset the surrounding patrons. “Well, we arrived at about the worst possible time.”
“No kidding,” she said. “I don’t know how happy these folks would be to have us end their show prematurely—and that’s assuming we could even reach the stage right now.”
A piqued voice rose above the crowd from the direction of the entrance. “Excuse me. Sorry. Make way. Coming through.”
The masses parted, and Phillips squirted through the void.
“There you are,” he said. “Boy, am I glad to find you by the door. I wasn’t looking forward to fighting my way through the crowd in search of you.”
The poor guy looked disheveled. I gave him a nod. “Phillips, what’s going on? Shouldn’t you be at home by now? Don’t
tell me they’ve got you working overtime?”
“You guys aren’t the only ones burning the candle at both ends,” he said. “Don’t worry. I volunteered. But that’s not why I’m here. Earlier today, while you were gone, we received a message from the Mackinaw Street Precinct. Something about a stolen transportation cage and a bunch of missing animals from the New Welwic Zoo. We added it to the alert board at the station for the patrol cops to be aware of.”
“Gods be praised, the system works,” I said.
“Sort of,” said Shay. “Nobody went to talk to Zookeeper Pope, and we weren’t alerted about it even though Quinto had already brought a camel back to the station. Is that really why you’re here, Phillips?”
He nodded. “A couple of bluecoats found the cart and sent word. I knew you’d want to be alerted straight away.”
“Because you heard Daggers and Steele visited the zoo,” said Rodgers. “Thoughtful, if a little excessive.”
“Uh…no, sir.”
“No?” I said. “Then why in the world are you here?”
“Well, because of the cart,” said Phillips. “But I didn’t know you’d gone to the zoo. Rather, the beat cops said they found a large quantity of blood at the scene. You’re homicide detectives. I figured it was the right call.”
Shay slapped me on the arm. “You hear that? Sounds like we finally found our crime scene. Way to go, Phillips!”
The young bluecoat smiled. “Thanks, Captain.”
I massaged my arm and frowned. “Yeah, thanks. Finally some good timing to counteract the bad. You up for more overtime pay, Phillips?”
“What do you have in mind, sir?”
“Stay here. Check out the show,” I said. “But watch the door. Make sure none of the Cobras weasel their way out. Quinto’s guarding the back, so that’s covered. Rodgers? Maybe you can locate Benson? I want to make sure he doesn’t slink off, either.”
