String of Murder

by brett hicks

  I fired back, but there was no malice in my tone, and he knew it. He also knew I would skin his sack if he touched Avery.

  Well, shit, two days on this new job, and I am already having to fend off the horny young males!

  “It was so much easier when all I had to do was kick someone in the sack, or beat them senseless, to get them to back down.”

  Sting chortled again, and said, “Aye, the arduous tasks we parents face daily.”

  I didn’t point out his age, or the fact that—to both our knowledge—Sting was not a father. He raised a lot of street kids, and he fended for the little girls as they began to bud into pretty young women. He was not a bad guy, not really, and I knew he wouldn’t hurt Avery while I was gone, hence why his scrawny little hide was still laying snug on my couch like a lion perched on a rock sunbathing.

  “You be careful out there tonight, lass. This bloke does not play games, and he certainly does not strike me as one to go soft on ye, just because of that bloody badge of yers.”

  I bobbed my head in a concession to his point, and I said, “True enough, but he better pray he doesn’t run into me. Which hand did you say you stabbed?”

  “I didn’t, but it was his right hand, not that it mattered, the bloke was a lefty from how he lashed out at me. Again, be careful with this guy.”

  Sting did not often warn me about anything, he knew I could handle anything the streets threw at me, but for him to be this worried, well I was beginning to worry as well.

  “I’ll keep safe, and I’ll be checking into some possible connections. I think it’s time for me to say hello to our old pal, The Angel.”

  Sting’s eyes widened, and he expelled a breath.

  “Bugger-all, if he kills ye, can I keep staying here?”

  I gave him a faux-baleful look and a single-finger-salute. I could hear Sting’s laughter echoing off the walls, all the way down the first flight of stairs. I said at least a few dozen curses targeted at horny teen boys, and I am pretty sure I invented a few new ones towards the end of my descent.

  It was long past time for me to pay Teddy Angel a visit. I had a sneaking suspicion he might be able to give me some insights into my case. Teddy has helped me a time or two, a little tip, or some little tidbit about criminal thinking. He had technically been a lawman himself if government assassin qualifies one to be called “law.” Teddy does not see any reason to not assist with cases on an as-needed basis. Despite the death surrounding him, I had never really felt Teddy meant me any harm. He could, and likely would have, if he knew who I really was, and what I was truly capable of doing. Still, he was the devil I knew in this city.

  Bobby couldn’t follow me down to Teddy Angel’s favorite haunt, because it was a starkly Irish and British only establishment. My credit on the streets was my only real pass through the doors, so I had to play it carefully. Teddy hung out where many of the crooks of the city sat down for drinks to discuss “business.”

  I climbed onto my steam bike and I roared off into the deepening shadows of the night streets of Nexus City. I was strapped, and I was packing five daggers. I would just have to hope that I wouldn’t need them because I didn’t like my chances of walking out of a mob-run bar by my lonesome self.

  Twenty-Two:

  The Irish Rose was a large two-story pub, with a dance floor on the second floor. The place was wall-to-wall with red-heads. To say this put me on edge, would be a massive understatement of my mood!

  The doorman stopped me, and he leaned in to frisk me, and I flipped my leather coat open to show him my large caliber revolver out in the open.

  “That’s not all I’m packing either pal, so just keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself.”

  My accent was lit with Irish, but more the border version used in Nexus by Colonials. I didn’t dare try to pass for an islander here, it would be instantly noticeable. Besides, I looked more like a Viking descendant, than a daughter of Ireland.

  A man inside chortled deeply in amusement, and he gestured to my badge.

  “Frank, can’t ye see who this lass is? She’s the bloody black badge girl, you know, the fastest gun in the city.”

  I looked over, and I saw Thomas McNeil smiling at me. He was about thirty-two, and he was the oldest son of Franklin McNeil, the head of the mob family. Thomas and I had met a few times, but I was a bit surprised at his rush to my aid. I frowned at him, and he beckoned me with his fingers.

  Being that he was the prince of this watering hole, I had to comply with his silent request. That did not mean my hand moved an inch from my large gun, and his large burly goons stood in flanking formation at either side, they took note of my hand’s perch. My eyes were narrowed, and my mind was already calculating who to shoot first, just in case it came down to a quarrel.

  Thomas McNeil was a large barrel-chested man, with deeply mahogany-red hair. He had bright sky-blue eyes, not as lightly colored as my icy-blue, but very close. He was a son of the Irish isle, through-and-through. He was wearing his usual silken suit that was perfectly tailored to his muscular build. He always seemed to be in a perfectly prim and proper suit. These criminals were sophisticated, not the back-alley cutthroats of Westwood City. They attend balls, and art exhibitions, and even donate to charities. In short, they were a different level of dangerous, and far more powerful, and long-reaching.

  Tonight, his silken suit was finely tailored seafoam green, with silver cuffs, and I am sure he had buttery soft and shiny leather dress shoes on under the table. I looked around, and I noted the absence of the usual hustle and bustle of crowds seeking refills, and women chatting up gentleman for the evening. The Irish Rose looked dead, slow, and the music playing was more subdued. An Irish quartet of strings, horns, and a bagpipe player regaled the slim crowd with a ballad of the last king of sovereign Ireland. This was a song that was illegal on the Britannia homeland. In the colonies, the officials were spread too thin to fuss over such matters. Here it was just justified as, “Tales of yesteryear.” While I didn’t care in the least what his band played, it made me just slightly more on edge. This was a powerful man, and he was sitting at the very front table of his club tonight. He was stalking the entrance like an avenger waiting for something to strike out.

  “I see you’ve not retired to your usual VIP section. Slumming it with the riffraff tonight, are we?”

  I asked by way of greeting, and he smiled a slimy smile.

  “You have a mouth on ye, a mouth that would be so much better used in other manners.”

  I managed to keep the disgusted look off my face. My expressions were masked by ten years of police work. You either learn to be a damn good poker player or criminals will walk all over you. What your body, and your face tells people, can sometimes end up getting you killed. I have no doubts, that if Thomas McNeil thought he could spot a glimmer of weakness in me, he would capitalize.

  “But, then what would you do with all that money you spend in the brothels?”

  I snarked back at him, and his eyes still looked amused, Thomas was an odd duck. He would occasionally chat me up, even proposition me, where his brothers dodged me like I was carrying syphilis.

  “Oh, there is never any shortage of opportunities where money is concerned lassie. How are you this evening, Julia?”

  He didn’t ever call me “detective,” or anything other than my first name. I was used to men calling me whatever they thought was appropriate. This world is advancing, but not fast enough to rid it of the patriarchal mindset. So, his little digs and his refusal to call me by my title didn’t even phase me in the slightest.

  “So, you going to buy a lady some of that fancy top-shelf stuff us poor detectives only get to hear about, or should I go look for my own drink?”

  Thomas smiled wider and his eyes danced in mischief.

  “Heavens, where are me manners, this is an Irish pub and dance after all.”

  He snapped his fingers, and I saw the stocky bartender hop into action as if he had a cord attached to his neck.
/>   “I know you like whiskey, never vodka, so how about we drink some of the finest ten-year-old Native Nation stuff?”

  He smiled wickedly. It was illegal to import from the Native Nation, and he was floating that law in my face. This was a test, he wanted to see what my reaction would be. I shrugged, and I smiled at him and said, “Thanks, I’ve always wondered what kind of fineries they might have across the borders.”

  Thomas didn’t let on what he thought of my response, which was probably as neutral as one could sound, considering the state of inflamed tensions at the borders. Most cops have a much more hostile point of view towards the Natives, but the Colonials are very unpredictable. Being born of the same land as the Natives, we have widely ranging feelings towards them. Letting Thomas know that I just didn’t care, was probably the safest play I had right now. If he should suspect me to slant in one direction, or the other, then he might dig deeper into my ties and connections. I did not need a man like this digging into my past, nor the army of DIC’s he could hire. (Detective Independent Contractors, or DIC’s.)

  “You are as hard to place, as ever Julia. What brings you to my fine establishment?”

  I wiggled my finger playfully at him, and said, “No business with a dry glass, mate.”

  Thomas chuckled, and he conceded my point.

  “A woman after me own heart. It’s such a shame that you do not keep male company.”

  My expression stayed neutral, I gave him nothing, and I said, “Oh, I keep male company when the right one catches my eye.”

  Yes, the one and only male to ever manage that! Though it was the truth, and Thomas could see this in my expression. He frowned, looking like he was suddenly confused. He must have been looking into me or at least asking around about me. While I did not hide my sexual proclivities from my friends or people I knew I could trust, I didn’t want a mob sub-boss to know such a dark secret. Blackmail is part of their family business.

  “I see, so there is hope for me yet then?”

  He smiled wickedly again, and his eyes shown with some triumph. Thomas’ opinion of himself was so excessive, that he didn’t for a second consider that anyone could turn him down. This was likely the source of his interest in me. Men like him need to conquer the untamable and bring the hot mysterious female detective into submission on her knees, or belly, or back, I know how they think.

  The large stocky bartender approached, and he sat down two large crystal glasses filled half-way with dark amber liquid. I picked up mine, and I inhaled the scent, and I took a long sip. The potent alcohol hit me like a kick to the gut. My throat burned, and I felt heat travel down my throat, to my belly. I let out a long breath, and I savored the rich spicy liquor.

  “That’s the very definition of “the good stuff,” I said, and I set my glass down. Thomas eyed me and said, “Not afraid I might poison your drink, Julia?”

  I waved him off dismissively, and said, “Please, we both know you wouldn’t poison such fine liquor, Thomas. That’s a crime worthy of death in your homeland.”

  Thomas knocked back his drink in one large gulp, proving his Irish constitution. He saluted me with his glass and said, “It is indeed, and may poisoners rot in the lowest bloody hell!”

  Thomas had lost his mother to poison by one of the other mob families, but nothing was ever proven. He was the most impacted by her death since he had to help raise his younger siblings, while working for his father full-time. He might be a wise-guy—as they call themselves—but he was also a human being. I happened to know a great deal about him and his family. I put in many hours trying to connect them to some of the known mob hits in the city. Instead of threatening me or freezing me out like the rest of his family, Thomas seemed to find amusement in our little exchanges.

  “So, what brings ye here tonight, lass?”

  I shrugged and said, “Can’t a girl just want a night out with a good stiff… drink.”

  I drug out the pause until finishing the last word, and Thomas looked equal-parts amused, and very randy. I needed to be careful, just so my mouth didn’t sign debts, that my body had no intention of paying off.

  “Oh, so ye come to my little pub fer your pleasure then, Julia?”

  I felt like I was going to need a bath after this conversation! His lustful tone was so rich, that it was almost sickening. It occurred to me, a little belatedly, that he was trying to see how I reacted to sexual advances. Thomas was not always this fresh with me. Believe it or not, we have had a few decent conversations that didn’t involve any police business or any sexual advancements. We are not friends, but that does not mean we have to treat each other with hostility.

  I gave him a faux-pout and I took another long sip of my blazingly strong drink.

  “Unfortunately, I am here on business tonight, Thomas. I’m here to pay my respects to The Angel. Is he in his usual spot?”

  Thomas’ mask slipped for a moment, and I saw caution and even some well-hidden fear.

  “Would it offend ye, if I said yer as crazy as you are beautiful?”

  I smiled and said, “That might actually be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Thomas.”

  He laughed, threw his head back, and just shook with laughter.

  “Shite, I’ve been going about this all wrong with ye then, haven’t I?”

  I took another sip, and I shrugged.

  “It’s not my job to tell you how to sneak past my defenses, Mr. McNeil.”

  Thomas’ eyes were burning at the challenge laid out before him. I felt sick, and I certainly had no desire to wake up with a thug’s seed in my body! I needed to see if Thomas knew anything about the murders, and I needed to get the hell away from him, before he gets too drunk tonight, and assumes I have agreed to something that I wouldn’t ever, even if he had the right equipment for the tasks!

  “Right you are love, my apologies. What do you need to speak with the Angel about?”

  Thomas asked, giving me the in I needed much sooner than I could have hoped for. I slammed back my drink, and I finished the rest of the liquor. The burning and tingling ran down my body, and I expelled another long breath.

  “You know about the murders?”

  Thomas’ eyes told me he was annoyed and slightly offended.

  “Everyone this side of the bloody Atlantic knows about the murders. Shame that, waste of fine women. Didn’t know them well, but I had seen them both around, I used to watch Mary play football. She was a bloody ace player!”

  Thomas leaned in and narrowed his gaze.

  “Why come here to ask about some nutter who should be fit for the white-jacket ward?”

  Let’s see how he reacts to this tidbit.

  I thought to myself.

  “A friend of mine was attacked by a red-orange haired bloke. He was asking around for me about a little girl I had recently taken in. At the time I didn’t know she was the daughter of Mary Sanders. When I got her to talk tonight, she described the killer the same as my friend. Orange-red hair, Irish accent, and he wore brown and tan colors.”

  I left out the tidbit about the codeword. I figured I might be able to get some use out of that later, assuming no one figured out that Sting had confided that little secret to me. Thomas’ eyes widened, and his nostrils flared wildly.

  “It’s not one of my lads!”

  He slammed his fist down with a thunderclap of power and fury. I felt the table rumble and quake.

  “You say this git was wearing my colors? How can you be so sure?”

  I lean in, and I ignored his sudden wrath and I leveled him with a no-bullshit look.

  “Enough for me to be down here, instead of off chasing some other lead.”

  Thomas’ eyes were a chaotic pool of fury and calculation in equal parts. He was volatile when angry, and angry mob bosses tended to make for very poor company. My hand inched towards one of my hidden dirks, he seemed to notice this, and he leaned back and blew out a long breath. When he looked back at me, he was all calm, cool, and perfectly business-lik
e.

  “Look around you lass, does this look like something I would want or approve? My bloody pub is nearly empty, and now I have Colonial bobbies kicking in me door. This is bugger-all for a businessman like me.”

  That was a pretty compelling argument since the organized crime was all about making the most money possible. They were more into keeping their actions under police radar, Colonial, or Brit. Thomas’ outburst before had also seemed very real, very raw. If he had any knowledge of the crimes, he would have been more prepared for police questions, should they ever come calling at his door. No, Thomas was innocent—for once.

  I held up a hand, and said, “Since this is in your best interest, just this once, can I rely on your cooperation, should it become necessary?”

  Thomas snapped his fingers, and the large man came back around and poured us both another half-glass of amber whiskey. He raised his glass to me, and said, “Aye, let us drink to cooperation, and I will tell me lads, to be up and out of yer way for now. You find this git, and you make it right and clear my family had nothing to do with this bloody business.”

  I didn’t like doing anything to help a mob family, even in such a case, but one image of Avery’s tear-streaked face in my mind, and I picked up the glass and toasted.

  “Aye, we have an accord, but once the dust settled, we are back to our sides of the line, Thomas.”

  He smiled wickedly, and the residual fury was still cooling, but he was back to thinking of money and sex, which seemed to be his two most treasured things in life.

  “May this gob-shite rot in the lowest level of hell next to poisoners fer framing up me family.”

  I clinked my glass to him, and I took a long gulp, and I managed to finish it in one go.

  “Thank you for the fine whiskey Thomas, if you will excuse me, I have to see a guy about a murder.”

  He nodded as if giving me permission to leave my seat. I didn’t bother fighting with his presumptuous behavior, it was a losing battle.

  I strode back into the back room, and I passed several stalls where from the sounds coming out, people had decided not to wait to get to a house to start their dalliances. I pretended not to hear, and I walked through the two wooden half-doors that separated the front of the bottom floor, from the even less crowded back bar.