Titan's Day

by Dan Stout

  Catherine, on the other hand, cut a contemporary figure. Her clothes were lighter weight, a beige-toned skirt and white blouse and vest. Her hair was the same lush black as her brother’s, shoulder length and waved. She wore a quarter of the jewelry and carried twice the air of command as Thomas. She spoke first.

  “Hello, Mr. Dungan. Would you like to introduce your friends?”

  Dungan stuck his hands into his windbreaker pockets. “You know them from the papers.”

  “Oh yes,” said Catherine. “The heroes of the ice plains.” Lips pursed, as if she had more to say, but she held her tongue. When not speaking, her bottom lip had the same droop as her brother’s. The twins’ default expression was a perpetual pout.

  I tipped my head. “Miss CaCuri.”

  “Call me Katie, please,” she said. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you both.” She smiled mechanically and intertwined her fingers over a knee. “You can leave now, Mr. Dungan.”

  It was the second time she’d ignored Dungan’s title of detective, and the first attempt to separate the three of us. The tension was spiking, but before it could ignite the doors opened and we had another visitor.

  No-Dick Donnie strolled into the room barefoot and shit-faced. He wore white linen slacks and a light blue T-shirt that highlighted his rail-thin ribs, all topped by rainbow suspenders. His hair feathered out in cascading waves, sandy locks that swirled like wisps of snow backlit by the fading sun. The sorcerer on skates rolled in behind him, the squeak of her wheels barely audible on the carpet. Black and red ribbons threaded through piercings in her head fin, streaming in her wake as she zipped a loop on the raised circle that surrounded the sunken center of the room. The bodyguard pressed himself into the wall, allowing her to skate past unimpeded. She gave him a quick salute.

  “Thanks, Biggs!” The words were a half shout, spoken with the kind of unconscious volume that came from staying too long at a loud concert. The sorcerer braked behind our host, knee kicked out at a choreographed angle, head thrown back and a drunken grin on her face.

  “Donnie Starshine!” she announced, a royal herald proclaiming the king’s arrival.

  Donnie ambled in our direction, his expression every bit as relaxed as the wide-grinning cartoon sun on his T-shirt, peeking out from behind the Mount and giving a thumbs-up. I cleared my throat, figuring it was worth trying to salvage something from this disaster.

  “Hi, Donnie,” I said. One sentence in and I’d managed to not refer to his missing junk. I hoped Dungan appreciated my restraint. “I’m—”

  “I know who you are.” His voice was soft and contemplative, seemingly oblivious to the possibility of violence erupting in his living room. He drew uncomfortably close, eyeing me and Jax like he’d discovered something rare. “Dungan said he could get you to come in, but I didn’t believe him. Cops are all liars, right?” His smile uncurled for the first time since he’d strolled into the room. “No offense.”

  “Most people are full of it,” I said. “Cops and crooks alike.”

  His face bloomed back to life, and he turned to Dungan. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready for what?” Dungan’s eyes danced around the room.

  “I told you we’d talk if you brought your friends. You brought them, so we’ll talk.” He walked away, and paused at the door, beckoning to Dungan. “Coming?”

  Dungan crossed his arms as he turned from Donnie to the twins, the flush of anger spreading upward from his collar. I imagined him doubling down, maybe even pulling Jane’s case out of spite. If there was a chance to recover from this mess, we had to take it.

  “Go ahead,” I told him. “You might as well talk to him. We’ll be fine.”

  Thomas grinned at my words and stuck one thumb in his waistcoat, idly pulling out his pocket watch with the other hand.

  “Of course you’ll be fine,” said Donnie. “Micah will stay with you.”

  The Gillmyn sorcerer half rolled, half stomped across the carpet to give Donnie a hug, nuzzling the side of her head against his.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “If anyone acts up, I’ll crush their skulls.”

  * * *

  The doors shut behind Dungan, Donnie, and Biggs, muffling the sound of the pool party that continued unabated. It seemed the revelers didn’t notice Donnie himself wasn’t there. Or they didn’t care.

  Jax took a seat on the couch. I stayed on my feet, near my partner. Gold and brass-striped can lights shone overhead, their spotlights glinting off a chandelier’s clear crystal teardrops, each one dangling down in perfect order, ephemeral and out of reach.

  Thomas stared at me. His ears had more lumps than a pile of mashed potatoes, a result of countless strikes to the side of his head. The mark of someone who liked to use their fists even when the outcome wasn’t certain.

  “I met you before?” He had a deep voice, an impressive baritone that gave him a certain gravitas.

  A shadow of irritation disturbed the calm lake that was Katie’s face. “I doubt it, my dear. Detective Carter is a man who interacts with the most vulgar sort of people.” She leaned forward and gave her knee a squeeze, a strangely patronizing movement, as if she were reading aloud to children. “But then someone has to keep us all safe at night. Isn’t it so?”

  As a Homicide detective, I’d crossed paths with plenty of underworld players. We mostly mopped up after low-level killings, while the OCU tried to pin the big players with racketeering charges, or the kind of intricate accounting errors that had brought down several untouchable giants of organized crime. Operators like the CaCuris stayed safe in their private clubhouses while the bleeding and dying happened on the streets. I’d spent most of my career cleaning up after puppeteers like them.

  Katie peered at me over steepled fingers. “Let’s talk about why you’re here.”

  “Let’s.” I dropped my coat across the couch’s back.

  Micah pushed away from the liquor cabinet, now holding a fruity rum drink with a spiral straw and a small bowl of olives. She skated across the room and fell into an overstuffed chair, legs sprawled over a cushioned armrest as she kicked the wheels of her skates and stared at the ceiling. The prayer beads lay casually across her chest.

  “You’re here to listen to a proposition. That’s all we ask.” Katie’s voice was modulated, with only the tiniest hint of excitement. A teacher telling students that the field trip is going to be fun, no matter how dull it seems.

  I rolled up my sleeves and crossed my arms, shoulder holster on display.

  “Are we here for that? Or because your crew’s been leaving bodies around?”

  “Don’t know what you mean.” Thomas sneered, and at that moment he seemed very much like a little boy who thought he was about to put one over on the adults.

  “Cetus St. Beisht is dead,” Jax said. “And we all know who’d like to see that happen.”

  Katie CaCuri’s reaction was limited to a tightening of the lips. Her brother was much more vocal.

  “Don’t know about it.” He stepped out from behind his sister’s chair. “Don’t want to know about it.” Thomas positioned himself between us and his sister, feet hip-width apart, pulling back his jacket to rest his hands on either side of a garishly large belt buckle featuring twin grinning skulls, staring into each other’s eyes against an oil rig backdrop. “So you and your throat talker can shut up about it.”

  There was a long, tense moment. Then Katie uncrossed her legs and extended one foot, stretching to tap the toe of her shoe against her brother’s calf. Thomas frowned, but shuffled back to his place behind her chair, leash pulled in tight.

  “There seems to be some confusion.” Katie’s voice was smooth, unfazed by the potential for violence. “I have no criminal record. I own and operate a social club.”

  Thomas rumbled, and Katie amended her statement with the slightest of smiles. “My brother and I own the club,
that is.” She gave a brief pause after giving Thomas his due. “And while he may have had some past issues with the law, his societal debt has been paid in full.” Her hands moved to the armrests. “We take an interest in the community. Neighbors helping neighbors, the way it ought to be. Maybe if more people followed our lead there’d be less need for professionals such as yourselves.”

  “You might be right,” I said, “if you gave a damn about the people in your neighborhood.” I thought of the street dealer who Ronald, the local kid, claimed didn’t work for the CaCuris. “Or is it even your neighborhood anymore? I hear you’ve got small-time dealers walking all over on Ringsridge these days.”

  Katie sat up straighter at the dig, a minor tell. Thomas’s reaction was far more pronounced. The tendons of his neck strained at the starched collar of his gangster outfit, and his hand visibly shook as he pulled the pocket watch from its nest and wound the spring. I recognized the tactic, using a prop to focus and control his anger. The department shrinks had told me to try the same thing. Judging from the look on his face, it wasn’t working. Thomas had a reputation for his temper, but to be set off like that from a single smartass comment meant it was far worse than I thought.

  Ajax straightened the creases in his coat. “Care to hear my thoughts?”

  “Don’t care what you think, lockjaw.” Thomas CaCuri’s voice was guttural and slightly slurred. Not from drink or drugs, but simple rage. He drew the red pocket square from his coat, wrapping the pocket watch in its silken fabric before tucking it back into his waistcoat. He glared at us, grinning, head lowered, a bull preparing to charge. A chill settled over me. He wasn’t using a prop to curb his anger; he was focusing it. I started to worry about our odds of walking out of there.

  “Don’t be rude, Thomas.” Catherine was still seated. “And don’t be overly specific. After all, we don’t particularly care what either of these shit-heels thinks.” She smiled, a little color behind her cheeks. “Not just the lockjaw.”

  The lights flickered on and off. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Micah, still sprawled on the chair. Her thumb hovered over the prayer beads, her ribbon-decked head fin standing at attention. Both her nails and the tips of her fin spines were painted an amethyst purple.

  “Forgot to mention,” she said. “The hall with the photos? It’s got a little spritzer in the ceiling, that put a fine mist of manna on your heads as you walked by. Linked your noggins to these.” Micah poked the small bowl of olives that sat on her stomach. “So keep it civil or, you know, you’ll get crushed and I won’t get a martini.” She raised her glass but missed the straw, twisting her lips to bring it to her mouth and slurp at the dregs of her drink.

  Jax watched me, one mandible twitching. Was she bluffing? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it wasn’t worth the risk.

  “Alright.” I turned back to Katie. “We can all agree this is pointless.”

  “No, ‘pointless’ is the rest of your day,” she said. “Taking payouts and protecting the filth who prey on the city. This conversation had a very real point to it.”

  “Did it?” I tilted my head, like a confused dog. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Her eyes bored into mine. “I got to see you in person and decide that I don’t like you. And I’m not alone there, am I? You’re hated by TPD, hated by the fools and cowards who cling to the AFS’s apron strings. But because of dumb luck, you’re a hero to the people, who associate your face with the manna strike. And those people are my voters. That’s why I’m willing to set aside my feelings and make this offer.” The muscles in her calves twitched as she shifted position. “I’ll let you on the big stage. You can play the hero of the ice plains in front of a crowd. And all you have to do is say that the best choice for alderman is clear. It’s CaCuri.”

  I tugged my lower lip, thinking things over. If Katie thought the idea of standing in front of a crowd was appealing in the least, then she didn’t know half as much about me as she thought. It wasn’t the offer that interested me—it was the trail of events that had led us there.

  We were there because Dungan practically forced us, but he’d done that because he’d been leveraged by Donnie. And the appearance of the twins made it clear who’d spurred Donnie to make that request. Now we were listening to Katie’s pitch to help them gain city-wide power and influence. Dungan had hinted that he wanted to play the gangs against each other, but was it possible the twins were playing him?

  So yeah, I thought about her pitch. And I didn’t like it.

  “I’m a hard pass on that.” I pointed at my partner. “Ajax?”

  “Same here.” He said it with a whistle of confidence.

  Katie sneered. I stared her down and did my best not to sneer back.

  I failed.

  “Hypocrite.” She leaned back, spreading her arms as if pronouncing judgment from on high. “You run your mouth about the city, but you don’t give a damn about it.” Her hands dropped to the armrests. “Do you realize what you’re fighting? The special election is an opportunity to tip the balance of power and throw those newcomer bastards out on their land-grabbing asses. There’s a flood of scavengers coming in to steal the wealth while the people of this town have been working for generations to keep the rest of the world flush with oil. Now that we found manna, the parasites are crawling out of the woodwork. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

  “Believe me, I’m seeing no shortage of scavengers and parasites today.”

  She reclined her head against the dramatic swoop of the chair. “When you change your mind, you send us a message. Let us know that Titanshade should be proud.” She beamed. “We’ll know what you mean.”

  Jax and I stared at her in silence.

  “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Detectives. I wonder if we’ll speak again.” She addressed her twin without breaking eye contact with me. “Let’s go, Thomas.”

  He held out a hand and she took it, pulling herself upright. She had a hitch in her step, as if sporting an injury to her leg or foot.

  “Thank you for coming,” Micah called out. “There’s someone outside the door to walk you out.” She pointed to Jax and myself, and spoke in a quieter tone. “You two wait here. Give ’em time to leave.”

  I kept my eyes on the twins. “Be seeing you around.”

  I was answered by a silent snarl from Thomas, tucking the red pocket square back into place before the gaudy doors shut behind them.

  “Well, that was something,” Jax said. He stretched some of the tension out of his back, while Micah hummed a dissonant tune to herself.

  “Should you let your boss know we’re done?” I asked.

  “He already knows. He’s been listening in.” She grinned and flipped one of the ribbons that hung from her head fin behind her ear. The flesh of her ear had a slight shimmer. If she’d had manna on her ear when she nuzzled the side of Donnie’s head . . .

  “He’ll hear what we say, so don’t get too flirty.” She chuckled as she pulled the straw out of her empty drink. “But, you know, he’s also trying to listen to your friend. So I’ll let it loose. Besides,” head tilted and arm cocked she ran a hand over her ear and mouth, undoing the invisible connection as if she were loosening the strings on a violin, “we don’t want to use up the juice, now do we?”

  A short while later the door opened and Donnie and Dungan returned, trailed by Biggs. Our fellow detective was red-cheeked and grinning like a wildcatter who just struck oil.

  He came around the couch, and I slid to my left, blocking his path.

  “We’re good?” I said.

  “Yeah.” Dungan’s pat on my arm turned into a slight shove as he pushed past me to the glass-faced liquor cabinet. “We’re good.”

  I grabbed his shoulder, crinkling the fabric of his windbreaker as I turned him to face me.

  “What’re you up to?”

  He leaned in, voice hovering ab
ove a whisper. “Donnie played it like the CaCuris made him ask me to bring you here. That gives us both cover for talking. It’s coming together perfect.”

  I squinted at him. Did he really think that the stoned guy in rainbow suspenders was manipulating major players like the CaCuri twins?

  He gripped my shoulder. “I’m on this,” he said. “Just remember that all this stays between us.” He’d already given me his rationalizations in the car. And the flush on his cheeks made it clear he was getting exactly what he wanted.

  “Whatever,” I said. “Stay out of my way with the Jane Doe and we’re solid.” I half turned, then paused. “And get that security footage to me in the next day.”

  “Sure, sure.” He pushed past me, headed toward the wet bar on the far wall. “For the record,” he said, “you know I wouldn’t let a case get ignored.”

  “But you’d take it out from under us.”

  “Hells yes, I would.” He helped himself to a glass of Donnie’s liquor. “If that’s what it took to get you to listen to reason? I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  And that was the problem. Because no matter what he did with her case, someone would end up putting Jane on a back burner, a problem to be puzzled out when there was time between high-profile busts. Dungan might not bury Jane’s case, but he wouldn’t care about her as much as she deserved. As much as we all deserved.

  I watched him for another beat, then noticed that Donnie had sidled up to Jax and started a conversation. I left Dungan to his cocktail as the financier of the criminal elite motioned me closer.

  “We didn’t get to talk,” he said. “But it was nice to meet you. And believe me, a lot of people have plans for you.” His grin was as big as his eyes were wide, and I couldn’t tell if he was threatening us or not. Then he waved Micah over, and suddenly we were all shaking hands again. “In fact,” said Donnie, “we wanted to talk to you as well.”