The Fiddler's Dagger

by W H Lock

  Gartrell stared down at her chest for a moment in obvious lust, and then his brow furled. He looked up at Quinn as if an idea had suddenly shouldered its way into his brain, pushing out everything else along the way.

  "You know, sir," Gartrell said, the heavy gold bars in his hands forgotten. "An idea occurs to me?"

  Quinn looked at Gartrell with all the wide-eyed innocence he could muster. Which was a considerable amount as Quinn had a great deal of practice at looking innocent.

  "Your story earlier, about the smiling lady in Paris," Gartrell said.

  Quinn nodded and took the two gold bullion bars from Gartrell’s hands. He flipped them over to check the stamps. They were made of the purest gold, 99.99%. Quinn set them on the table next to the satchel. Each one stamped with the mark of the Confederacy.

  "It seems to me that you are the sort of gentleman that has some less than polite company friends. Is that a correct assertion?"

  "In the course of my work, I may have made the acquaintance of a few people who do not always stay within the confines of the law," Quinn said with a knowing wink.

  "What if, now hear me out; what if we were to talk to a few of these people who can obtain a copy or two of my dagger?" Gartrell turned back and removed two more gold bullion bars from his wall safe.

  "I can do that, certainly. But to what end?" Quinn took these from Gartrell's hand and set them on top of the other two after a quick check of the mint stamp. With the four bars, Quinn had just over $1 million. He opened the satchel and pulled out the forged book.

  "Well, now, if you follow me, we do something along the lines of that story you told me about the Mona Lisa." Gartrell sighed as he reached for the Oera Linda.

  Before Gartrell could touch the book, Quinn flipped it up out of Gartrell’s hand and said, “I want to make sure I understand. We spread around town that you just made a huge purchase and need to cover the extra spending. We invite several of your friends over who have asked about the dagger. Then we offer it to them, one at a time, but it's really the fake one?"

  Del gasped in surprise and pressed herself against Gartrell's back. "That is a bold plan," she said as she toyed with his hair.

  "What?" Gartrell said. He took a moment to turn away from the book.

  "Your plan," Del whispered.

  He looked at them with a vacant expression for a moment.

  She smiled at him as if he were the most impressive intellect in the world. "Your plan to have us spread word around town that you are in need of money, and then sell those fake daggers to your friends at a tidy profit."

  Gartrell grinned as if a ray of sunshine had burst through the clouds of his brain.

  "Indeed! I am glad you were able to come along. But, I wonder, how long will it take to make copies of the dagger? It doesn't seem like something that can be done quickly? I must confess I am unfamiliar in the ways of chicanery, sir."

  "That depends," Quinn said.

  "On what does it depend," Gartrell asked.

  "Like anything else, there's fast, cheap, and good. You get to pick any two." Quinn nodded and smiled. He placed the bars of gold into the yellow leather satchel.

  Gartrell deflated at the idea of spending more money.

  Quinn said, "How well do they know this dagger?"

  "What?"

  "How often do you have them in here to look at it? Like, do you think they could pick it out of a line up if it robbed a bank?"

  "I’m not sure I follow you," Gartrell said, his hand going back to the book. Before he could open it, Del’s hand slid down his arm and pulled his hand away. She put his hand on her waist.

  Del said, "If they don't know what it looks like more than a glimpse, how would they know you were selling them a fake?" she whispered in his ear.

  Sudden understanding dawned on Gartrell. Quinn wondered if Gartrell would need to go lay down for a bit, given he'd experienced multiple epiphanies in one day. He might develop a headache.

  "Yes! I haven't had them down here more than once or twice. As long as it's close how would they know the difference?" Gartrell eagerly turned to Quinn and said, "How long will it take to have several convincing fakes made?"

  Quinn checked his phone for the time and said, "I can be back here in about an hour with a few that look like a dagger used to kill some primitive."

  A cloud of suspicion passed over Gartrell's face. But before it could develop into a storm of doubt, Del stepped in and nibbled on Gartrell’s ear.

  "Maybe give us two hours," she said seductively. She ran her hand up along Gartrell's face and turned him to look up at her. Just when he seemed to pull away and look back at Quinn, she leaned in and kissed him hard on the lips.

  "I think I can make that happen," Quinn said. He sealed the satchel shut. It was significantly heavier than when he had brought it. He quietly let himself out of the house, leaving Del and Gartrell to whatever she had planned for him. As Quinn walked out of the Gartrell house with a satchel full of gold, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jeremiah Beauregard Gartrell the Fifth wrapped his arms around the waist of this incredible creature he had discovered. He buried his face between her breasts. He could not believe his luck in the last few days. He had found a piece of white history that was his alone. Once this Quinn fellow, as useful as his ilk were, brought him these replica daggers a simple call to a cousin of his at the District Attorney's office would bring Jeremiah back the bars of gold with little fuss.

  "You never gave me a tour of your bedroom," the woman said.

  Jeremiah found her touch to be intoxicating. Each time he had seen her, she became more beautiful to him. Tonight, his need to feel her amble body beneath him was undeniable.

  "Where are my manners," he said after he lifted his face from her cleavage. He took her by the hand and led her up various stairs to his master suite.

  He flung open the large double French doors to the balcony that flanked the side of the house. The cool evening air flowed in through the open doors. Gartrell unbuckled his pants, letting them fall to the ground around his feet. He dropped his boxer shorts. He turned around to reveal the full glory of his manhood to the woman Quinn had brought him.

  "Now, my dear, I do believe we have some unfinished business to attend to," Gartrell said as he turned around, gesturing to what he thought to be his sizable crotch. He was a little confused not to see her disrobing as he had expected but holding a cell phone.

  She held up a hand to stop Gartrell from speaking. She spoke into the phone, " Oui, j'ai besoin de toi pour nettoyer un corps. Dans les 20 prochaines minutes, si vous le pouvez."

  "Hang up the phone, dear, you have more important matters to atten--"

  Gartrell never finished that sentence as Del flicked her hand at the wrist. A silenced handgun appeared in her hands from thin air. With two casual pulls of the trigger, she put two bullets through his chest. He fell to the ground, gargling on his own blood.

  “Bon sang. Oui. Oui. He’s bleeding a lot. Make sure you bring a steam cleaner,” Del said as she watched Gartrell bleed out on the expensive rug. She hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed. "Here, bleed out on the hardwood. I don’t want you to ruin that rug," she said as she dragged his dead body off the silk rug.

  When she stood up the ample curves that Del had added to her body were gone. Her hair changed to the short flip of ruddy brown hair on top and shaved on the sides. The laurel tattoo along the side of her head was visible. She stared at Gartrell's body for a few minutes more than retrieved her phone from his bed.

  She waited a moment and then said, "Things have gone south."

  She listened for a moment and said, "Well, you needn't worry about him. He's been removed from the picture, so to speak." Del gave Gartrell's body a probe with her toe. "No, I should have this all wrapped up in a few hours."

  When the line disconnected from the other end, Del took a deep breath and sat down on the bed. She kicked off her sho
es and opened the book reading app on her phone while she waited for her cleanup team to arrive.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Quinn set the yellow leather satchel down on the center table with a satisfying thunk. The team gathered around to watch as he pulled out the massive gold bullion bars. His circle flared to life behind him without prompting and played a triumphant fanfare.

  "And that, kids," Quinn said with smug satisfaction, "Is how you get over a million in gold."

  Everyone focused on the lustrous gold bars that Quinn carefully laid out on the table. One by one they had to touch each of the bars, running their fingers over the precious metal.

  "We'll need to get these into the account at Drummond's as fast as possible. He'll probably alert the local cops claiming we stole it from him." Quinn pointed at the magical circle floating behind him. It switched from the triumphal music to a snappy pop song.

  "So he took the bait?" Elly asked. Midnight jumped from her shoulder to the table to inspect the gold bars. His black avian face was reflected in the gold. He tried to nudge the bars, testing to see if he could pick up the shiny things. He squawked in disappointment when he couldn't budge them.

  "Hook, line, and," Quinn did a sinking splits move he turned into a roll to a standing position, "Sinker! Where are we on the daggers? Del has him wrapped up for the next hour. I need to get back."

  "All done," Max said. He pulled a cart over to the table and whipped off the soft cloth he had covering it. There were three nearly perfect copies of the dagger.

  Quinn could see the small imperfections and slight differences. He nodded and said, "Perfect. And the special one?"

  Max reached down to the second shelf on the cart and pulled out a velvet bundle. He unwrapped it and revealed an exact copy of the dagger.

  "Even better. Okay, Karen?"

  "I thought it would be best if you re-used the same satchel. However, this one has a trick bottom." Karen stepped up with another yellow satchel. It was a twin to the one that Quinn had used to carry the copied Oera Linda and gold. "It's got a false back. You can unlatch it and put in the real dagger. It's double enchanted with aversion charms along with the standard things I put on the other one. Anyone looking into it for more than a few moments will find other things to do."

  "Aversion charms? Since when did you learn those?" Quinn looked at Karen with surprise.

  She ducked her head and smiled at Elly. "She had a lot of input there. We really worked well together."

  Quinn nodded at Elly. "All right! Great work, everyone. Now, there's just one other thing."

  The team looked at him expectantly.

  "Anyone know how to deal with a guard dog literally from Hell that is probably keyed to the dagger being removed from a pedestal?"

  "What?" was the only response from the team.

  "Yeah, so the last line on security is that someone bound a barghest, it's like a smart dog, into the pedestal that has the dagger on it. From the mark, if anyone touches it, the thing goes off. I can tell you from experience that those things don't quit. Whatever you tasked them to do, they do it. And this one seems thrilled to do it."

  Everyone stared at him with wide eyes blank stares.

  "How do you know so much about guard dogs from Hell?" Elly arched an eyebrow at Quinn and crossed her arms. Midnight cawed with laughter.

  "That's a story, and we don't have time for that," Quinn responded. "What we need is ideas on how to get past that thing."

  Everyone shook their heads. They were at a loss.

  "Is that thing dusty," Rube asked after a few minutes of silence.

  "What?"

  "That pedestal where this dagger is sitting on," Rube said. "Is it dusty or is it clean?"

  Quinn thought for a moment and said, "Well, it's actually pretty clean. I don't remember seeing any dust anywhere."

  "And it's an old house, right?"

  Quinn nodded.

  "Well, I ain't been in an old house yet that wasn’t dusty as fuck. So, is this guy the sort that does his own dusting?"

  Everyone expressed a great deal of contempt at the idea of Gartrell doing his own housecleaning.

  "Right, so this fella ain't the sort to do his own cleaning, so who is going in there and cleaning that thing at least once a week?" Rube looked at the rest of the team. "Unless Barghests are tidy fellas and do all the dustin'? I mean, I don't know much about Barghests."

  "No," Quinn said. "They're not known for their fastidiousness."

  "So, how do the maids get in there and do all the dusting? It ain't like he's feeding them to the thing after they're done, right?" Rube looked around at the rest of the team. "Unless that's what he's doing?"

  Karen shook her head. "No, he'd run out of maid services quick. It's got to be a command word, right? Maybe a security code you enter when you walk into a house. Did he do any special knocking?"

  "What kind of command word would someone like Gartrell use to keep a Barghest contained?"

  Quinn shrugged. "I'm pretty sure he didn't set it up. This guy knows about magic, but he can’t do it. Or at least he can’t do it well. There's no way this guy put that thing in there and bound it with a complex word. He could barely open his own safe. I think his grandfather or great-grandfather put it together."

  After a moment’s thought, Karen said, "That makes sense. The wards around the house are old and brittle. They're being reinforced but not the way that someone who knows what they're doing would do it. It's by rote. So, what command does grandpa setup for his dumbass grandson?"

  "I bet it's stay," Quinn said. "Stay is pretty easy to say in Infernal. That's what I'd make it if I had a dumbass kid who would be left alone with a Barghest and a dagger that could end the world."

  Karen pulled out her notebook and made another notation.

  Max nodded and said, "Mother says when it comes to safe words, it’s best to go with a simple one. One you can shout through a ball gag."

  "You will pin this whole job on the bet that some dusty old racist made a command word for his racist grandson?" Elly looked at Quinn with surprise. “And can you speak Infernal?”

  "No, and yes," Quinn replied. "But what I will do is get him to say the command word so I can take a really good look at that dagger. Then I'll distract him with the fakes. Palm the real one and put in the fake one. And walk out. Real dagger in hand." Quinn patted the satchel.

  "That's a good plan," Eno said as he walked into the room. "Where's Del?"

  "She's got the mark under wraps and making sure he's not asking questions." Quinn played with the hidden flap in the satchels back a few times. Once he felt he had the hang of it, he turned to the team. "Once I walk out of that house, it’s going to be tight. They’ll move on me fast so I need you all in place for this. We can't afford to miss a beat. Everyone knows where they're supposed to be?"

  The team nodded. Quinn loaded the three fake daggers into the satchel. He put the real fake into the hidden compartment.

  Quinn turned to Rube. "All right, let's do this! Rube, if you'd get the car ready, please. Eno. If Renard is going to make a move on us, it will be now. I need you with me. Elly, I need to talk to you." Quinn nodded at the front door when he looked at Elly.

  Rube said, "I'll be out front with the car then."

  Eno nodded and walked out with Rube.

  As Elly and Quinn slow walked to the front of the former retail store, Quinn did a few side steps with some finger snaps. When she looked at him with one arched eyebrow in confusion, Quinn grinned.

  "So, it’s looking like I’ve got this all wrapped up."

  "I guess?"

  Quinn stopped with his mouth open in surprised outrage. "You guess? You guess? I just lifted over a million in gold off of that racist chump, and I'm going back to get the dagger. You guess?"

  Elly shrugged.

  Quinn cleared his throat. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He shifted back and forth on his feet. He cleared his throat. "So. Well. So. I thought that maybe after
this is over, maybe we could…”

  Elly slowly turned to look at Quinn in a mild surprise. After a moment she said, “Are… are you asking me out?”

  Quinn shrugged with a vague nod of his head. “Yeah? I mean, there’s this amazing place in Miami for salsa dancing. I was thinking we make a weekend trip. We roll in on Saturday. Head to the club. Dance until the dawn and watch the sun come up on the beach. I think it sounds great.”

  Elly blinked a few times. After a moment she said, “No.”

  “Oh. Okay. Wow. I mean, sure. I respect that. I felt like there was this thing between us. Was I wrong? Or do you not date people from work? Which is okay. I mean…how wrong was I?”

  “No,” Elly said. “You’re good looking. You’re fun. I do date people from work but that’s not it.” She shrugged.

  “What is it?”

  “You’re not a good person.”

  He looked at her, his hurt clear on his face. "You don't think I'm a good person? Are you still mad about the book?"

  "You don't want to hear this, Quinn. Not now. You don't have the time."

  "No. I have the time!" Quinn slashed the air with his hand. "You're mad how I got that book. Admit it."

  Elly took a deep breath and turned away.

  "That's it, isn't it? You don't want to admit that I did more for those two than anyone else and I'm still going to save the day. That's what pisses you off."

  "You want to know what pisses me off?" Elly turned on Quinn. "What pisses me off is that you dance around here like this is some kind of fucking game. This isn’t a game. You’re ruining people’s lives."

  "I'm not ruining anyone's life," Quinn said, backing up. "We're just… we're just making money and having fun. It's… it's a game."

  "No, it's not," Elly said. She closed in on Quinn, poking him in the chest with her finger. "You. Ruin. Lives."

  "No. No, I don't," Quinn said. "Everyone loves a good trick--"

  "Everyone loves a good card trick, Quinn. No one loves it when their grandma's life savings are stolen, and she can't get the health care she needs."