Deicide

by M. K. Gibson

  “Ever git down ta Agartha?” Kilkenny asked.

  “Now and then,” Franklin said, “but not as often as I’d like. But I have contacts there. The pickings amid the under folk are very choice.”

  “So you know Boneweevil in Cutter’s Forge?”

  “No,” Franklin said.

  “Oh?” Kilkenny said, turning back towards Cassy. “I thought you said this man ta be big time?”

  “He is,” Cassy said, narrowing her eyes at Franklin.

  “Please excuse me, Mr. Kilkenny. The reason I don’t know the Weeve anymore is because he was arrested what, five months ago?” Franklin said. “Now, I do believe his cousin, Gribble, to have taken over Weeve’s operations? I have had many dealings with her.”

  “Indeed,” Kilkenny said with a smile. “So, what is it then? You want in on Shadowlake?”

  “No sir,” Franklin said. “Not at all. The Lake is your territory. Along with certain other organizations.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Kilkenny said with a smirk. “I simply find, and sell, exotic items. I’m a historian, after all.”

  “If I may, sir,” Cassy asked, and Kilkenny nodded. “If you don’t want to operate in this region of Avalantis, Mr. Franklin, where do you want to be?”

  “Honestly?” Mr. Franklin asked.

  “Yes.”

  “New Dorado.”

  Kilkenny whistled. “Whew, you must have a big ol’ pair of clackers on ye, boyo.”

  “I’m six foot seven inches tall. And my ‘clackers’ are about as big as you can get.”

  “My minotaurs downstairs might argue with ye,” Kilkenny said. “Okay boyo, what are ye offering?”

  “I assume this room to be secure?” Mr. Franklin asked.

  “It is,” Cassy assured.

  “Excellent,” Mr. Franklin, said opening his bag. “I also assume you’re not in the business of acquiring the run-of-the-mill stuff. Wands, spell books, or cheap trinkets.”

  “You assume correctly, Mr. Franklin,” Kilkenny said. “I specialize in relics.”

  “Then I’m ya new best friend.” Franklin smiled.

  Cassy watched as the man opened his leather briefcase and removed two objects and set them on the wooden table. A ring and a simple bronze cap-like helmet.

  Kilkenny smiled. “And what do we have here?”

  “Mr. Kilkenny, Ms. Winters, these here are just a taste,” Mr. Franklin said, holding up the first of the objects, a silver ring. “This is Andvaranaut, the ring that makes gold.”

  “While I do like gold, legends be sayin’ that ring is cursed,” Kilkenny said. “Wha’ would I be wantin’ with a cursed ring?”

  “That’s up to you. Legends say Loki caused all kinds of mischief against his enemies with it. But I see this may not be to your liking. So I present to you, the Cap of Hades,” Mr. Franklin said, setting the ring down and then picking up the bronze headpiece. “The wearer becomes invisible. I imagine you could find all kinds of applications for this?”

  “Oh, aye, I could,” Franklin said with a respectful nod. “But I already have tarnhelm in my possession, which obviously does the same thing.”

  “Obviously,” Mr. Franklin said.

  “So if this is all you have to offer, then I think this meeting is over with.”

  “If I may, sir,” Cassy said as she crossed her arms. “I think Mr. Franklin is holding out on you.”

  “Are you, Mr. Franklin?”

  “Simply getting the feel for the room.” The large man smiled as he ran his hand over the briefcase. “I wanted to know what kind of collector you really were. Weapons? Musical instruments? Books of the damned? I have all of those.”

  Cassy watched as Mr. Franklin reached into his briefcase and despite all logical physics, produced one of each. A six-foot spear, a harp, and a leather-bound tome.

  “This is a spear of Achilles, the Harp of Bragi, and the Book of Thoth. But my real offering is the case itself.”

  “Explain,” Kilkenny said, his eyes twinkling at the sight of all the magical objects.

  “I want to know how he got all this past security,” Cassy said, staring at the pile.

  “This, Mr. Kilkenny and Ms. Winters, is Kibisis, the famed bag of Mercury. Once used to carry the gorgon’s head. But what few people know is that it is bottomless, and that it transforms its appearance to what the master wants. This was how I brought so much magic in without tripping your club’s alarms.”

  “How much?” Kilkenny asked, wide-eyed at the small horde on the table. “I want the lot and the bag.”

  “You sure you want to buy all this?”

  “Oh, I think I do.”

  “Damn it, Arby!” Cassy said, dropping all pretense. “You do this every time!”

  “The fuck is going on?!” Kilkenny asked, looking confused.

  Cassy sighed. “We’re cops and you’re under arrest. So sit still and shut up while I murder my partner.”

  Chapter Four

  12 May - 10:47 pm

  The Causeway Club, District of Shadowlake

  Cassandra Cross shook her clenched fists in frustration. “I had a great op going. And once again, you had to ruin it.”

  “Oh girl, please,” Arby/Mr. Franklin said, all traces of his Cajun accent disappearing in favor of a more excitable one in a slightly higher register. “I got him to admit to trafficking in stolen goods, so what’s got your bits in a twist?”

  “I had it laid out very specifically,” Cassy said, the frustration boiling over. “I introduce you two. You set up a deal with some low-level but enticing relics. We then continue to map his network of buyers and thieves.”

  “So I upped the ante to make sure he’d want to do business. I don’t see the problem.”

  “Other than him now knowing who we are?”

  Arby rolled his eyes. “That was your fault, girl, not mine.”

  “He was going to find out anyway.”

  “Mm-hmm, how?”

  “You brought the Kibisis,” Cassy said, pointing to the bag.

  “And?”

  “That’s been locked up in APD custody for over a year. A fact he would learn the moment he does a freaking five-second search! So the question would be, how did you get it? Hmm? What kind of pull does ‘Mr. Franklin’ have? Can he just stroll into Axis Mundi, right into the First Precinct, and go shopping?”

  “Oh, while were on the subject, we need to talk about this ‘Mr. Franklin’ shit.”

  “What?”

  “Na-na-na-no. Don’t you act like you didn’t know that Franklin was the only brother hanging with Charlie Brown and the rest of those Peanuts crackers.”

  Cassy fought back a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh huh,” Arby said. “Luther Franklin? Could you pick a blacker name?”

  “Arby—”

  “What? Was Ezekiel T. Washington taken?” the big man asked as he crossed his arms. “Oh, I know, how about Jamal Jefferson Jackson?”

  “Arby—”

  “Too chickenshit to just name me Maliq Ali?”

  Cassy rubbed her hand over her eyes in frustration. God, he was such a drama queen. “Okay, maybe I picked it because—wait, no! No no no! You always do this!”

  “Do what?”

  “Deflect the conversation with some race-bait crap when you know you’re wrong.”

  “You know, you could be nicer to me,” Arby faux sniffed.

  “I thought not mentioning your crap Cajun accent was me being nicer,” Cassy said through gritted teeth.

  Arby audibly gasped, looked away, then turned back with wide eyes. “You take that back. My accent was flawless.”

  “Le Belle Dame Sans Merci? That’s a poem by Keats.”

  “I thought it was a painting?”

  Cassy sighed. “God, you’re a Neanderthal.”

  “Hey, short stuff,” Arby said. “What’d you think of my accent? Pretty good, right? You bought it?”

  “Jaysis!” Kilkenny said. “Sh
ut the fuck up!”

  “I take that as a yes.”

  “Saints, are ye two married? I fought less with my last three wives! Combined!”

  “Gross,” Arby echoed. “Her lady parts aside, I’m waaay too good for her.”

  “He’s my partner,” Cassy said. “Damn it, do you know how long it took me to work my way into his inner circle?”

  “Ah, he’s an idiot,” Arby said.

  “Hey!”

  “Seven months?” Arby asked, ignoring Kilkenny.

  “Six,” Cassy said. “But that’s not the point. You blew the last nine months of undercover work.”

  “I did not ‘blow it’,” Arby countered. “I put a bow on it. You’re welcome. But maybe I would have done better if you had clued me in a little bit more.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  “Like you telling me that the Brobdingnagian was a freaking leprechaun! I should get bonus points for faking my way through that little surprise.”

  “Little?” Kilkenny asked with an edge of anger.

  Cassy stepped up to her larger friend and did her best to control her ever-rising temper. “I did tell you. I told you several times, in fact. During our teams’ planning sessions?”

  Arby turned his head and looked away. “I don’t recall that.”

  “You were probably thinking of some dramatic reveal scene instead of paying attention. As usual.”

  “Ooh!” Arby said, grabbing her hands. “So I’d been thinking that at some point you’d say something like: ‘Sir, I don’t think you want to do business with this man.’ And he’d be all like: ‘And why is that?’ At which point I’d reach into the bag one last time. But instead of a relic, I’d pull out my badge and toss it into the middle of the pile of items, and then I’d say all gruff-like, ‘Because I’m a cop’. Then you’d pull your gun, put it to the back of his head, and say ‘And so am I’.”

  “Damn it, Arby, that’s—okay, that’s pretty good,” Cassy admitted. “We totally should have done that.”

  “Right?!”

  “Jaysis, why aren’t my boys coming in here and tearing you two apart?” Kilkenny asked as he furiously tapped at a button on the arm of his chair.

  “Because I’ve been the chief of your club’s security for the last seven months,” Cassy said, waving the tablet. “I disabled all your emergency measures.”

  “You said it was six!”

  “Fine, I lied,” Cassy said.

  “I knew it,” Arby hissed, pointing a finger at her. “So we wrap this guy up like a present, take him in, and party?”

  Cassy shrugged. “Might as well.”

  “Oh lighten up, Cass,” Arby said. “We have more than enough evidence to put this shillelagh-swinging sucker and his crew away. Plus, with all the intel we’ve gathered, we can raid all his storehouses and then we’ll have all his lucky charms.”

  “The fuck ye say, boyo?”

  Cassy slapped her palm to her forehead. Once again, her beloved partner had been in la-la land during the essential details of the mission brief. Specifically the section discussing the subject’s trigger words. Mocking his height and questioning his intelligence would make him mad. But references to the old cereal mascot? Well, those had a different effect.

  Kilkenny suddenly popped out of existence only to reappear on Arby’s neck. The leprechaun began throwing a flurry of magically augmented punches to her partner’s head and neck—which of course made Cassy chuckle.

  “Goddamn!” Arby yelled. “This crap ain’t funny! Ow ow ow!”

  “Got nothin’ smart to say now, boyo?!”

  Cassy sat down in one the chairs by the desk and watched as her giant friend and partner took the beating of his life, all because he’d been too busy to pay attention during her briefs or read the mission reports.

  Arby reached up and tried to grab the small myth, only to come up empty handed. Kilkenny popped away, reappearing on the table. The leprechaun leaped up and landed a double-footed dropkick directly into the big man’s gut. Wasting no time, Kilkenny popped back up onto the table, grabbed Arby by his dreads, and then jumped down, slamming him face first into the ground.

  “So little. So angry,” Arby groaned. “H-how?”

  “Been fighting formori giants since before ye was a feckin’ itch in yer daddy’s nutsack,” Kilkenny said, then turned to face Cassy. “Now you!”

  “Hmm?” Cassy asked, still sitting in her chair with one leg crossed over the other.

  “Betray me? Sneak into my organization? I’ll gut you!”

  “No you won’t,” Cassy said, hiking her dress up slightly to reveal her concealed pistol. Drawing it, she aimed it at her former employer. “First, I’m a cop. You do anything to me and you’re inviting a shit storm you don’t want. Second, this gun is loaded with cold-iron rounds. And third, if you cooperate, I can work on getting you a reduced sentence.”

  “Cooperate?”

  “Look, your operation is relatively small-time,” Cassy explained.

  “Excuse me?”

  “But,” Cassy continued, “you have clients for whom you obtain and sell black market magic items. We want that client list.”

  “Never gonna happen, love.”

  “Then I hope you enjoy your time in the Rot,” Cassy said.

  Kilkenny narrowed his eyes. The Black Obelisk, known lovingly to felons as “the Rot,” was no joke when it came to prisons. Deep below Agartha, the Obelisk broke even the strongest. Kilkenny knew that. His eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out. Cassy held the tablet that controlled the magical barrier tighter while keeping her weapon trained on the leprechaun.

  “You think your prison can hold the Brobdingnagian?”

  “Frankly? Yes,” she said. “You’re running low on gold. You don’t have enough juice to port out of this room. And down in the Rot? Well, there are no precious metals to fuel your powers. You will sit there, amid the foulest and meanest, for years. We’ll get your full list; it’s just a matter of time. You help us out, save me and my team a bunch of effort, and I can make your life a whole lot easier.”

  “Gimme a reason.”

  “You’ve been dealing in illegal magical items, that’s not a horrible sentence. But by refusing to help? Well, I can see a judge tacking on obstruction.”

  “I cannae do it,” he said with a shake of his head. “You don’t know who I work for. They’ll kill me.”

  “Your choice. That being said, I’m going to make it very public that I, an undercover cop, worked in your organization. Word’s gonna get out anyway.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “No,” Cassy smiled. “You’re a criminal, you ‘blackmail’. Law enforcement agents . . . use creative solutions to enforce the law.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Yup,” she agreed. “Right here, right now. Make a choice.”

  “Feck,” Kilkenny said. “Fine. I’ll—”

  Before Kilkenny could finish his sentence, Arby, now awake, was on his feet and grabbed the surprised leprechaun in both of his huge hands.

  “Round two, you little shit!”

  “Arby, stop!”

  Her partner, dense as always, ignored her command and threw the smaller myth as hard as he could. The leprechaun shot like an emerald rocket directly through the glass windows overlooking the club in a spray of shattering glass. People screamed as Kilkenny landed somewhere on the dance floor below.

  Arby threw up his middle finger. “I win.” He turned and gave Cassy the dopiest smile.

  “I . . . ” Cassy couldn’t even finish her sentence.

  “I remember you saying during the mission brief that the VIP section had fields in place to prevent listening and magical teleportation. But it didn’t say anything about good ol’- fashioned violence.”

  “That you remember.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Well, at least your crew will round him up,” Cassy said.

  “Eh . . . not likely.” Arby winced.

  “Why n
ot?”

  “Well, I—or rather ‘Mr. Franklin’—had to appear legit. So those aren’t undercover cops. They’re—”

  “You hired criminals, didn’t you?” Cassy asked, not even bothering to hide her disgust.

  “Duh,” Arby said. “You think I’d have passed any screening using a crew of police? Come on, Cass.”

  “Then he’s going to get away!”

  “Yeah, probably,” Arby agreed.

  “Then all of this has been for nothing!”

  Arby quirked his mouth and looked at her. “Uh . . . you still have your weapon out.”

  “Because I’m very much considering using it.”

  Arby knelt down in front of her, then placed a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off, but the bigger man held firm. “What’s the one thing you never learned during all your time here?”

  “Who his bosses and contacts were.”

  “Right. And in almost every case, criminals, myth or mundane, when you scare them bad enough, what do they do?”

  Cassy eyed her partner. “They run somewhere safe.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Of course.”

  “Does he know that you know where he lives?”

  “Yes,” Cassy said, getting sick of this. “Do you have a point?”

  “I do,” Arby said, holding up a small device. “When I grabbed his narrow ass, I planted a tracker on him. If you know his home, and where his safe houses are, where will he go to feel safe?”

  “His bosses,” Cassy said.

  “Exactly,” Arby agreed. “Now. We let him run. We have his crew, his money, his warehouses, everything. And in a day or so, we’ll have another piece of the puzzle.”

  Cassy smiled at her partner, her friend. “I don’t give you enough credit, do I?”

  “No, not nearly enough. But it’s okay, I’m pretty.”

  Cassy laughed.

  “So, this is a club, after all. Let’s go get messed up.”

  “That may be a problem,” Cassy said.

  “Why? Please don’t say because we have to go back to the station for paperwork.”

  “No, I’m talking about the elf standing behind you.”