by J. P. Rice
Gareth continued, “Kishori, a young Cheyenne girl, picked me up in one hand and held Nandita in the other. I could barely see her through the ivory haze. Chief Wild Wind scolded Kishori that the two would never go together. Thankfully, Kishori was stubborn.”
He fought away the emotion and said, “We weren’t made for each other. A guy like me and a girl like her. Nobody gave us a chance. We came from two different worlds. A Scottish dagger and a Cheyenne sheath. Preposterous, right? But somehow, we got along and made for a perfect match. Nandita means happy in Cheyenne, and you wouldn’t know it from that serious sheath you met back there, but she was ever the joker.”
He paused for a moment. “I remember when Kishori slid me in for the first time. Nandita said, ‘Hey, watch where you’re sticking that thing.’” He chuckled and savored the moment.
He cleared his throat. “Never down. Even when we were being separated, she told me a joke. When the western expansion started choking off the hunting and farming grounds, the tribe had to sell us. They were starving. I can’t blame them for selling us. And through it all, Nandita never got down and buoyed my spirits most of the time. She was the personification of happiness.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“She was,” Gareth said. “Not that ice-cold piece of leather you met back there. Models always let it go to their heads, right? She might have looked good, but no, that wasn’t the Nandita I know.” He groaned and revealed, “That guy back at that brothel or whatever that was. That wasn’t me.”
“Who was that?” I asked.
“No. I mean, it was me. Just not who I really am. After me and Nandita split up, I went through this phase where I turned into a chauvinist dagger, thinking people respected that. And here I am, how many years later, and I guess I’ve never grown out of it. It’s almost like I forged this false reputation that I need to uphold.”
“I can understand that.”
“People got to know me as the macho man’s man. And if I don’t live up to that, then who am I? And I haven’t even started swearing yet. Wait ‘til I get good and drunk,” he said, slurring his words.
As he rambled on, I wanted to pay attention to him, but my mind drifted back to the case. Gareth’s intriguing story had humanized him and captured my attention, but I’d lost focus on the task at hand. And with all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten about my dragons and missing locket.
We still needed Gareth’s clue to bring down the death card operation. If his clue didn’t help, we would be right back at square one. And we would have wasted an insane amount of time tracking down Gareth. I was little more than a hostage to the dagger’s demands at this point.
Unfortunately, I had to cater to Gareth’s needs and paid attention to him again.
He started getting too emotional about Nandita, so I changed the subject. “So what do you know about John Jenkins?”
“Eh. Not much. Seemed like a good guy who got in over his head. I don’t blame him for sending me to the pawnshop. A lot of people were after him because I opened my mouth in a bar one night. I sure hope he’s all right.”
I didn’t tell him about John Jenkins’ unceremonious demise because of his frail emotional state. “How was he in over his head?”
“He bought me because he knew I was a talking dagger. Paid good money for me. The guy who sold me to him did not know I was a talking dagger. But his friends did. Apparently, they went berserk because they knew I’d seen and heard a few things that could sink their ship,” he explained.
I changed lanes and put the pedal to the metal. “Seems like you were rolling with some heavy hitters.”
“I was for a while. I told John to get the hell outta Pittsburgh. I sure hope he listened. These people don’t play around.”
Since he was drunk, I tried to pry some info out of him. “Why don’t you make it fun and give me some hints about the culprits? See if I can guess.”
“Nice try. Not until my list is complete. I tell you the name and you throw me in a dirty gutter. I know how this goes.” The indomitable son of a bitch wouldn’t budge.
“I’m not going to throw you in the gutter, but you have to look at this from my side. People are dying for no reason. I’m trying to fix that but the longer I wait, it puts more lives in jeopardy. It’s hard to enjoy a night out under these conditions.”
“I get it. And for the record, they were wrong about you being a stone-hearted bitch,” he said. I took the backhanded compliment in stride.
He went on, “I’ll admit, when I realized it was you and the Morrigan who dragged me out of that castle, I was terrified. But you dames are all right.”
“Thank you. I think. You can’t tease me like that and not tell me who these people are.”
“You’ll have your answers in a few hours. I feel bad about the death cards and people dying, but I need to stick to my guns.” A dagger using a phrase involving guns made me chuckle internally.
I was hoping the booze would loosen his lips, but the Scotsman remained firm in his stance. Despite the snowy roads, my lifted Jeep Wrangler hauled ass across town, and finally, mercifully, my house came into focus. My temporary residence had never looked so beautiful.
I parked, and we went inside. The fresh soapy smell coming from the Morrigan made me jealous. She stood outside my kitchen and combed through her knotted hair with her fingers. She asked, “Did everything go well?”
Wearing black sweat pants and a matching hoodie that I’d bought him before we left for Sleepy Willow, Justinian appeared behind Mo.
I answered, “From my end, it did.”
“You said you would keep quiet about that,” Gareth blew up.
I’d almost forgotten about the embarrassing experience with the hooker. I was referring to the whole trip. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Well, good. Let’s keep it that way, sweetheart.” After opening up privately, the testosterone-filled exterior around Gareth had returned. He was a complex character. I could sympathize.
I took a much shorter shower than I would have liked—perhaps the theme of the night—but I had lives to save. I went to grab some fresh clothes and noticed the Morrigan had snatched up my most comfortable pair of jeans. That bitch. Then again, she would look strange in her raven feather cloak.
I threw on another pair of faded jeans and slid into a heavy beige sweater. I grabbed my dark blue winter jacket and headed for the door.
A normal investigation process didn’t involve taking a talking dagger out to the bar, but each case had its own fingerprint. I’d learned over the years that the word normal didn’t exist in this business.
Dealing with Gareth’s eccentricities was a case all to itself. I got dressed and we all said goodbye to Titania, who wasn’t very pleased she couldn’t go with us. Considering we were already going with a talking dagger, a magic dragonfly would attract too much attention.
As we got ready to leave, I checked out the crew. Justinian and Mo were both wearing all black and looked like they were ready to rob a bar, not drink at one. The Morrigan adjusted the studded belt holding up my black jeans and played with the buttons right below the V-Neck of my ribbed long-sleeved shirt. Her gear was much more acceptable for a night out than the wolf in black sweatpants and a hoodie.
Fashion be damned, we piled into my Jeep, and I drove to J.D.’s Silver Spittoon Saloon in Indianola. It was one of the few country bars in the area that had a karaoke machine. It also had a mechanical bull that I wanted to see Justinian ride.
I sheathed Gareth on my hip as we went to enter, leaving his ruby eyes on the outside so he could still see all the action. We went in and it surprised me how many people were out on a Tuesday night. Then I spotted a big sign hanging on the far wall flanked by mounted longhorns. Written in a blue sharpie, it said, ‘Half-priced mixed drinks. 6-Close’.
Bright Christmas lights lined the long bar off to our left, but the mechanical bull in the center of the room grabbed my attention. Looking around a little more, I noticed
a self-serve chili bar in the back next to a small stage.
We grabbed a table near the mechanical bull and sat down. It felt good to kick back and relax after that intense journey to Sleepy Willow and the trip around town with Gareth. I ordered a glass of Jameson in remembrance of my father.
In a muffled voice, Gareth said, “Hey, let me out of here. I don’t even know this dame and I can barely breathe.”
I scanned the room and wondered if we would get thrown out for having a dagger on the table. I gave in to his demand and pulled Gareth from the sheath and set him on the tabletop. “That’s much better,” he exclaimed.
The server returned with our drinks, but before she handed them out, her gaze wouldn’t leave the dagger. I tried to explain, “I know this sounds weird, but we aren’t going to cause any trouble. This is a very special dagger.”
Gareth boasted, “I’m the greatest dagger there ever was.” Someone had found his mojo.
The server’s eyes widened and her hand trembled, sending the tray wobbling. She dipped her knees trying to balance the big oval tray. But the drinks slid to the right, tilting the tray on a steep angle. Glasses crashed down and broke, as a volcano of cocktails erupted into the air, only to splash back down on the hardwood floor.
Her eyes never left Gareth and her mouth hung wide open. “Did that? Did that knife just talk?”
“I’m a Scottish dagger. Get it straight,” Gareth said and guffawed.
“You mean a dirk?” the server asked with her head cocked to the side.
Gareth sighed in disgust. “No. Just a regular dagger. I’m double edged with a sharp point. At least it used to be sharp.”
“I need to talk to my manager about all this,” she said and helped the barback clean up the mess.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out four hundred-dollar bills. As I leaned down, I extended my hand and tapped the server with the notes. “Maybe this will help with the decision. And we’re really good tippers too.” Having gold reserves all over Pittsburgh sure had its perks.
“Umm. Okay,” she said and took the money from me as a grin formed on her face.
I straightened in my chair and looked at Gareth. “You, sir, are an expensive date.”
“I’m classy. Deal with it,” he grumbled, and it made me smile. I was glad he could dust himself off and have a good time after having his heart ripped out.
The server returned a few minutes later with our drinks and a big smile. As she handed out the drinks, she explained, “Okay. My manager says that as long as the knife...”
“Dagger,” Gareth corrected her.
She rolled her blue eyes. “Isn’t a dagger a kind of knife?”
“Ooohhh, you come prepared to fight. I like you. What’s your name?”
“Erica.”
“Tell you what, Erica. You got a boyfriend?”
“Easy, buddy,” I warned him. I didn’t want to get kicked out.
“Who wants to know?” she asked, bobbing her head around and twirling her hair with her pinky.
Well, color me shocked.
“A certain dagger in the area,” Gareth said, deepening his voice.
“We’ll see what happens,” she said staring at the ruby eyes that glinted in reaction to the flirting. What the hell was going on? She turned her attention to the rest of us. “Okay. As long as the dagger stays on the table, you should be all right.”
“But how am I going to sing karaoke?” Gareth asked.
She shifted her eyes toward the kitchen. “Umm. Let me talk to my manager again and see if we can work something out.”
“Thank you,” I told her.
She lingered by the table, spinning her serving tray around and looking away. Oh, it appeared the karaoke would cost me more. I reached into my other back pocket and pulled out two more hundos and placed them in her eager hand.
She scurried away with a grin from ear to ear, and I sipped my Jameson. “Let’s get you up on that stage so we can get some answers finally.”
“Don’t forget I still have one demand left. Let’s get blasted and have some fun. Woooo,” Gareth screamed, and the people at the table next to us raised their glasses and joined in. “Wooo,” they yelled in return.
“I know how to get the party started,” Gareth bragged.
“Apparently,” Justinian said.
We raised our drinks to the middle of the table and gently bumped each other’s glasses. “Cheers,” I called out and swigged the whiskey.
“Salud,” Justinian added and tipped back his bottle of Coors Light. He choked on the beer because he wasn’t much of a drinker. I smirked. Werewolves were normally scared of silver bullets.
As the booze flowed and the night went on, the mechanical bull started to see some action. A young woman from the next table got up on the machine. Before the bull started moving, the Morrigan scoffed, “She’s gonna fall. She doesn’t have her feet hooked on the bottom. It’s so simple.”
“Why don’t you show her how it’s done?” Gareth egged her on.
“I don’t want to show everyone up. I mean, it’s just a stupid bull. I don’t need to show off for any of you,” she said defensively and swigged her Hurricane.
“Speaking of showing people how it’s done, are you ready for your performance, Gareth?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. It might not be the best venue.” He paused for a few moments and I couldn’t believe he was waffling. “You know what, what the hell,” the dagger said, and I realized his pause was for dramatic effect.
“What song do you want to do?” Justinian asked.
“The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” Gareth stated proudly.
“Aw yeah,” screamed the Morrigan and slammed more of her Hurricane. Uh oh. She had that confused drunk look in her eyes. I needed to keep an eye on her.
Justinian went to talk to the DJ, and I sipped on my Jameson. About five minutes later, Gareth got called up. I took him up to the little stage and grabbed the microphone from the DJ. I held the two objects near each other and Gareth took it from there.
Chapter 23
“Is this thing on?” Gareth’s voice sounded over the speakers. “All right. Time to get up. Time for everyone to get the fuck up right now. No fucking excuses.”
I smiled and shrugged my shoulders at the DJ. Gareth exploded, “Let’s go. Get up and get loose.”
Table by table, people rose to their feet and migrated to the dance floor as his song started playing.
With the instrumental part of the song pumping, Gareth yelled into the microphone, “Are we here to party, or what?”
The crowd screamed ‘yeah’ in response. Gareth screamed, “Well, let’s go then. Shake a fucking tailfeather.”
The talking dagger went into the lyrics for the song seamlessly and executed the song perfectly, even adding some flair of his own. I held Gareth with my mouth wide open and could barely believe his impressive performance. The patrons on the dance floor hooted and hollered in appreciation of the dagger’s performance.
Before giving up the mic, Gareth rambled, “Don’t worry, I’ll be here all week. Now let’s make this a night to remember and don’t forget to tip your servers and bartenders. Shit yeah.” The crowd responded with raucous cheering.
I extended the mic to the DJ, who asked, “Does he want to go again? I’ve never seen anyone rock it like that.”
“Maybe later. I want to hang out with my friends for a while,” Gareth said, suddenly modest.
The DJ shrugged his shoulders. “All right, man. Come back whenever you want. The stage is yours.”
“Thank you,” said Gareth, as I handed off the mic.
As we walked across the bar, I said, “Look at you. The life of the party.”
“It’s that reputation I told you about,” he explained, his eyes gleaming again. “Tonight’s been one hell of a roller coaster. I just want to say thanks.”
“My pleasure. Now that you got your wishes, I suppose you could make with the information.” I nudged him with my
knuckle.
He giggled. “I still got one wish left. And I plan to make it a good one. And don’t worry, it’ll be quick too.”
I joked. “That’s your specialty, right?”
Gareth snapped, “Fuck off. Forget it. I’m not telling you shit.”
I probably could have chosen my words more carefully. “Aw come on. Don’t be like that. We’re having a good time. Don’t ruin it.”
He groaned. “You’re lucky you’ve been real nice to me other than that snide comment. You treated me first class so we’re cool.”
“Good,” I said as we returned to our friends and I set Gareth on the table.
Justinian exclaimed, “Dude. That was awesome. Quite a performance.”
“Were you taking any notes?” I asked the wolf, who smirked in response.
Mo said, “Yeah. That was pretty good. Not like this guy over here about to fall off the bull.” She thumbed toward the machine behind her.
Gareth said, “You like to criticize everyone who rides that bull. I think it’s time to put your money where your mouth is.”
Mo shifted around in her seat. “I already told you that I don’t need to prove anything to these people. That includes a stupid dagger who thinks he’s so cool.”
Gareth replied, “I think you gotta prove it to me. Sweetheart.” He made kissing sounds and giggled.
The Morrigan turned her head to the bar and mumbled, “Sorry, but I don’t have to prove anything to a talking dagger. Stupid piece of steel and brass.”
Gareth’s eyes flashed, sending a little beam of red light from the rubies. He seemed to be enjoying the repartee with the Goddess of Death. “Oh, I think you do if you want to find out about the death cards. For my seventh and final wish, I want to see the Morrigan ride the bull. For twenty seconds or more. Or my lips stay sealed.”
The Morrigan’s head bounced from Justinian to me. “Is this stinkin’ knife being serious?”
“Dagger,” Gareth corrected her.
Mo’s pale face turned deep burgundy, her lips pursed, and she exhaled audibly though her nose. Resorting to violence was the Goddess’s go-to move. Without it, she struggled in negotiation. She was the type of chess player who would knock all the pieces off the board before she lost.