“You have a point,” Taylor admitted and cut him off. She had folded her hands atop one another on the desk but now, she detached the left one and rested her red nails on the surface. “We’ll give it a trial. As per usual, though, anything that goes wrong is on you.”
Remy adjusted his tie. “But of course.”
She relaxed her posture a little. “The subject of our new secretary-receptionist is not the only thing to discuss, however. I also wanted to ask you something far more important.”
“I’m all ears,” he replied and spread his hands.
Drumming her fingers on the desktop, she queried, “You haven’t done anything careless, have you? Such as, for example, trying to hunt whoever killed those dwarves on your own. The other day, you seemed quite agitated after we spoke about the whole bait issue.” Her expression softened. “I understand that. I should have been more honest with you and at an earlier point in time. But any lingering resentment you might have is no excuse to do anything stupid.”
“Since when,” he scoffed, “have I ever done anything stupid?”
Taylor didn’t look much amused. “This…individual, this entity we are tracking—the mysterious vampire in Israel—is incredibly dangerous. I do not yet know their exact identity, but I can say with certainty that they are powerful and not someone to be trifled with, Remington.”
He sat stoically, endured the lecture, and met her gaze.
She drummed her fingers on the desk again. “Let me put the situation into perspective. You know that I am not to be trifled with, either. And yet, even I am worried. I’m playing it safe. I understand and respect that this is an adversary who poses a real threat to me. I mean no offense to you as a mortal, David, but you are not in the same league. You don’t even have one human lifetime under your belt. Attempting to face this rival of ours by yourself would be the height of foolishness. And I really would rather you not die. Believe me.”
“Well.” Remy sighed. “I suppose I’d rather not die either, to be perfectly frank.”
“Good,” Taylor riposted. “In that case, do as I told you previously. Go out on the town and spend money. Be loud and visible about it. Put yourself in places where numerous people will see you and perhaps even want to talk to you. And, again, pay attention to anyone suspicious who approaches you with strange questions or requests.”
He immediately thought of Don Gannon, but he was sure that didn’t count. There was nothing especially suspicious about a journalist who worked for a gossip rag begging for leads and offering half-assed promises in return.
With that thought tucked away, he cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “I haven’t tracked the dwarves’ killer on my own. And when I get my next cash installment from Maps Cat, I swear I will immediately go out and be my old asshole self again. It shouldn’t take long at all to begin attracting all kinds of weirdos who suddenly want to talk to me again.”
Taylor’s dark eyes regarded him for a moment. “All right. I am glad to hear that. You’ve worked hard on expanding our business so in a way, this could be the break you need, anyway. Be careful, Remington. I mean it.”
Smiling, he saluted her with two fingers. “Yes, ma’am. Speaking of which, I’m almost done with today’s round of stuff, so I’ll depart shortly. At least my apartment in Manhattan is closer to this place than yours in Harrison, ha. Sorry about that.”
She said nothing but nodded to him with a wry, almost sour expression. He turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Riley was waiting for him and fluttered around his shoulder almost immediately. “I overheard most of that,” she reported. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to listen in but I couldn’t help it.”
“Of course you couldn’t.” Remy adjusted his cuff links. “Don’t worry, though, none of that conversation was anything shocking, I’d wager. Let’s finish up and go home, shall we?”
He walked toward his office and the fairy trailed close behind. “Boobs already left,” she pointed out. “Were you hoping she’d stick around?”
“No,” he countered. “I dismissed her myself, didn’t I? At this point, I simply want to rest and prepare for tomorrow. And if we do bring her back and give her the job—which we probably will—it will be for purely professional reasons. Don’t worry, Riley. You’re still my number one sidekick.”
“Hmph,” she scoffed and folded her tiny arms over her chest. “That had better be true.”
Remy completed a few minor pieces of paperwork and returned his files to their folders before he locked his office. Riley hitched a ride on his shoulder as he strode out the front door and into the street.
“Oh,” she quipped, “I’m surprised also you were bold enough to actually lie to Taylor about not investigating those murders. Usually, she can see right through people when they lie.”
He half-frowned at this. “I didn’t lie, actually. What I said was technically true because I said I hadn’t tracked the perpetrators. In other words, I used past tense. We won’t be going after leads until tomorrow.”
The fairy pursed her lips as she considered this. The street lamps reflected golden sparkles off her iridescent wings. “You have a point there,” she admitted.
Chapter Eight
Industry City, Brooklyn, New York
Remington piloted his Lincoln down the street, hemmed in by the blocky, uniform buildings of one of New York’s biggest light manufacturing and warehousing districts. The day was cold and bright, somehow bleak despite the sunshine. The sparse white clouds looked lost in the blue sky.
“Riley,” he began, “keep an eye out for this V-Electronics store. My phone app can’t seem to make up its mind as to exactly where this place is located. I suppose that’s a good sign, in a way. It means that the place is weird and weird is exactly what we’re looking for.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’m still not so sure this is a good idea, though.”
He flapped a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. We’ll be fine. After all, our information comes from a disheveled guy we met in a basement tavern whose father probably kept asking him when he was going to get a real job until the day he died. What could possibly go wrong?”
It was true. Already, he had begun to benefit—or so he hoped—from his burgeoning professional relationship with Mr Don Gannon. How useful the reporter’s tip had been would remain to be seen.
Remy had called the man the night before after he’d arrived home from work. Don had picked up after only two rings and seemed excited to hear from him.
“Yes, so happy you called,” he’d gushed in his wheezing and gritty voice. “If you have any kind of lead for me, anything at all, give it here and ask me any question you like. I can’t promise I’ll know the answer but let me tell you that I can almost certainly point you in the right direction if nothing else.”
He decided the best thing to do was throw the man the equivalent of a stale bread crust—edible and nourishing enough to a starving man, but not something that he would particularly miss if he shared it.
“Well, Don,” he’d said, “as it so happens, there is—or was—this underground casino in Lower Manhattan near the financial district that was raided by the cops a couple of months ago. In addition to the basic illegality of gambling, it seems they had an episode of violence that finally pushed them into the limelight. A guy was even killed. But wait, there’s more. Some witnesses reported that they’d seen odd, uncanny things there. The types of things some people might even describe as supernatural, we’ll say.”
The reporter had been almost panting with excitement while he listened, and Remy could hear, over the phone, the sound of him jotting this all down on a scrap of paper.
Then he had asked his question.
“Tell me, Don. Have you heard anything about diamonds or other gems being smuggled secretly into the country? Probably by strange, short individuals, mostly with beards, I’d guess. Does that ring a bell?”
It had. Gannon refused to say much on the grounds that he didn’t k
now much, but he did drop the name of V-Electronics in Industry City. And that was that.
The car glided along the avenues but Riley still seemed nervous. She bit her fingertips as she glanced around in search of the store.
“Taylor warned you,” she pointed out. “She said that whoever’s responsible for those murders is not someone to mess around with, didn’t she? And she’s not the type to lie about something like that, Remy. Not only that, we both saw what happened to those poor dwarves.”
He ignored her, although he heard her words and understood them, of course. The truth was, he simply didn’t prioritize them. All he could think about was Taylor’s half-embarrassed admission that he was bait. Merely bait.
No matter what, he would show her that he was far more than that.
They reached a cross-street and around the corner to the left, both Remy and Riley located their goal at the same time.
“V-Electronics!” she shouted jubilantly, her wings flapping.
“Got it.” He turned the Lincoln toward the building. Like much of Industry City, it was blocky and nondescript although small and squat as though it crouched between the other edifices.
He sighed with relief when he saw it had its own parking lot. When he turned the car in and chose a space near the front entrance, though, he realized there were no other vehicles present.
“Shit,” he muttered. “This is a prime business hour and on a weekday. Let’s go read the text on the door, shall we?”
“Okay,” Riley agreed.
Remy shut the engine off and stepped out into the vacant lot. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was, but something impressed him with a feeling of abandonment and even desolation.
He wondered if the place had recently gone out of business. There were no broken windows, and no For Sale sign out front so that much was encouraging.
They approached the door and he peered at the establishment’s listed hours.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed. “This place must be run by six different people who all have sleep disorders.”
V-Electronics was open a grand total of eight hours per week. And at widely scattered times on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays only. Today was a Thursday.
“Aww.” The fairy pouted. “It looks like we’re out of luck. Unless you want to try to break in?”
He grimaced, then rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, I think I do want to try to break in. Well, before we actually break anything, I might as well attempt to…”
With little real expectation of success, he gave the door a shove. To his pleasant surprise, it swung inward without resistance.
“Well, then,” he stated. “No destruction of private property necessary.”
The fairy wafted in behind when he slipped in, and the door swung closed without a sound.
They both stopped and examined their surroundings. Immediately, he realized that he’d been incorrect about the place going out of business. Still, he had been in the right ballpark, so to speak.
Everything about the interior bespoke a pending move. The entire place was disassembled and in the state of chaos between its former equilibrium and the coming new order in which everything was packed away and shipped off to be reassembled elsewhere.
Riley floated beside his ear. “Weird,” she whispered, so softly he almost didn’t hear her. “It’s like a wrecking crew came through.”
“Except there’s no crew to be seen,” Remy observed. “Maybe they’re out to lunch?”
They inched forward, poked their way through the mess, and tried not to make a noise even though they’d already announced their presence quite clearly.
The shelves were standard for an electronics store—cheap but reasonably sturdy perforated metal, mostly in a dull off-white color. They were empty, however, and not a single product remained on display for any potential customers to see. Only a few spare, forgotten hooks dangled from the racks.
What wares still remained in the business had been hastily and haphazardly stuffed into a vast assortment of cardboard boxes, plastic tubs, and metal crates.
Bluetooth headsets lingered in a half-full box and protruded from a sea of azure packing peanuts. Motherboards and circuit boards were packed between layers of bubble wrap within metallic cubes. The floor was covered with small traces of debris.
“Hmm.” Remy scratched his head as he looked around. “There’s not much of interest here. The proprietors are closing shop, I suppose. Still, there might be a clue around. Riley, stay near me for now, but once we get to the other end, fly higher and scan for anything suspicious-looking.”
“Sure,” she concurred.
They crept between a vacant shelf on one side and a line of heavy tubs on the other and into an area more deeply shadowed. It lay far from both the front window and the nearest overhead light. He emerged from the aisle and glanced toward the far wall.
Then, air rushed and something hurtled toward his head.
He threw himself forward, ducked, and rolled, acting on instinct even before consciousness could involve itself. And as he came out of the roll, he saw the black head of an iron hammer swing through the space where his skull had been.
Before he could come up in something resembling a fighting stance, the hammer’s owner was on him. A short, stout, blocky-headed form tried to shoulder-ram him before his assailant swept the hammer up once more.
Remy stumbled back a step but braced himself on his feet and caught the handle of the mallet to twist and yank at it. The dwarf grunted and snarled.
“Short-ass son of a bitch!” the investigator yelled and pulled the weapon toward him. “Give it up.”
“Like hell, you preening woodpecker.” His assailant cursed and shoved forward with his stocky frame.
They struggled against one another and spewed insults that both probably would have been embarrassed about under other circumstances. The dwarf thrust forward gradually with his solid strength while the human stepped over or around him and tried to disarm him from different angles.
Riley flew up. “Remy! Are you okay? Who is that?”
“He’s not fat,” he shouted and the sweat on his hands made it harder to retain control of the hammer. “He’s big-boned.”
“I didn’t say fat, I said that!” the fairy retorted.
The dwarf growled. “Shut up, pencil-dick. Take your miniature escort and get the fuck out of here.”
Riley watched the two of them struggle with a mixture of captivation and disgust before she finally sighed and shook her head. “Okay. Clearly, neither of you are mature enough to play with that thing.”
She pointed her finger and a silver flash erupted from the hammer, momentarily blinding both men so neither of them saw the heavy tool suddenly elevate before it hurled itself across the floor to the complete opposite side of the building.
“What the hell?” the dwarf demanded.
Remy rubbed his eyes. “Ah, yeah, she does stuff like that occasionally. Sorry! At least now, maybe we can talk like civilized human beings. Or dwarves, whatever. I’m not here to kill you so there’s no reason for you to try to find another hammer and hit me in the head with it. I only wanted to ask a few questions.” He brushed himself off, put on his game face, and examined his new potential friend.
The dwarf still bristled with subdued hostility but he had begun to calm. “These are not good times to ask questions of strangers,” he murmured.
For a dwarf, he was actually kind of thin, although still wide and strongly-built in contrast to Remington. His deep widow’s peak, long mustache, and short beard were all a dark reddish color, and his skin was coppery. Something in his eyes suggested a sense of humor and relative lack of typical dwarven uptightness, which Remy hoped would make itself known once he was less agitated.
“Strangers,” he mused. “You make a good point. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I’m Remington Davis, with Moonlight Detective Agency. I’m Taylor Steele’s equal partner. You might have heard of her.” He slipped a bus
iness card out of his jacket and extended it.
The dwarf’s bushy red eyebrows shot upwards. “Taylor, yes. I didn’t know she had a partner now.” He accepted the card and gave it a cursory glance.
“Well, she does. We’re currently helping Surrly, the lender—if you know him—with a little issue that’s befallen him.” He dimmed the brightness of his smile now. While he wanted to come across as open and pleasant, he also wanted to convey the gravity of the situation. This individual, whoever he was, had probably heard about the murdered dwarves.
“Oh,” the fellow responded, “I see.” He paused and seemed hesitant to say more. “My name is Andrew Volz. I own this establishment. I thought it might be better for business if I relocated to Philadelphia. I have to go where the money is. Hence the mess.”
Remy nodded. Volz was clearly willing to play ball but also tried to find out more about him before he revealed too much.
He also noticed that Riley still floated nearby. She watched the dwarf suspiciously and seemed ready to intervene should he become violent again. It was unlikely that would be necessary, though. Volz was no longer angry.
“So,” he asked the dwarf, “are you connected with Surrly’s cartel, at all? Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. We’re simply trying to get a better idea of what the hell is going on lately.”
Volz eyed him and almost smirked. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you, Davis? Nothing scares you much, does it?”
Remy shrugged. “Some things do.”
“Well,” he replied, “to answer your question, I am not, and never was a member, but I know of them and worked with them, yes. They used to contract me for technology installation, troubleshooting, and general expertise. They were good, reliable, steady customers. Until a few days ago.”
He adjusted his cuff links. “Really? What happened?”
Volz frowned. “They suddenly started acting like human teenagers during a citywide riot. A whole crew of them burst in as I was closing up for the day, shoved past me in a mad rush, and looted my store. Actually looted it! They grabbed everything they could carry, bowled me over when I protested, and left in one hell of a tremendous hurry. It seems they were fleeing the city.”
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