The Case of the Singing Sword (The Billibub Baddings Mysteries)

by Tee Morris

  Creeping around the rows of crates toward the noise, I felt that goddamned déjà vu coming over me again. Only a few days after my last chat with Hammil, here I was in another friggin’ warehouse. Just lovely.

  Finally reaching the back of this place, I paused at the sight of another dead mobster, still gripping his Tommy. From the look on his face, he never knew someone was drawing a bead on him either. Next to the Tommy Gunner was Fat Man, a bullet between the eyes and a cigarette still lit between his lips.

  Yep, this Little Miss was full of nasty surprises.

  And here she was in yonder dimly lit corner, tearing through a second crate like a pack of wild huffas on a downed grumbi beast. From her total abandon, it was clear she didn’t have the foggiest idea which one held the Sword of Arannahs. Her ignorance hardly deterred her desperation; she was ready to open up every crate in this warehouse until she found it.

  A determined grunt escaped her as she pried off the top of the third crate. Just like the wooden lid now slamming against the floor, she was about to crack.

  When the crate revealed its contents, her gasp reverberated throughout the warehouse. I heard the light tinkle of metal against metal as she pulled out a variety of stage prop swords from beneath the top layer of wood shavings, trying to get a better look at them in the dim lighting. One by one, the cheaply made, gaudily adorned props hit the wooden lid lying at her feet. The light tinkle of metal swelled into the sound of blade striking blade, filling our ears with the resounding tintinnabulation. (Maybe even the ears of the dead. The noise was that loud.)

  I couldn’t see a pistol in the small of her back or in an ankle holster. Neither was it lying about on any of the surrounding boxes. That left only one other place: concealed.

  This could get tricky.

  “You know something…” I ventured as the clang of the last sword strike died away, “I never thought a girl like you would lower herself into paying a visit to the docks.”

  She froze, one hand inside the crate and the other holding on to the box’s open lip.

  “You give a whole new meaning to femme fatale, you know that?” I remarked, still keeping my axe at the ready. Her gun had to be somewhere within reach. “Capone’s boys do now, that’s for sure.”

  The warehouse was so quiet now that I could hear the wood shavings settling inside the crate, along with the soft buzz from lights above our heads.

  Then, her reply echoed around us. “They got in my way.”

  “They didn’t get in your way,” I scoffed. “They got in the way of your bul—.”

  Daphnie suddenly turned, her gun aimed low. This would have been the last case for ol’ Billi Baddings had I left my axe on the wall of my office.

  Like a sword in the hands of a knight on the battlefield (or a bat in the hands of my boy, Gabby), I swung the axe over my head in a sweeping arc and let fly. The axe’s hum became a loud, high-pitched whine as it hurtled end over end toward Daphnie’s pistol.

  She never saw the axe coming, but she did see her .38 Special dropping to the floor…

  …along with her right hand, still gripping it tightly.

  Daphnie tried to scream, but nothing came out. In her eyes, there burned an incredible determination to somehow command her disembodied hand to pull the trigger. Then she sunk to her knees, giving way to a weak moan as the pain of her cauterized wound began to consume her like the flames around a keep under siege.

  “Sorry, kid.”

  I don’t know if I really was sorry, but I felt like it had to be said anyway. I took another sharp bite of rubenna as the stench of overcooked meat hit my nostrils.

  I flipped over one of the already-sacked crates and slid it next to the one Daphnie had just rifled through. From the wooden creaks I heard escaping when I stepped up on the box’s bottom, my newfound stepladder was working pretty hard. Maybe I ought to think about cutting back on Mick’s chili specials…

  Naaaaahhh.

  “You shouldn’t be playing with toys like this one,” I chided Daphnie as I leaned into the open crate.

  Powerful magic—the kind that doesn’t come from charmed objects, like my axe—carries an electrical kind of smell, reminiscent of a mixture of hot copper and sulfur. The stronger the magic, the stronger the scent. The deeper I dug into this box, the more pungent the acrid fumes became, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise and my eyes to water.

  Nestled at the bottom, concealed by straw and wood shavings until my hand pushed them away, was an ornate hilt that could have easily passed for one of the rejects cluttering up the warehouse floor…except this sword’s handle was covered in dark, chocolate-brown leather that looked warm before you touched it. As I pulled the sword from the crate, the telltale ring of high-quality craftsmanship sounded clearly in my ears.

  Yep, I thought I would never see this stupid ice pick again. (Not that I’d ever wanted to in the first place.) The Sword of Arannahs, along with its talisman brothers and sisters, had cost me my home and my life. Although I’d got a quick glance before chucking it into Oblivion, this was my first chance to get a really good look. The Ryerson sketch and photographs really didn’t do it justice. From the intricate engravings along its wide blade and the bejeweled hilt and guard, the Sword appeared to weigh a ton, but actually felt light as a feather. This was not a weapon for the battlefield, but for ceremony; yet, its legend told of power unequalled by any army.

  As the magic teeming inside the blade seemed to adjust itself to my own weight and strength, I began to understand why the races of my realm coveted this sword so badly. It was a beautiful piece—a magnificent broadsword that would not be denied in its power.

  Clear your head, Baddings, I thought to myself. You don’t want to trigger anything you can’t control.

  When handling magical doodads of any kind—weapons, pendants, clothing—a clear mind is always the best defense. Doesn’t have to be crystal-clear, but clear enough so that the power of said enchanted item won’t get triggered by a sudden powerful emotion or stray thought.

  Back home, I remember one campaign where a particularly clueless human grabbed himself a cloak from a wizard’s stronghold. Its scent really made my head turn. “Something’s in the stitching,” I warned him.

  “Maybe ’tis a charm to keep mine own person warm,” he huffed in that namby-pamby, upper-crust voice of his. “’Tis so drafty in this accursed realm.”

  The next morning, we found “Sir Fancy Pants” dead, smothered in his sleep by—you guessed it—that damned cloak.

  So, think about that blank memo pad, Baddings, I reminded myself. Keep your head clear.

  As I hoisted the Sword, the blade’s edge caught a glint from one of the warehouse lights suspended high above us, revealing the Elvish script more clearly.

  Daphnie was in agony now, but she was far too pissed to reveal any kind of weakness. I had to hand it to her (no pun intended): The girl had a shitload of moxie.

  “Believe me, sister,” I told her, “you could lose a lot more than your hand with something like this in your life. Nothing’s worth what this sword would cost you.”

  “You freak!” Guess the girl managed to call up some courage now. Must have been the anger keeping her from going into shock. “You don’t know who you’re messing with!”

  “I got a pretty good idea,” I replied, hopping off the crate with the Sword. “That’s my job: figuring out who I’m messing with.”

  Resting against my axe’s handle, I enjoyed a moment’s pride. Through her wrist, and into the crate. Nice to know I still had the arm.

  “But I don’t buy for one second, Daphnie, that you know what you’re messing with,” I added, nodding at the Sword in my hand.

  Daphnie’s teeth gnashed as another wave of pain shot through her. Beads of sweat were forming across her brow and upper lip. “You think you got all the answers, don’t you?”

  “You’re a smart girl, Daphnie. A numbers girl, absolutely. And from what I saw of Benny’s digs, you definitely kn
ow how to trash a place. But masterminding a heist like this? Doubtful. Look…how about we have a chat before you pass out here and wake up in the hospital with Chicago’s Finest changing your bedpan? I want to know who’s calling the shots here.”

  Clickity-click-click.

  Guess that was a really bad choice of words.

  If I were back home, I would have sworn that sound coming from behind me was a marsh cricket, or perhaps an orc toddler breaking the hind legs of a pet dog so it wouldn’t run away. However, in this world and in this profession, I instantly recognized that sound as the hammer of a.38 caliber pistol pulling back into a firing position.

  I lifted my nose to take a few quick whiffs. A smile crossed my face. “That scent is really popular in your circles,” I noted with a nod. “Bet the archeologists appreciate it, too.”

  “Do you really think I care?”

  The warehouse echo distorted her voice. I guess she assumed I was like her…still in the dark.

  “Maybe. A little.” I turned toward the shadows where the voice came from. “Looks, after all, mean a lot to you.”

  “And what makes you say that?”

  Daphnie now stared unblinking into the darkness, fighting to stay conscious. She must’ve really wanted to see me buy it before passing out. By the sudden paleness in her face, I could tell it was going to be any minute now.

  “Looks do matter to you, toots. You really want to appear being the victim when you’re actually the brains behind this little caper. Maybe not when you first saw the Sword, but after you figured out what it could do.”

  “And now that I figured it out, why don’t you slowly walk forward, put it down by your feet, and then back away?”

  I started to lower the Sword, but then paused as I heard her whisper “Easy…”. Once the talisman reached the floor, she took a few steps forward.

  “Pretty strong stride you got there,” I observed with a smirk as I slowly stood up.

  “I was sore this morning, but nothing a little rest couldn’t cure,” she answered, stepping into the pool of light where Daphnie and I stood. My Lady Trouble shot a lewd smile at my crotch in memory of the night before. “Still won’t take away anything from the wildest romp I’ve had in the sack for some time.”

  Glad I could deliver the goods to you, sweetheart. And to thank me, you’re pointing the business end of a Roscoe at me? Thanks a hell of a lot.

  “Julie, this prick’s been on my case!” Daphnie growled as she pulled herself up to her knees. “He knew about the job, and I don’t know how he figured out I was coming here tonight.”

  “Daphnie, he’s a detective,” Julie said flatly.

  “Yeah, a detective you hired!” With another wince, she braced the stumped arm closer to her body. “I told you it was a bad idea from the start.”

  “Maybe, but he did find the Sword, didn’t he?”

  Daphnie paused, turning her attention back to me. Was she expecting me to answer for her? Don’t look at me, you stupid tart. I just took your boss to bed for a good, hard grundle’malk.

  Through her grimace of pain, I could just make out a glimmer of fear. She couldn’t have been afraid of me. I wasn’t the one with the gun.

  “It’s okay. Billi was everything I hoped he’d be,” Julie smiled, giving me a wink. “I trust you in taking care of the numbers in our organization, Daph. When will you learn to trust me?”

  “I do trust you, Jules,” Daphnie replied, her voice wavering slightly. I saw her swallow hard, but there was something different about her demeanor now. She wasn’t as defiant as earlier. Something was hitting the fan right now. “You know that! I just don’t understand why we’re creating more loose ends to tie up…”

  “Billi here is a private investigator, so apart from his client, who else would he confide in? His secretary?”

  Nothing is more uncouth than talking around someone. So what if they already considered me dead? It’s just plain rude. Still, wasn’t like I had much to say to either one of these harpies right now.

  “Jules…” Daphnie revealed her wound with a sob. “He did this to me. He’s just like the rest of them, just like you said…”

  “I know, I know. We’ve got to take care of you, hon. I know who to take you to. She’s someone I can trust.”

  “Okay,” she sighed, sinking down a hint. “We just have to—” Yeah, there she goes. She was coming close to passing out. “We have to…”

  “Shhh,” Julie murmured soothingly. “Just let me take care of this loose end, okay?”

  “Okay, okay…just make it qui—”

  Julie pointed the barrel at Daphnie and pulled the trigger. The back of the flapper’s head exploded, splattering her platinum-blonde hair and the nearby crates with splotches of deep red. After her head jerked back for an instant, she remained upright for what felt like an eternity. Her lips were moving slightly, but only a gurgle escaped. Then the unseen strings holding up this marionette were suddenly cut, and her body slumped to the floor.

  “So was that for losing track of the Singing Sword,” I asked, the talisman still within reach of my foot, “or for killing Benny Riletto prematurely and then trying to double-cross you?”

  I knew that was going to impress the hell out her.

  “You are very good, Billi.” She nodded approvingly, still holding me at bay with the gun. “When I read in your notes this morning that you found her through Mario—a contact she denied ever meeting—I knew I needed to watch her closely from now on, because the Sword never made the transfer from her hands. Now, step away from the Sword, Billi. Nice and slow.”

  With a quick glance down at the Sword, I started putting some space between me and it, one small step at a time. “I won’t lie to you…you almost had me convinced that Eva was the culprit. Because you two share the same wealth, the same social circles and even the same expensive scents, it would have been easy to jump to that conclusion.”

  Julie suddenly extended her arm to its full length. “I would prefer if you didn’t get too close to that axe of yours,” she said, pulling the hammer back once again.

  Damn, she was on to me. I took my next steps much slower, putting more distance between me and my weapon.

  “Of course,” I went on, “Eva didn’t help her own case when she claimed to be another girlfriend of Tony’s who desperately wanted to understand why he was killed. And because she was the archeologist—and yes, I do use that term loosely—who found the Singing Sword, I’m thinking if I confirmed that Tony’s death was in fact connected to the Sword, she would have her proof that it was somewhere in Chicago, and then it would become my mission to find it for her. How am I doin’?”

  “Excellent work, Billi.” Motioning me with her pistol for me to take a few more steps away from the Sword, she started moving toward it. “Go on.”

  “Judging from her lack of reaction to your family’s impressive antique collection, I could see you were absolutely correct in your assessment of Eva Rothchild’s archeological know-how. After all, if she really gave a troll’s toss about the profession that keeps her a front-page favorite, she would have ratted you out to the cops for the little racket you and Hammil were running. No, publicity was Eva’s one and only motive. Whether she found the Sword herself, or with a lot of uncredited help, all she wanted was to be recognized in Chicago for the adventurer that she claimed to be. For that to happen, she needed her find close by.”

  “Goddamn, Billi, you were worth every penny! Keep going.”

  “You even admitted that Eva wanted to be part of the gang, but I’d already gotten that impression after seeing a press picture taken of you, Tony, and Eva with the rest of the gang. You may not like Eva, but you kept her close. Maybe to see if she had what it took to join you.”

  Julie stopped at the Singing Sword, glanced at it, and then gave me an affirmative nod. “Eva was a bit of a disappointment, Billi. For what I was planning, I needed people I could trust.”

  I laughed. Something she didn’t expect. “Trust? No
, Julie, you needed people you could control. Benny was controllable. You knew that from nights spent on the town together. Daphnie’s mutiny was a surprise, though, wasn’t it?”

  For a moment, albeit a brief one, Julie looked almost regretful. “She was incredible with numbers, Billi. While Tony was wrapping up business there early one morning, she and I talked, struck up a friendship…I believed that I had found an ally.”

  “Yeah, an ally featured in a show with dancers parodying Lady Justice. What better place to hide the Sword than in the epicenter of Chicago’s underworld so that neither Capone, Moran, or even you would notice it under their noses? All the while you were searching, Daphnie was keeping the Sword safely stashed with the other props backstage at the speakeasy, making sure it never saw the light of day.

  “Now, Benny feeling his oats…that one took a minute to figure out. This was probably where your own plan was in trouble. DeMayo—with a bit of encouragement from you, I’ll venture a wizard’s wager—wanted to keep the Sword for himself.”

  “He was ambitious, Tony DeMayo,” Julie tipped her head back, the smile on her face one of victory and contentment. “I took creative license with my own findings on the Singing Sword, and convinced him to take what was going to be his eventually.”

  “A regular Lady MacBeth, you are.”

  She slowly replaced the hammer of her pistol, and I felt my own shoulders drop slightly.

  “You were going to tell me how things started to fall apart,” she said, lowering her pistol slightly. Not completely, though.

  “Well, I don’t doubt eliminating the bagmen was part of the original deal. But Tony getting hit at Sal’s was the beginning of the end. When Benny confided in Daphnie his own plans for the Singing Sword, she planned to make him into a human quintain out of loyalty to you. Instead, she unlocked the power of the Singing Sword and used it to strike Benny off his own list. Along with attracting way too much attention for your liking, I’m sure you now suspected Daphnie of hanging on to the Sword for herself.

  “When Tony was hit, you subsequently lost track of the Singing Sword’s hiding place. Last you heard from Daphnie, Mario was going to deliver it to the speakeasy, but then never showed. Benny’s untimely death popping up on the front page of Chicago’s papers was your tip-off that the Sword was still in town. And then you panicked, because you didn’t want Eva to know it was on the street. Just like your rival, you really didn’t care about Tony DeMayo or the ‘why’ behind his death. You were relying on me to lead you to the Singing Sword, weren’t you? If I found it for Eva, it would have granted her credibility. For you, it was the ticket to freedom you’ve always wanted.”