The blow must have connected, as the large assailant dropped to his knees. Darc took the time to place another hit squarely to the solar plexus. The man was on the floor and gasping within seconds.
Darc moved through the dark space in front of the bar, weaving through the struggling individuals there, taking out any that appeared to threaten either the Deputy Attorney or his cousin. It was strange, but there was a feeling of immense satisfaction in using his various limbs as weapons to disable his opponents. It was a feeling of being completely in his body, experiencing every moment, every sensation.
The lines of logic only seemed to heighten it all, instead of pulling him out as they usually did. The softness of the pathways served as an informative background instead of another, harder, more precise universe imposed on the real one.
Dancing his way through the interwoven streets of glowing light, Darc continued to protect his newfound friend until the police arrived.
CHAPTER 15
Trying to catch up to Trey and Darc was like bailing water out of a canoe with a sieve, and Mala was getting tired. It had taken five calls and three texts to Trey to finally get a response from him, and when the response came, it was cryptic. Come to the Owl N’ Thistle. Now. I need you.
If it had been from anyone other than Trey, Mala would’ve thought it was a booty call. But if Trey was being cryptic, there must be something pretty desperately wrong. Trey was the kind of guy that couldn’t help but use five words when one would do. So Mala found herself speeding along toward downtown Seattle, hoping that there were no patrol cars around to stop her. Or that if there were, they’d recognize her and let her go with a warning. Right now, with everything that was going on with the DSHS, it was not the moment to start getting speeding tickets.
In fact, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she really needed to get Trey and Darc to write up some statements about Janey’s case, she more than likely would have just headed home without trying to check in with the guys. The meeting with her social worker had drained the life out of her.
But they needed her, and she found that the idea they might be in trouble was rapidly replacing her feelings of lifeless discouragement into something more resembling an adrenaline rush. Knowing those two detectives, they could be in a stand-off with a serial killer in a back alley.
The only thing that kept the panic to a minimum was that the place she was going to was public. Not likely that there was a hostage situation happening in the local pub. Then again, it was Darc and Trey…
Mala stepped on the gas pedal, giving a slight burst of speed to her vehicle. It was a Prius, so the burst was more of a hiccup, but she was going a little bit faster.
Rounding the corner of Marion Street onto Post Avenue, Mala felt her heart sink. There were several squad cars, lights flaring, parked around the bar. A group of people were milling around the entrance, looking confused and angry.
Whatever had happened here, it wasn’t looking good.
There was enough of a barricade happening in front of the bar that Mala felt safe to double-park alongside one of the police vehicles. As she stepped out of her car, a uniformed cop approached her.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step back in your car and—”
Mala held up the identification card that she had gotten from HR the day before. Being a part-time consultant had its perks. The uni bent down to take a closer look, then glanced back up at Mala to match her picture to her face.
“Sorry, Dr. Charan. Come on through.” He waved her into the press of cops and bar patrons, where she spent the next few moments trying not to get jostled too heavily.
Ten seconds later, Trey was at her side. “Hey, Mala. Thanks for coming. We… I…” The detective flapped his hands around in a vague gesture that Mala took to mean that Trey had no idea what to say or do next. The gesture ended in him pointing toward one of the patrol cars. Specifically, at one of the figures sitting half in and half out of the back of the patrol car, the door swung wide.
His head was bent down, but the broadness of the shoulders and the gleam of the skin of his head identified him as Darc. What was odd was the way he was slumped down in the seat… well, that, and the fact that he had handcuffs on.
Mala darted her gaze at Trey, who just shrugged his shoulders. Moving over toward the seated figure, Mala tried to figure out what chain of events could possibly end up in Darc, restrained, sitting slouched over in the back of a police car. The only thing that was coming to mind was the Apocalypse, but seeing as there was no fire raining down from the sky, Mala was keeping that one in reserve.
As she neared Darc, Mala caught a whiff of something. Was that… alcohol? Darc’s head popped up, and Mala gasped. Darc had a lump on his forehead and the beginnings of what looked to be one hell of a shiner. He grinned at her.
“Hello, Mala,” Darc slurred. He patted his pockets, seeming to look for something. After a sloppy search using both of his hands, which were cuffed together, the bald detective pulled what appeared to be a small handwritten card out of his inside jacket pocket. He put the card within two inches of his face, peering at it. Then, putting the card back into his pocket, Darc spoke again.
“You look very beautiful this evening.”
Mala barely took in the compliment, she was so stunned. “What are you doing in the back of a police car? In handcuffs?” She leaned in toward Darc and took a deep breath. “Drunk?”
Another voice from deeper inside the shadowy backseat of the car spoke up. “Is this her? The woman?” A form shimmied its way over toward the light. A blond head and piercing blue eyes peered up at her, framed in a striking face that seemed to be all angles leading down and forward to full lips. “Wow. I can see how this one could mess with your sleep cycle.” He gave her a roguish wink that made her skin heat up.
Darc was mumbling to himself. He refocused his gaze on Trey, who had come up beside Mala. Darc’s face pulled into a scowl. Mala was fairly confident that she had never seen Darc scowl. Or grin, for that matter. What was going on with him?
“It did not work,” Darc muttered at Trey. “And I read it straight from the card.”
Trey made a shushing sound and held up his hands as if to restrain Darc from further speaking. Mala had next to no idea what was going on, but whatever was happening, she wasn’t happy about any of it.
“Does someone want to explain to me what is happening right now?”
“Yeah,” Trey responded, then stopped. “No, actually, there’s too much, and a lot of it was in a dark bar where I couldn’t really see well.”
“I’m sorry,” the blond-headed man in the backseat spoke up. “All of this is my fault. I invited these two detectives to come down to the pub with me to discuss a case we’re working on, and things got out of hand.”
“And who are you?” Mala shot back, not sure what to make of this new addition to the group.
“Oh, right,” Trey put in. “I forgot you two haven’t met. Dr. Mala Charan, this is Deputy Attorney Bryce Van Owen.”
“You’re a prosecuting lawyer?” Mala tried not to allow her surprise to register in her tone, but failed miserably. “And you got into a bar fight?”
“What can I say?” The attorney leveled a lopsided grin at her. “I’m Irish. It’s in the blood.”
“You’re Irish?” Trey seemed more shocked by this information than Mala had been at the fact that he was a deputy attorney and in custody. “With a name like Van Owen? And the whole cheekbones thing you got going on? What the hell kind of Irish are you? I’m Irish. You are not Irish.”
Bryce shrugged, his handcuffs jangling. “It’s on my mom’s side. She’s from the O’Brien clan. Some of the first Irish settlers in Washington.”
Trey pursed his lips. “Well, that explains the pub. And the Guinness. And the redheaded cousin. And the bar fight.” He ticked off the points on his fingers. “But… No, actually, that pretty much explains the entire evening.”
“Yeah, I got the hair—and the bone structu
re—” the lawyer had the decency to look sheepish at that, “from my stuffy German dad. Everything else comes from me mum.” The last sentence was delivered in an Irish brogue. It changed the entire look of his face. Roughened him up a bit. Mala smiled in spite of herself.
“What is the plan now?” She asked of the group.
Trey glanced around. “I think I saw a couple of friends in and among the unis here. I’m going to see if I can get one of them to cut these two loose.” He snorted. “I hope it works. ‘Cause a detective and a deputy attorney getting arrested for drunk and disorderly will make the evening news. And that would not make Captain Merle happy.” He wandered off in the direction of a group of uniformed officers nearby.
“I drank water,” Darc spoke from in between his knees, where he had rested his head. “I drank a glass of water in between every beer. That should mitigate the effects of the dehydration common with alcohol consumption.”
“But what on earth made you decide to drink?” Mala could not get over the fact that this was Darc in front of her. Granted, her experience with the autistic detective was not what you would call intimate, but this went against everything she thought she knew of him. Precise, logical to a fault, opposed to anything that might even appear “sloppy.”
“It’s my fault,” Van Owen interjected once more, cutting Darc off before he could speak. “I pressured him into it.”
“My experience with Darc has been that no one pressures him into anything.” Mala replied.
“Yeah, I can see that’s probably true. Fair point.” The attorney flipped his blond hair up on his forehead with a flick of his neck. “I think he was just stressed out and trying to unwind.”
“It was you,” Darc growled from in between his legs. “I drank because of you.”
Mala had no idea what to make of that at all. Was Darc speaking to her or to Van Owen? She opened her mouth to speak, but was saved from having to respond by Trey returning with a police officer in tow.
“Okay, gents, Officer Duncan here is going to spring you.” Trey waved the officer toward the two men in the backseat. “And let this be a lesson to you, Darc. Leave the drinking to the professionals.” He shook his head. “Wow. I sounded just like my mom. That is so not all right. Your fault, Darc. Your fault.”
Darc nodded his head, and then winced at the sudden movement. It was the closest Mala had ever seen to the tall detective looking meek. He spoke in a low tone.
“I do not think that I will ever repeat this experiment. I found it to be less than effective.”
Effective? And what kind of “experiment” would make this overly-logical, empathetically challenged man decide to get hammered?
It was mystifying, but Mala wasn’t convinced she wanted to know the answer.
*
The lines of light buzzed at Darc, expressing their dispassionate annoyance. It was strange, but he had never before noticed any sound emanating from the pathways of logic within his mind. But now that any noise whatsoever made his entire head throb, their vibrations were more than clear. Was it possible they were doing it on purpose?
Even the muted light seemed to pierce into the depths of his mind, causing him to wince in pain. Never before had Darc experienced anything quite as uncomfortable as this, not even when he contracted the influenza and had been sick for two weeks.
As he entered into the main part of the office the next morning, headed toward his desk, everyone came to their feet and began applauding. The wave of sound hit Darc in the forehead and drove him back several meters before the clapping dissolved into knowing chuckles. They were laughing. Everyone in the office was laughing at him.
This was a completely new experience for Darc. He found he did not enjoy it.
“Darc!” Trey called out to him. The sharp call seemed to echo through his head, disrupting the patterns of light within. His partner grinned at him and spoke in an overly solicitous tone. “Oh, hey. Sorry, dude. Was that painful?” Trey turned back to the rest of the officers and detectives gathered around. “All right. Nothing to see here. C’mon. Shoo.” They grumbled as he waved them off. “Here, man.” He handed Darc a cup.
“What is this?” Darc asked, peering down into the container. It was filled approximately one-quarter full with an unidentified clear fluid with a slight orange tint.
“Drink it. It’ll help with the hangover.”
Darc lifted the vessel up to his lips and emptied the contents into his mouth. The fluid burned all the way down his throat. He coughed and almost spat part of the liquid back out.
“What is this?”
“Just deserts, dude. Don’t ever do that again.” Trey glanced over at Darc and must have seen something in his face, as his tone gentled. “Hair of the Dog. Gin and hot sauce, dude. It’ll make you feel better. Promise.”
“Drinking additional alcohol will reduce the effects from drinking alcohol?” The pathways of logic turned inward on themselves, seeking to make sense of this seeming paradox.
“I know. Sounds weird, but it works. Something about the combination of the spice to kick-start your digestion and the alcohol to take your body’s attention away from what you did to it last night. Give it a minute or two and you’ll be feeling lots better.”
This seemed highly improbable to Darc, but if there were anyone to whom he should defer on this topic, it was Trey. They walked side by side over to their desks.
“I’m glad you made it in this morning, Darc,” Trey said. “We just got a call in. There’s been another murder. You up for going out there with me?” He seemed to think for a moment. “On second thought, screw it. I don’t care if you’re up for it. You’re going. Do the crime, serve the time.”
“I did not commit a crime.”
“Depends on how you define crime. Felony? No. But you stepped into misdemeanor territory last night. Drunk and disorderly, remember? And it’s a slippery slope that leads down the path into eternal damnation. Or suspension. One of the two.”
The phone on Trey’s desk rang, and the sound reverberated through Darc’s skull. He clutched at the corner of the desk, doing what he could to remain erect, while Trey snatched up the receiver with a chuckle.
“Keane.” Trey paused, listening. “Hey, yeah. How did you…? You know what, never mind. Just meet us there.” He glanced over at Darc and appeared to rethink. “Actually, give it a few minutes, okay? You got the address? Course you do. What was I thinking?” Trey dropped the receiver in the cradle, wrinkling up his nose. “That was Harris. I swear, that guy seems to know everything that happens in Seattle before it even happens. He’s coming to the crime scene.”
Darc nodded, turning to head back out toward the parking lot. Before he could begin moving in that direction, Trey took hold of his jacket and steered him toward a chair next to the desk.
“We’re not going anywhere until we talk this out.”
“There is nothing to discuss.” The paths of light throbbed their agreement. They snaked around Darc’s head, pulling him toward the crime scene, where their logic could unravel the tightly tied knots of a madman. Here there was nothing but fog and mist. Out there, logic reigned, pure and clean.
“Nothing to discuss? Dude, you got drunk last night.” Trey shook his head. “No, you got hammered last night. And then took part in a bar brawl.” Darc’s partner sighed, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “Don’t get me wrong. There’s a part of me that’s impressed. But come on. This is you we’re talking about. Darc, the super detective who never gets emotional about anything.”
The trails of light grew insistent in their urging. This was gray area, not their domain, and as far as they were concerned, a waste of time. “This conversation helps nothing. There is work to be done.”
“Man, if you can’t see that there is work to be done here, you aren’t nearly as smart as you think you are.” Trey breathed out. “I get that this is uncomfortable. But apply that giant brain to this problem. First thing, you’re acting all wonky.”
“Wonky.
That is unspecific.”
“Whatever. Weird. Freaky. Irrational. Take your pick. Second, you never do that. Third thing, that means there’s an issue here, right? Don’t you call that, like, a syllogy or something? Dammit. I can never remember that stupid word.”
“Syllogism,” Darc corrected, unthinking. But the threads of logic had picked up the pathway that Trey had, however imperfectly, laid out for them. Darc’s partner was correct in his assessment, even if it had not been a true syllogism. Even though the conclusion lay buried in the haziness of gray emotion, the reasoning that brought Darc to this destination was sound. Trey had exposed a blind spot in the seemingly infallible web of logic.
There was indeed an issue.
“You are correct.”
“I am?” Trey sat back, his face losing all outward expression. “I am. Hey, that never happens.”
“That is not accurate. You are correct seven-point-three percent of the time.”
Trey ran his hand through his hair. “Awesome. You couldn’t possibly just say ‘congratulations’ or something, could you?”
“Would that change the facts?” Darc did not understand Trey’s constant need for validation in this area. Either one was right or one was wrong. This was a quantifiable metric. Congratulating Trey for being right was akin to congratulating a rose for being red. It would remain red regardless of the well wishes.
“You know what? Forget it.” Trey muttered.
“It is unlikely that I will forget. And if you are using that phrase in the connotative sense of ‘do not worry about it,’ rest assured that I am not.”
“Seriously,” Trey groused. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me? We were just getting somewhere good, and now you’re off quantifying and measuring again.”
Was that accurate? The idea of staying with the emotional side of this problem was uncomfortable. It was conceivable that Darc was seeking comfort in the soothing glow of the threads of logic with which he was constantly surrounded.
7th Sin: The Sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 2 of the Darc Murders Series) Page 16