Dagger to the Heart

by Alex P. Berg

  I scribbled down a few observations in the notepad on the edge of my desk and flipped forward in the file, looking to see if Transom had identified any potential suspects. I grunted. He had. Of course he had.

  The first person he’d identified was Guzmann’s maid, a woman by the name of Giuliani Verde. From the documents present, it didn’t look like Transom had tracked her down yet, but he’d scavenged some information about her from the neighbors, same as he had for Guzmann. She came twice a month as already noted, on Mondays, and stayed most of the day. The Nosy Nancies who’d given Transom the information described her as five foot five, with dark hair and a plain face, so she probably wasn’t the same woman with the air of adultery about her that Rodgers had told us about.

  The only other person Transom had scraped together information on, the only other person who visited Guzmann with any kind of frequency, was an unnamed veterans affairs worker who neighbors claimed dropped by every month or two. Statements on her appearance varied, placing her as anywhere between twenty and forty years of age, with inconsistent hair color and a visage described as anything from pretty to stern. Given the total lack of consensus on her, she was a perfect match for our mystery hussy.

  “Hey, Daggers.”

  I looked up from the file to find Quinto looming over my desk. He’d flung his overcoat over his shoulders, a big black woolen thing that could’ve made a wonderful shroud for at least a dozen goblins.

  “Hey, big guy. You get your ducks in a row with Elmswood?” After arriving at the precinct, the Captain had instructed Rodgers and Quinto to check in with Drake and the aforementioned Elmswood, something about a discrepancy in the paperwork they’d passed off to the other detectives. They’d left before Captain had harassed Griggs and me over our lack of progress.

  “Took care of that some time ago,” said Quinto. “Heading out now.”

  I glanced toward his desk, finding it and its neighbor empty. “Rodgers leave, too?”

  “He’s got a wife and two small girls. Of course he did.”

  “Hey, I’ve got a wife and kid and I’m still here.”

  “That’s sort of my point,” said Quinto. “Shouldn’t you get out of here?”

  I lifted the file and nodded toward my notebook. “Captain told me to hit the books. What am I supposed to do, say no? You know him. With two deaths in as many days, he’s liable to combust at the slightest provocation. I don’t need any more fires right now.”

  Quinto glanced at the empty desk next to mine and then at the Captain’s office. “Griggs made it out alive.”

  “Are we really sure he’s alive, though?” I said. “For all I know, that dustbag might as well be fueled by whale oil, dark magic, or the intractable rage of all the kids who’ve played on his lawn over the years.”

  “Griggs has a lawn?”

  “Metaphorically speaking. Knowing him, it’s all weeds.”

  Quinto shrugged and buttoned his overcoat. “Well, anyway. Try not to stay too late. You work too much.”

  I snorted. “That’s like the hyena calling the dog a jackal, isn’t it?”

  “At least I don’t have anything else better to do. See you tomorrow, Daggers.”

  I grunted. “See ya.”

  Quinto turned and headed for the doors, and I frowned. He didn’t have anything else better to do? Implying what about me, exactly?

  I shook my head and turned my attention back to my work, shelving the topic for a moment when the Captain wouldn’t put my ass in a sling for dallying.

  5

  The hinges creaked as I pushed open the door to my apartment. The air inside was cool and dark, the lights having been extinguished and the fire in the stove doused at least an hour ago. A buttery scent hung in the air, tinged with something acidic and herbaceous. Tomato sauce, maybe.

  Moonlight spilled through the main window in my living room, cascading across the couch and floor, sending shadows trailing from sets of blocks and a rocking horse. Walking carefully to avoid them, I followed my nose to the kitchen, where a bit of heat lingered from earlier. A pot sat on the stove. I lifted the lid, leaned over, and took a sniff. Spaghetti and meatballs. I poked it with a finger. Stone cold. I wouldn’t expect it any other way.

  My stomach grumbled, so I fumbled in a drawer for a fork and dug in. The meatballs felt mealy against my tongue, stiffened by the cold, and the noodles had congealed into a big, saucy clump. I ate some of it anyway, but only enough to appease the protests of my midsection. The meal wasn’t worth any greater effort than that.

  I returned the pot lid to its home and sneaked around the corner into the hallway. I slowed outside one of the closed doors, trying to keep the floorboards from creaking underfoot. I cracked the door and peered in. With the drapes drawn, the moonlight was even fainter within, but I could just make out a still form in a crib. I strained my ears, making sure I heard the regular inhale and exhale of breath before closing the door.

  I moved to my room, the lights there having been extinguished as well. I crept in, noting another, larger form lying on the right half of my bed, on her side facing the wall. I heard soft breaths. I guess Nicole had already gone to sleep.

  I took a trip to the restroom, came back, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Nicole shifted. I bent over to unlace my shoes.

  I paused, with my first shoe halfway off. I’d heard something besides her breathing. A sort of choked moan, maybe a sniff.

  “Nicole?”

  She didn’t respond, but I heard the sound again.

  “Nicole…are you crying?”

  She turned onto her back, her face indistinct in the wan moonlight. Something sparkled on her face. Tears.

  “What do you think, Jake?” she said, her voice breaking. “Of course I’m crying.”

  “Why were you pretending to sleep?”

  “You’re the detective. Figure it out.” She turned back onto her side, away from me.

  “Look, Nicole. I got caught up at work again. This arson case came up. The fire crews didn’t manage to get the blaze contained until nightfall, and the Captain was all up in my ass to get some movement on it tonight, mostly because there’d already been a fire yesterday that killed someone, and—”

  She turned her head. Even in the dim light, I could see her eyes harden. “As if that matters. Today, of all days.”

  “Nicole, I don’t understand. What’s going on? Why are you so upset?”

  I saw her mouth open. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

  I felt a hollow open up inside me. Oh, crap. It wasn’t our anniversary, was it? No. The day we first met? I didn’t think so. Think, Daggers, think…

  “It was Tommy’s birthday today, Jake. You said you’d be back early. You promised.”

  I felt my jaw slacken. “Birthday…?”

  I tried to remember. I’d been in the apartment with Nicole yesterday or the day before. She’d been in her padded sofa chair in the living room, reading a book. Tommy’d been on the floor, playing with his toys. She’d told me about his birthday as I’d grabbed some coffee and my coat. I’d nodded and said I’d be there, but…

  “No. That couldn’t have been today,” I said. “It’s tomorrow, isn’t it? What day is it?”

  “Gods, Jake, are you for real right now? I just told you it’s Tommy’s birthday, so obviously it’s the fourteenth. Don’t tell me you don’t even remember when he was born?”

  I shook my head. “No. No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what the hell did you mean, Jake?” Nicole hopped out of bed, throwing the covers off her. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell what she wore. Fleece pajamas, maybe. Once upon a time, she’d slept naked, or close enough as to not make a difference.

  “I just meant that… I mean… It can’t be his birthday. Someone must’ve messed with my calendar, or—”

  “Oh, heavens, are you KIDDING ME? You’re really going to try to blame this on someone else, or on some trick of fate
? YOU FORGOT, JAKE! It’s YOUR fault. All yours. Nobody else’s.”

  I stood and faced Nicole. “Okay. Look, maybe I did, but—”

  “All he wanted was for you to be here, Jake. For you to make it to dinner for once. To eat some cake with him. Blow out the candles with him.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “I get that I disappointed him, but now you’re making stuff up. He’s two! He knows, what? Like a hundred words, tops? No way he told you all that.”

  Nicole jabbed a finger at me. “I could see it in his face, Jake! He might only be two, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what sadness feels like, or disappointment. Hell, he’s extremely familiar with the latter given that you’re his father.”

  I felt my cheeks warm. “Excuse me? Now, listen here. I may have made a mistake. I might’ve stayed too late at work tonight, and on a bunch of nights. I get it. But your attitude right now is totally out of line. I’m doing this for you, you know.”

  I could hear the strain in Nicole’s voice, her tone becoming higher and higher pitched. “Doing what for me, Jake?”

  “Working my ass off,” I said. “You think I like spending four or five or even six nights a week at the precinct? Swilling stale coffee and huffing other flatfoot’s cigarette fumes and wolfing down cold spaghetti and meatballs when I get home? You think I’d rather stare at Quinto’s ugly mug and get savaged by the Captain than be here with you and Tommy?”

  “Yes!”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You’re damned right I think you’d rather be at the office than here with me! Gods, you’re so full of shit, Jake.”

  My shock was short lived. My voice lowered, my rage starting to smolder. “I do this for you, Nicole. I work hard to provide for you. You think our landlord lets us live here out of the kindness of his heart? There are bills to pay. Food. Clothes. Soon enough we’ll have school expenses for Tommy.”

  I couldn’t see the tears, but I could her Nicole’s sobbing. She clenched her fists and stomped a foot, her voice becoming hysterical. “Stop it, Jake! Stop it! You think I don’t talk to Allison? Rodgers doesn’t spend every waking moment at the station. He has to work late, too, but not every night, not every weekend. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t sleep in late, either, or rush off to work without saying so much as goodbye, probably because he’s not drunk when he goes to bed.”

  I thought I heard a noise in the hallway. “Now hold on a damn minute—”

  “Don’t you dare lie to me, Jake! You think I don’t know what whiskey smells like? You don’t even bother to brush your teeth to hide it half the time!”

  The sound from the hallway intensified. Crying.

  “Oh, wonderful,” said Nicole, her voice warbling. “Now look what you’ve done! You’ve gone and woken Tommy. Good work! Maybe now you can finally say happy birthday to him!”

  “I woke him?” I said. “You’re the one who’s been screaming this whole time.”

  “Sure. Blame me. Why take personal responsibility for anything, ever?”

  My fists clenched, as did my jaw. I did what I could to counteract my body’s natural response, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “I’m trying, Nicole. Trying to do the right thing, but it’s hard. Life doesn’t give us easy choices sometimes. What do you expect me to do?”

  Nicole stomped to the bedroom door and threw it open. “You could start by saying sorry! You still haven’t! This whole time. This whole fight. Not one apology. Why is that so hard for you? Never mind me. You can’t even apologize to your own son! What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Nicole disappeared. I heard Tommy’s door slam open. His crying intensified, his little shrieks like hot pins stabbing into my heart. Anger coursed through my veins, and even though I knew Nicole was right, knew that despite all the things I’d said, I hadn’t brought myself to say a simple ‘Sorry,’ that didn’t mean I could make myself do it now. With my teeth still clenched, I laced up my half-undone shoe and stormed out of the apartment.

  6

  I sat in a padded booth, a cold brew gripped between my hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a group of four at a table across the space, still talking and laughing and clinking glasses. A small stage more or less in front of me lay empty, the guitarist who’d played there earlier having long since left.

  I pulled the mug to my mouth and tipped it back. Nothing wet my lips but suds. I focused on the glass and found it was empty of everything except my own misery.

  I swiveled my head toward the bar, waiting until the room stopped spinning, and waved to the bartender, a flat-chested, androgynous woman with arrow-straight brown hair parted precisely down the middle. She wore a rib-length checkered blazer, a frilly blouse, a yellow ascot tie, and probably something below the waist, too, though I couldn’t see what with the bar in the way. She acknowledged me with a flick of a dish towel, nodded to the two remaining patrons at the bar, and headed over.

  I pushed my mug to the side of the table as she approached. “Another beer.”

  She ignored my glass and sat down opposite me. “Oh, I got your drift with the initial wave.”

  I glanced at her hands, which seemed too large. Her voice was also deeper than I’d expected and was marked with a notable lisp. “You didn’t bring another, though.”

  “You’re quick.”

  I grunted, and she smiled.

  “You’re Daggers, right?”

  I nodded, but the room started to spin again, so I stopped. “That’s right. How’d you know?”

  “You’ve been coming here for a year, off and on. I keep my ears open. That’s one of the things bartenders are good at, don’t you know?”

  “Well, you’ve never introduced yourself.”

  “The bar’s named Jolliet Jjade’s. I’m always here. I figured you could deduce the rest for yourself. You are a detective, aren’t you?”

  I wet my lips. “How’d you guess that?”

  “Were you not paying attention during the part where I said you’ve been coming for a year and that I keep my ears open? Besides, it’s not as if it’s hard to tell.”

  “That I’m a detective?”

  “That you’re a cop. How many beers have you had?”

  I snorted. “You forgot? Guess it’s my lucky day. Where’s the tab?”

  “I was seeing if you remembered, actually.”

  “If you must know, I’ve had one fewer than I need. Which is why I was trying to get you to bring me another.”

  Jjade gave me the squint eye. “Yeah, I may run a bar and all, but I find that letting my best patrons keel over from acute alcohol poisoning isn’t good for business. Better to have them die slowly from cirrhosis after years of liver abuse.”

  “You’re a savvy entrepreneur.” I might’ve slurred that last bit. Entrepreneuuuuur.

  “Mind if I ask what you’re doing here?” asked Jjade.

  “Trying to have a few drinks in miserable silence. You’re not helping.”

  “Yeah, I got the gist of that already. I meant why. You’re married, right?”

  “Gods, you just don’t quit. And here I thought I was the detective. What don’t you know about me?”

  “You’re wearing a wedding band,” said Jjade.

  I glanced at my hand. “Oh.”

  “Look,” said Jjade. “It’s not my place to pry, but like I said, I’ve noticed you here before. More times than I can count. A couple of times with those cop friends of yours, but most of the time by yourself. It’s late. You’re here, again, alone. If you’re married…”

  I felt my teeth grind. “What are you getting at?”

  “If you want to talk about anything, I’m here. I don’t mind. Comes with the job, to a degree.”

  “I don’t want to talk.” That came out in more of a growl than I’d intended.

  “Not a problem,” said Jjade. “Just offering. But either way, I’m cutting you off. Six beers is enough, especially after those shots you s
tarted with.”

  “Six?”

  Jjade smiled as she stood. “So you didn’t know. Your damage is a half crown and ten. Leave it on the table before you leave.”

  Jjade wandered back to the bar. I dug some coins out of my pocket, counting them twice because math seemed to be giving me a problem at the moment, and stood. If the room had swirled earlier, now it decided to dance a jig. I steadied myself on the edge of the booth and took a deep breath.

  I heard Jjade’s voice from by the bar. “You going to be okay?”

  I waved idly. “Just need some air. I’ll be fine.”

  I stumbled out the door and into the chill night air, stopping once again to steady myself against the front of the building. I filled my lungs with New Welwic’s finest, mostly free of the horrid scents of stale piss and rotting garbage that plagued the city in the summer months. The cool air felt good on my face, but it alone couldn’t sober me. I should’ve asked for some water before I’d left.

  I took a few tentative steps and managed not to fall on my face. I felt strength grow in my legs, bringing me confidence, though who knew how misplaced it might be? The alcohol probably wasn’t making me the best judge of my own abilities. Still, as long as I didn’t appear so drunk as to make a tempting target for New Welwic’s most unsavory individuals… I couldn’t risk getting jumped. The folks at the station would never let me live it down, even after death. I could imagine the tombstone. Here lies Jake Daggers, detective extraordinaire, mugged to death over twelve coppers and a leather jacket by an ogre half-breed with a brain the size of a pea.

  I shook off the morbid thoughts and kept moving. Physical activity, that was the key to sobriety, wasn’t it? It burned off the alcohol…or was that a myth? Whatever. I was going with it.

  I walked, but not toward my apartment. That was too close. It wouldn’t provide me the activity I needed, never mind that it was the last place in the world I wanted to be at the moment. Every time I thought of Nicole I felt the anger the beer had displaced growing inside me, frothy and thick and mixed with equal portions of guilt and despair. I couldn’t face her. Not yet. At least Tommy would forgive me. He wouldn’t even remember what happened, I’d bet. As long as it didn’t keep happening. One way or another, it wouldn’t.