by Tee Morris
The Maitre D’ took one look at me and froze as if struck by a medusa’s stare.
“Had a problem at the Front Desk. Don’t worry. Cops are on the way.” I sighed as I returned my gaze to the dining hall. “Just looking to see if I can say hi to a friend before heading back to town.”
No, I really didn’t know who I was looking for. I was thinking back to the dream, and Alphonse showing up. This didn’t strike me as Al’s typical battle attack plan. His approach was more like the land infantry at a full charge, hitting the opponent with all you’ve got. Coming in from a blindside to flank the enemy? Nah, that approach was too subtle; and the club itself was just too subtle of a place for Al to be keeping company.
Then my eyebrows perked up. I tipped my fedora to the host, and saw myself in.
It was easy to tune out the gasps and the snickers of the various tables I passed, so long as I kept my peepers forward and focused on getting to where I was headed. The top of my hat emulated a shark’s dorsal fin, leaving in its wake a ripple of reactions. Probably would have served as a warning for my friend who sat waiting for Trouble to arrive for lunch. I could easily picture him suggesting, in the snidest tone he could muster, that Sledgehammer wear a tie.
I pulled a seat out and hopped up into it, and smiled at the table’s lone occupant as much as my swollen jaw would allow.
“How you doing, Miles?”
Miles Waterson took a moment, and then his demeanor—snobby as it was back in the jewelry store—slipped back around him like a burial shroud across a dead prince. He looked around himself, daring to make eye contact with the people now staring at his rather odd, somewhat worse-for-wear guest.
“Mr. Baddings, if memory serves?” he asked me. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Hey, thanks for remembering the little people, both figurative and literal.”
He nodded, a slick and smarmy smile forming on his face. “As a businessman, it’s good to have a command of names and faces, regardless of how significant—or insignificant—the person that you meet.”
Charming. At least I was going to have a bit of fun this afternoon before heading back to Chicago. “I see.” At our table were three additional chairs, complete with settings. “Expecting some friends around one o’clock or so?”
Miles didn’t flinch at that. He was pretty good. “My business is my own.”
“Unless it involves murder. Then it becomes my business and the business of the Chicago police.”
“Careful, Mr. Baddings,” he said, picking up his water glass. “I would hate to have my legal team contact you concerning charges of slander. Are you sure you would want to make such accusations in public like that?”
“Unless, Miles, unless it involves murder,” I slurred. “Did I accuse you of anything? I’m just speaking hypothetically.” I groaned, shaking my head. “You completely misunderstood what I meant, Miles. I was just trying to tell you that I only get involved in the business of others when murder is involved. Like what happened at your store. You know?”
“Yes, quite.”
The tinkling of forks and knives continued around us as we stared at one another. Guess I needed to press a bit harder. I’m good at that.
“You know, Miles,” I began, giving my coat jacket a slight tug, “I really don’t like you, but I will tell you out of courtesy that whatever you’re messing with is way out of your scope of understanding.”
“That’s quite a curious statement, Mr. Baddings,” he replied, peppering his words with a slight chortle. “I wish I knew what it meant, but please continue.”
“I don’t know the hows and whys, but you are into some seriously crooked shit. What’s worse, you’re dabbling with forces of nature that will turn around and do a hell of a lot more than just bite you on the ass.”
“Will they, now?”
The mocking tone just dared me to throw my hands up and say, “Fine, pal, do what you like with dark magic; but when an überwotch bursts out from your chest, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Maybe I didn’t want to give in so easily to my temper. This guy was smart. I just hadn’t found the right breadcrumbs to lead him. Yet.
“I think, Mr. Baddings, that you missed your calling. Instead of private investigation, you should have offered your services for children’s parties. I think your gifts as a storyteller are quite extraordinary.”
If you only knew, Miles. If you only knew…
“Eh,” I shrugged, “the money’s good there, too. Problem is I don’t get to really use my noggin the way I do to catch chumps like you with their hands deep in the biscuit jar.”
“Well then, seeing as you enjoy solving mysteries, perhaps I can give you a quick little problem to deduce.”
Oh, he wants to try and play with me? Yeah, okay, you prick—let’s play.
Miles began, “I know a gentleman—”
“A friend of yours?”
Miles arched an eyebrow as he kept his eyes fixed with mine. “More like a passing acquaintance.”
“So he’s not a gentleman, but more like he’s a guy.”
“Very well then,” he conceded. “This guy—as you so eloquently put it—is apparently doing his duty to support the local Chicago authorities in their investigation of a robbery.”
“Sounds like a stand-up guy you know there, Miles. You could do yourself some good in picking up a thing or two from him.”
“Ah, but there’s a problem.” Of course there’s a problem. There’s always a problem, isn’t there? “This guy, while gracious in his own cryptic warnings to me concerning things of which I am apparently ignorant, does not have any idea with whom he himself is tangling. This guy does not even begin to grasp what I am capable of, nor does he realize how close he is to finding out.”
This is the best you can do for a threat, Miles? You are such a dink.
“So here is the puzzle for you to solve, Mr. Baddings: How long do you think this guy has, before repercussions befall him?”
“Gee, Miles, I wish I could give you the answer,” I scoffed. Then I looked over my shoulder. “But my ride’s here.”
With the clamorous entrance they made, the uniforms might as well have been the fire brigade; I half expected to catch a whiff of smoke from the kitchen area. Chicago’s Finest, though, had their beady blues set on me, so I knew I was on the last grains of my hourglass.
“I hope you miss me while I’m gone, Miles.”
He nodded, his gloating smirk working away at what little patience I had left. “You sound most certain that we will be talking again.”
“Call it a feeling,” I said, raising my hands as I hopped out of the chair. I spoke over my shoulder, “You boys want to do this all polite and such? Or shall we do this—”
My wrists flew to the small of my back, immediately followed by the sharp pinching sensation that usually came with metal pressing too hard against bone.
“Easy there, fellas,” I winced.
“Have a pleasant trip back to the city, Mr. Baddings,” purred Miles.
“Be seeing you,” I managed, just before a hand closed on the scruff of my neck.
The restaurant was going by me in a blur. If we hadn’t been so far out of town, I would have sworn these boys were O’Malley’s. It was a safe bet that the rough act was mainly for show. At places like this, it was all about the kind of display you could put on because you never knew who was watching. Hell, maybe one of these gumheels was bucking for a job at Miles’ place. And though I could give them advice on just how dangerous it would be to work for a putz like him, I knew any warning would fall on deaf ears, seeing as I was the dink in the irons.
Looking up, I happened to make eye contact with three of Trouble. Riley, Joe, and Sammy took a step back on seeing me, and I shot them a crooked grin.
“Be careful if you complain about a fly in the soup here,” I grunted as I passed them.
***
Back in those days of battle axes, broadswords, and bawdy wenches, there were plenty of nig
hts when me and my boys—and when he was in town, my crazy Human pal, Kev—spent some sobering-up time in Acryonis’ premier holding tanks. (I think there is still a watch at D’Hargoh Pointe with standing orders that if me or any of the Stormin’ Scrappies come within a hundred steps of the town’s borders, they’re to shoot first, nock a second volley, and shoot again.) My pals back home would have smiled with pride to know that I’d not changed too much. Since the slip through the portal, I have spent the odd night or few in a Chicago lockup, due mainly to the fantastic relationship O’Malley and I have cultivated.
With both Chicago and Gryfennos jails as my basis for comparison, I could not deny that this was one of the nicest lockups I ever had the pleasure of visiting. No smell of piss. The meal I was given, an early dinner, was hot and home-cooked. Even the bunk was nice. It was a far cry from my own bed, but it still beat the muck mattress of Acryonis or the thinly padded (and thickly stained) ones of the Windy City.
The outer door groaned open, and I heard Wilbur call out to me, “Hey, Billi?”
“Yeah, Wilbur, what can I do for ya?”
“Someone’s come to get you,” he responded cheerfully. “See, I told you our phones worked out here!”
I craned my neck up from the pillow at the sound of keys jingling at my cell door. Even from this topsy-turvy vantage, I could still recognize my pal Detective Jerry Flannigan standing behind the scarecrow in the policeman’s uniform.
“Jerry,” I said, giving him a smile through a swollen jaw. “Seeing as how you’re bailing my ass outta here, it’s my treat this evening.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted, “save that offer for after we get in the car.”
Yeah, I had a feeling he was going to be a little grouchy about all this.
“It wasn’t like I was causing trouble, now was I, Wilbur?”
The skinny snorted as he opened the door, “Nah, Billi, you’ve been great.”
When I stepped out of the cell, I gave Jer a gentle tap of appreciation on his arm. His expression didn’t change. “Let me see your wrists, Billi.”
I grumbled a bit and held out my arms.
Jer stared at where cuffs had once restrained me, then spun on his heels to face Wilbur. My friend moved faster than a wyrd sister deep in a frenzy spell; and from the way Wilbur jumped, you would have thought Jer actually looked like one of those screaming harpies.
“Do you country bumpkins out here think before slapping cuffs on someone?” Jer barked.
“Relax,” I huffed. “Wilbur and I are jake on everything. Right, Wilbur?”
The scarecrow waved dismissively at me. “Yeah, Billi. Except the thing about the cuffs. I think Bubba and Bufford were just a little excited to get a call, and they wanted to impress those city slickers. You know what I mean?”
True, there had been a bit of chafing left behind by the manacles, but these charm bracelets had nothing on the cuffs they used back in my stompin’ grounds. “Don’t give it a second thought.” I managed a grin at Jer. “See, pal, everybody’s looking for a ticket to the good life, even out here.”
Jer shook his head, and then narrowed his eyes on Wilbur. “Next time, how about keeping a tight leash on your boys?”
“Well now, sir, when we got the phone call from Cog Hill, we were under the impression that Billi here…”
“Keep it by the book, Officer!” Jer snapped. “The suspect.”
“The suspect was causing trouble and we needed to get out there as fast as we could, so we assumed—”
“Wrong, by the looks of things. I did a follow-up out at Cog Hill and it didn’t look like there was anything amiss. In fact, they had forgotten about the suspect being there!”
They forgot I had been there? Damn. You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Jer.
“You got lucky here with Billi being a straight shooter and all,” he continued. “All you would need is someone looking like this,” he said, waving his hand around my face, “to make trouble for you.”
Jer was not crazy about cops who let the power of the job go to their heads. He was also the kind of guy who sometimes got a bit overprotective of his friends, much like a mountain dragon protecting her newborns. If you so much as belch in a threatening manner, wings unfurl and villages are burning soon after.
My friend the police detective is a lot like that, just without the peasants on fire.
“Don’t mind Detective Academy Top Graduate here,” I interjected. “You guys have been great. I’ll be even better once I get Beatrice back.”
“You can pick it up out front, Billi,” Wilbur said. He managed a smile, then glanced over at Jer, whose expression was as stern as the back of a pirate ship. He fought to keep the cheerful disposition. “Oh, and I didn’t touch Beatrice, but I did clean your .38 ‘cause it was needing a little attention.”
When Wilbur disappeared, Jer’s more casual voice returned. “They offer to clean your guns here, too?”
“I’m telling you,” I said, shrugging lightly, “they do things a little different outside the Windy City. Glad you could make it out here.”
“You’re lucky I got out here at all. We heard over the radio about a disturbance of the peace out at Cog Hill, and when the description came in, O’Malley was trying to cook up a reason to get a car out here while keeping an eye on me. He was ready to have my balls for breakfast when he found out you were at the morgue.”
Was I right, or was I right? “Sorry about that, pal.”
Jer just gave a heavy sigh, tipping his hat back right before opening the heavy iron door leading out into the modest police station. “Billi,” he finally said while dragging a single chair up to the station’s front desk, “what are you doing out here anyway?”
“Chasing down a lead.” Climbing up on it, I signed for Beatrice and my effects, and continued my thought as I strapped on my girl. “A case I’m about to close.”
“You found what you’re looking for?”
“More like I’m kicking the wasp hive. Just need to make one more call, and then I’ve got two hot dates tonight.” I looked up at Jer, “One of them’s with you.”
“Come again?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I then called out, “Hey, Wilbur, I’m going to make a quick call, okay?”
“Sure thing, Billi,” he replied.
As I dialed the phone, I looked at Jer. “After my dinner date, it’s you and me, and we’re going shopping.”
“For what, exactly?”
I gave a shrug, “Something nice. Something sparkly. Something shiny.”
Chapter Fifteen
No, Really, We’re Just Friends…
The jingle of the doorbell caught Annabelle’s attention, and for that attention I was rewarded with a warm smile and a quick wave before she returned to bussing the table in front of her. Far different from my routine, I took a seat at one of the booths. I didn’t really care for the way its table seemed to loom above and away from me, but I really needed the privacy. Fortunately, even though it was the dinner rush, I managed to swipe a pair of cushions from nearby chairs. Just for some extra elevation.
A quick glance at the watch assured me there was plenty of time before my second outing. I managed to grab some shut-eye on the ride home, and if this late dinner went fast I might be able to grab another satchel of winks before heading out again. Hectic as these long-ass days were, I did love ‘em. Just love being busy doing what I want to do, you know? I thrummed on the table top, loosing a look at the door, then back to the watch. C’mon, I can’t afford for you to be late. Not tonight. Hopefully, a problem hadn’t come up between my call and now.
Tonight was a good night for Mick’s, as usual. I thrummed the tabletop again, then fiddled with the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers.
“Hey, Billi,” came Mick’s voice from the other side of the counter. His expression quickly changed when he got a full-on look at my face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, pal, what happened to you?!”
That also caught Annabelle’s attentio
n, and she got a longer look at me. She gasped, and that made a few patrons turn their heads. I wished I had taken some time to learn a healing spell before going on that damn quest up Death Mountain.
“On-the-job hazards,” I answered.
“Yeah,” Mick scoffed, “if your job is hammering rivets in the Tribune Tower with your face!”
My fingertips tapped lightly together as I turned my attention back to the door. “No need to get your jerkin in a twist. I’m on the mend.”
Apart from the murmur of Mick’s customers, the quiet settled in; but it didn’t last very long.
“Is there a problem with your usual seat?” Mick asked as he picked up a clean bowl. Some lucky individual was about to get a helping of the good stuff. “Do I need to make an adjustment or something?”
“Nah, Mick, I’m fine. Just needing a change of space. I’m meeting a friend for dinner. Can you whip up a pair of chili specials?”
His head jerked back a bit as if I had just told him I was following the Dodgers instead of my beloved Cubbies. “Hey, Billi, I’m down a man and you can see that the place is jumping.”
“When’s it not?” I chuckled back.
Yeah, this was also part of the joys of dining at Mick’s. No matter how crowded it got at this Chicago institution, Mick made time for banter with the regulars. This repartee gave Mick’s that personal touch.
Tonight was a little different. My friend’s tone was leagues and fathoms away from playful. “Sorry, pal, but I’m a little behind, and I’ve got people in need of some food.”