The Case of the Pitcher's Pendant

by Tee Morris

  “What are ya’ on about, Baddings?” Great. O’Malley wasn’t a fan of baseball. What a dink! “I donna’ have the time—”

  Roll those weighted bones, Baddings, I thought as I reached into my coat pocket. “Make the time, Chief!”

  The lighting in the office wasn’t designed for showing off expensive jewelry, but it was good enough to see that what I had grabbed was a sapphire. The glittering rock was so big that it not only made O’Malley’s and Jerry’s eyes bulge, but I thought I saw some of the cops out in the adjoining bullpen shield their eyes against its sparkle.

  Settle down, boys. It’s about to get interesting.

  “Jesus Christ, Billi!” Jer said. “You lifted that from Waterson’s?”

  No need to lie about it, and definitely no need to worry about it. “I did.”

  O’Malley’s expression was no shock either. “Bless tha’ Virgin Mary,” he whispered. His smile was as brilliant as a morning sunrise. “We can add robbery to the list of charges, and as it was a crime scene, tampering with evidence.”

  “Yeah,” I said, lifting up the necklace. I gave a slight cough and held it out to Jer. “It’s a beautiful piece, isn’t it? I mean, I was just thinking how wearing this could make a girl worthy of a royal suitor’s hand.” I clicked my tongue and peered deep into the arrangement of smaller green stones surrounding the center piece, “But no, I wouldn’t want to see this on a girl I knew. Not this.”

  “You’re not going to see it on anybody because it’s evidence in a robbery-homicide, you moron!”

  Now that was a surprise. I looked up at my friend. He was no longer Jerry Flannigan, but Detective Flannigan.

  And Detective Flannigan was pissed. “I trusted you, followed your hunch, allowed you on a crime scene—twice—and tonight you’re lifting evidence—expensive evidence—from a crime scene?!”

  “To prove a point,” I insisted.

  “My point, ya’ mean!” barked O’Malley. “That yer crooked, just like any private dick, scrapin’ ‘is nickels and dimes ta’gether. Ya’ saw it there and just couldn’t say no, could ya?”

  “Hey, I’m comin’ clean, right? That’s what this is all about: comin’ clean and what we need to do about this, right?” I extended the necklace to O’Malley. “So how about we swap this necklace for a pair of bracelets? What do you say, Chief?”

  The confession was making O’Malley’s night. Well, okay, early morning. I wish I could say that what I was going to do next would break my heart; but even if it did, neither of them would have believed it.

  My hand closed over the necklace and with a soft jingle, the jewelry hit O’Malley’s office floor hard. He stepped back at the sudden explosion of stones scattering and dancing across the tiles. Neither Jer nor O’Malley moved, but both of them jerked upright as I hopped out of my chair and landed on the necklace’s prize sapphire stone.

  “Holy shit,” gasped Jer. His eyes darted from the floor to me.

  “It’s okay, my friend.” My Orc-smiting grin was added reassurance. “I didn’t want to tip my hand all the way. Never hurts to have a dagger up the sleeve when your back’s against the tavern wall.”

  I swallowed the bitter taste welling in my mouth and then tipped my head back, my own dark gaze peering into O’Malley’s. “All right, then. Seeing as I have your undivided attention, how about you get those potatoes out of your ears—I know you got ‘em in there—and you listen up? The clock is ticking, and we’ve got one shot at seeing just how far up the food chain this con goes. You in, O’Malley, or are you out?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Playing Hardball

  The still nights always bothered me. The nights when the silence that was so loud it made your ears bleed. My boys in the Stormin’ Scrappies unit would be moving low, moving slow, and with every rustle of grass, snap of twigs, and whisper of armor against earth, I would wonder if the silence was giving us away. The secret to being quiet was making sure that the sounds of the snapping twig, the whispering armor, and the murmuring grass were spaced well enough apart from one another that no one noticed them.

  I would have been thrilled to be on one of those bothersome nights, but those kind of nights were spent in the company of Dwarves with covert military training. While I knew these cops were trained, and that their training was anything but a cakewalk, it wasn’t the kind of training I was used to, and it definitely wasn’t the kind of training suited for what we were doing right now.

  Or maybe cops, on a whole, are a noisy bunch. Hell, I read somewhere that the cops in Canada rode on horseback. Yeah, that’s really smart. When I think of stealth, I think, “Hey, let’s get on a tall, four-legged pack beast that makes a lot of noise when it moves and, oh yeah, doesn’t mind voicing an opinion.”

  So there we were, staking out a very plain house located in the outskirts of Chicago. Well, it wasn’t really a house. More like an upscale shack. It was apparent, even before the sunlight had died several hours ago, that though this dwelling was looked after, no one really lived there. At least, not for any prolonged period of time. This was the kind of house you stole away to when you needed to disappear for a while. Four hours outside of the city limits with nothing around? This was the definition of a safe house.

  Yeah, I’ve done my fair share of stakeouts, both from the battlements of a keep overlooking a pass, and from the parked Ford (not mine, but easy pickings for a guy with my skills) sitting across from a perpetrator’s known hovel. While I love the works of my girl Agatha, she never really explores the tedium of hours spent watching and waiting for something—anything—to happen. And it never bodes well for a stakeout when the biggest thing to happen to a place all day is you, the one supposedly laying low and observing all the activity.

  First, the arrival out here might as well have been preceded by a herald flying a brilliant blue and lime green banner. I knew this was O’Malley’s way of saying “My operation, my way!” when, as Jer and the parties directly involved all knew, the Chicago Police were moving on my word. This excursion almost brought back memories of me leading those beloved Stormin’ Scrappies. Almost. With a truck full of coppers and two police cars tearing out of the Windy City, my nostalgia quickly slipped away like the memory of a dream. Fortunately, we were just acting on the initial lead. I hadn’t gone into the finer details of this scheme of mine, and Chicago’s Finest were following along.

  For the time being.

  O’Malley, upon arriving at the address provided, had his men fan out and surround the place. Now I got a hint of that Academy training, and while I guessed it worked adequately in the mean streets of Chicago, it didn’t work so well out here. Downtown, there are plenty of places for concealment. Here, apart from high grass and a few trees, crouching down just made you look like a chump in a dark uniform, standing out like a Troll crashing a Pixie’s family reunion. The Fates, however, were cutting us a break. There was no one here. Not a soul for miles. We were out in the farm country of Illinois, rural and remote.

  My latest catnap had started while sunlight still hit the modest country house with its late afternoon glow. I woke up to find the house shrouded in darkness, its two kerosene lanterns the only light around us for miles.

  “Coffee?” Jer asked, softly tapping my shoulder with the thermos’ cup.

  I took my eyes away from the soft glow coming from the one window, and now savored the aroma tickling my nose. It was Mick’s brew, powerful as any potion of awareness.

  A hand from the back seat knocked mine out of the way. Since I knew which of the two passengers back there was able to move unhindered, I didn’t bother to go for my boom dagger. I knew who the hand (and the coffee that should have been mine) belonged to.

  Without so much as a glance to Jer or me, O’Malley took the cup and sipped. His face twisted for a moment, and the gaze he tossed into the tiny cup showed that Mick’s brew was little too potent for his sensitive Irish palette.

  I didn’t let the slur bug me too much. I couldn’t afford to
lose the Chief at this point. He could single-handedly botch this whole thing if his ego was challenged. It was best to humor him for now.

  “So,” O’Malley huffed. His voice sounded too loud for the car. “A day spent sitting here on our arses, starin’ at a shack what’s empty. This is yer brilliant plan, Baddings, for preventing another death and solving two murders?”

  “Part of it, O’Malley,” I answered, attempting to give him a subtle volume cue by keeping my own voice soft. “We secured the place. We made the call. Now, if my theory is right, we should be seeing something relatively soon.”

  He finally turned to look at me. “And exactly what are we going ta’ see?”

  I looked from the house to O’Malley, and then back to the house. “I—don’t really know for sure—” The look on his face read like a witch’s prophecy, foretelling him stepping out of the car and calling everyone in. I couldn’t let that happen. My hands went up as I said, “—but just wait. Just wait, O’Malley. I’m thinking this is going to play out the way I expect. You just have to have a little patience and a little faith in the Dwarf.”

  His beady eyes went to Jer, then returned to me. “Ya’ got half-an-hour.”

  “Come on, O’Malley. One hour.”

  “Half-an-hour. No more, no less.” The car door’s latch rang in my ears. Everything was so damn quiet around here. “You’re lucky I don’t call it off after I finish this piss.”

  He slammed the door out of spite. Why don’t you just shoot your service piece in the air a few times, you stupid dink?

  I shook my head at the rapid pitter-patter against the dry grass just outside the car. By the Fates, O’Malley, I know you don’t like me, but please…a little decorum.

  The sound was (thankfully) drowned out by Jer. “Billi, I’m getting a little concerned, myself.”

  “What’s the time, pal?”

  Jerry kept the torch down, so as not to let its light tip off that something was in the shadows. “Nine o’clock.”

  I nodded, giving my beard a slow stroke. “I know you’re still trying to noodle all this through, too.”

  “Well, you could have let me in on a little more in the car. I know you said I had to trust you and all, but that stunt with the necklace—”

  My bushy red eyebrows rose as I grinned. “It got your attention.”

  “Well, yeah…”

  “And more important, it got O’Malley’s attention.”

  “That it did.” Jerry chuckled. His smile faded. “If this doesn’t pan out like you’re thinking, like you told me it would, O’Malley’s going to drag you through the papers. Your name will only be good for fertilizing corn crops.”

  Dammit, I hate it when Jer is right like that.

  “Baddings!” came a dry whisper, followed by a few choice swear words, and the sound of someone lumbering back to the car. I watched O’Malley wipe his hands on his pants and then the door groaned open and shut. “Behind us.” He was still whispering. So nice he decided to play by my rules. “Headlights.”

  “Mind if I switch with you, Billi?” Jer asked me. “Give me a better angle on things?”

  I slipped behind Jer, and remained standing in the driver’s seat as I tracked the bright, twin orbs through the rear window. The road they followed only led to one place: our stakeout.

  “All right,” I muttered. “A good sign.”

  O’Malley shushed me. He was too engrossed by the sudden activity to see the glare I shot him. What an ass.

  The tree we were parked behind would have appeared to be nothing more than a dark cutout against the night. The only way the driver could have seen the lone tree, or us parked behind it, was if he were to turn his car up the trail we had left behind, assuming that he noticed it. I was rolling the bones that he wouldn’t. The night outside of the city was thicker than Orc blood.

  O’Malley ducked down behind the driver’s seat as the car passed. Jer and I shared a shrug at the Irishman’s reaction and turned back to watch the car’s progress. It rumbled by and then its engine surged again, working its way over the uneven earth. Light bathed the front of the house as the car settled into an even, rhythmic idle. Then there was silence, and the darkness was once more pierced only by the firefly-like glow of the lanterns.

  O’Malley went for the flashlight, but this time I did the blocking, putting the torch in the driver’s seat. “Not yet,” I warned him. “We got to make sure this plays out.”

  His big, fat yap opened, about to launch into another one of his fits, but I had reached my limit. This was the Endgame, and I was going to be damned if this dink was going to screw it up for me.

  My hand slapped around his mouth so hard that Jer winced. I was now touching my bulbous nose to O’Malley’s. “I’ve been a good little freak all night, but now you’re really working past my last nerve. According to your promise, I’ve still got about twenty minutes. So, if you don’t want to see what I can do to you in five minutes with Jerry’s thermos, I suggest you sit still, shut up, and watch!”

  I released O’Malley, then reached past him for something in the backseat. The Chief recoiled—probably thinking about the thermos—but then relaxed as I came back with the binoculars. They probably looked bigger than normal in my hands, and that coaxed a snicker from the other side of the backseat. I silenced our guest with a look.

  For you, pal, I’ll only need two minutes.

  Maybe this shack was in need of a fresh coat, but there was enough white left to make out the tall man stopping at the door. Dark suit and hat. That was all I could see.

  No, wait a second. He had a small bag with him, shaped like the case Old Doc Roberts carried. It had to be the payoff.

  The figure turned and looked across the field, seeming to take in the sound of crickets and assorted critters enjoying the night’s solitude. Look all you like, I thought. You’re not going to see us. I fiddled with the focus and caught the flash of a lighter. Nice touch. Not for the thrifty. His cigarette smoldered for a moment and then slipped back into darkness. The door opened behind him, and then the porch was empty once more.

  I began, “Now we’ll see if he takes the—”

  Pop! We all saw the bright flash from the window, like lightning trapped between a wizard’s hands. Pop! Pop!

  Jer’s dry whisper gave me a start. “Billi?”

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. He’s wearing a vest.” Our man was fine, provided the guy hadn’t taken a head shot. My binoculars went up again as the door opened. I watched as the tall figure walked down the stoop, took another long look around, and then got into his car.

  “Shit!” I turned to Jerry. “Thermos, now!”

  O’Malley was looking back and forth between me, the house, and the car now retracing its trip. “What hell are ya—!”

  I passed the flashlight back to O’Malley while I took the thermos from Jer. “Signal the troops, O’Malley! Stop that guy!” I turned the key while working the clutch with the thermos. Being in the driver’s seat was never part of the plan, but plans change.

  The car lurched forward, and that momentum was all I really needed. My left hand steered while I pushed the thermos into the gas pedal with my right. I could barely see where I was going, but I knew I was headed in the right direction. I didn’t want to waste time looking for the switch to turn on the police siren, so I leaned on the car horn instead.

  “Billi, what the hell are you doing?” Jer yelled over the noise.

  “Trying to get our man out of there. The bullets might have winded him, but he’s got to get moving!” I looked over my shoulder. “The guy went in with a case. He didn’t have it when he—”

  The darkness disappeared along with the night’s interrupted silence…and the shack.

  What was causing that hum?

  “Brake.”

  No, more like a high pitched whine.

  “Brake!”

  What was that, Jer? Did you say “Rafe”? Who the hell is Rafe?

  The whine disappeared with a surreal pop
.

  “Brake!”

  I’d never heard Jerry scream before, and I hope I never do again. It was a high-pitched shrill, like a Siren when she’s having that “special time” that women have. (Oh yeah, not always is the Siren’s song that sweet.) As piercing as his voice was, I was impressed his enunciation held out well enough for me to understand what he was screaming.

  Granted, when I saw the raging inferno that the safe house had become, growing larger and larger by the second, I would have probably hit the brake anyway. The thermos slammed on the last foot pedal I hadn’t tried, and I felt myself lurch forward. I heard a dull thud to one side of me while the car started to spin. The cab was starting to become brighter and brighter, and then the world outside decided to lurch a little, too. My grip tightened on the wheel, not that I thought it would keep us from flipping over. If we were going to take a tumble, we were going to take a tumble. I felt my stomach start to lift up in my throat. Higher. Higher.

  The car changed its mind and slammed down on all fours, back to God’s own Earth. My stomach finished its stay in my larynx and plummeted, and I was thankful I hadn’t enjoyed the coffee Mick had provided. I think I would have lost it, plus anything else I had eaten before coming out here…

  And that was exactly what was happening to O’Malley. Not quick enough to open the car door, he was spewing all over his urine-stained pants and the police cab’s interior. The rest of us were slumped in our seats, watching the debris continue to flutter and fall from the sky. It was dark once again, but that heavy country darkness was competing with the illumination cast by the newly-created fire. We were close enough to feel the heat, but far enough away that we weren’t in danger. Still, Jer was more than vindicated for the scream. Had I not hit the brakes when I did, we would have plowed into “the cannon’s mouth,” as Shakespeare would have said. Fire was indiscriminate that way. It didn’t care if you were animal, vegetable, or mineral. You were fuel for it, regardless.