by Alex P. Berg
“I will,” said Shay with the barest hint of a smile.
We sat there for a while, the snowflakes wetting our hands and flecking our hair. In the distance, I heard a dog barking and the faint clatter of a rickshaw. Cold nipped at my nose, and my heart felt heavy in my chest.
“I never wanted to be like him,” I said. “I mean, sure, he had that kernel of good, but on the outside? Cold and distant and hard as a rock. And yet there’s not a shadow of a doubt in my mind I became the person and the detective I did in part due to his influence. My surliness and inability to express myself? I wear a different skin than he did, but I suffer from the same root problem, and the fault is as much his as mine. So tell me…if that’s all true, then why do I feel so drained? As if a sliver of my heart gave out?”
Shay squeezed my hand again. “It’s alright to mourn the loss of someone we don’t completely agree with. He was a big part of your life. That’s why it hurts. Simple as that.”
I nodded and stared at the ground.
Steele lifted my chin with her free hand. “And let me tell you something else. You’re not Griggs. You’re your own man, with your own qualities and quirks, good and bad. And you’re not beholden to a particular image of yourself—which, if I’m to be honest, you haven’t been. You’re growing, Jake. And in a good way.”
Some of the pressure over my chest lightened. I smiled. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
A door creaked from the far side of the courtyard, and through it walked the Captain and a pair of bluecoats. Shay pulled her hand back as the old bulldog approached.
He stopped a few feet shy of the bench, a chestnut-colored trench coat draped across his shoulders. What little hair remained on the top of his head stuck out a half-inch, like soldiers standing at attention, while a uniform grayish-brown stubble covered the remaining portions of his skull, chin, and jaw.
His jowls barely moved as he spoke. “Detective Steele, do you mind showing officers Wilson and Greaves the apartment? They’ll help with the nitty-gritty.”
My partner nodded. “Yes, Captain. This way, officers.” She gave me a tender glance as she left. I tried to freeze it in my mind for future recollection, on cold, windy nights and whenever the ghost of Griggs made an appearance.
The Captain waited until the trio had exited through the far courtyard door before speaking again. “How’re you holding up?”
His voice was as warm as I’d ever heard it—roughly the temperature of a bath drawn forty-five minutes ago.
“I’ve been better,” I said.
He gave me a firm nod and an “I know how you feel,” which was roughly the equivalent of a hug and a good cry from anyone else.
A gust of wind blew, sending the snowflakes scattering. They’d collected in the trees, but none had stuck to the ground.
“Look, Daggers,” said the Captain after a moment. “We’re going to get this guy. Whoever did it. Whoever killed Griggs and this other mark of yours, we’re going to nail him. I mean it. We’re going to throw everything we can at this. Every resource we’ve got. All our best detectives.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s getting late, but you can bet, first thing in the morning, I’ll—”
“Everyone except for you.”
I blinked and narrowed an eye. “Wait…what?”
“You’re off the case, Daggers,” said the Captain. “Now before you start bitching about it, try to be rational. You’re too close to it. He was your ex-partner, and before you lecture me about the implications of that, recall he was my partner, too, once upon a time. We need to put objective minds on this. Luckily for the both of us, Steele, Quinto, and Rodgers are more than capable enough to solve this without either of our interference. So go home. Get some rest—if you can. And take the next few days off.”
I stood, then surprised both of us with my response. “Okay.”
If the old bulldog’s face hadn’t been carved out of granite, it might’ve registered a note of surprise. “Really? Just like that? No verbal barrages or stamping of feet?”
I shrugged. “You’re right. I am too close to this. And I trust Steele to solve it. Just make sure she gets the support she needs. Mentally as well as physically.”
The Captain clapped me on the shoulder as he nodded, and I turned toward the door.
14
I’d headed out with the intention of walking home, but somehow my feet formed other plans without informing me. I wandered aimlessly for a while, basking in the glow of the streetlights while I collected snow samples from a twelve block radius of New Welwic’s most boring neighborhoods.
I’d like to say I brooded over Griggs’ death, interplaying shots of his still frame with snippets of old memories of our endeavors, or that I secretly raged following the Captain’s dismissal, but either would be lies.
I simply walked.
I felt empty and yet heavy. Listless. Emotionally and mentally vacant. I tried to form coherent thoughts, but they drifted away, out my ears into the cold night air. My head and heart played a game of hot potato, each refusing to hold onto a shred of anything meaningful for more than a few seconds.
Despite my general lack of conscious thought, somehow my subconscious picked up on my need to grieve and sent the message into my feet, which is how I found myself standing in front of Jjade’s. I pressed my hand against the door and walked in.
Gentle string plucks tickled my ears, coming from the direction of the joint’s far corner. Past the polished wood of the bar and its captive audience of stools, past the padded booths and free-standing rounds, a young guy with a pompadour and a six year beard twanged away on a mandolin, no doubt self-assured that his sophomoric melodic efforts would win him riches and the unbridled passions of nubile women. I didn’t spot any panties on stage, and the guy was performing at Jjade’s, so I figured he had a ways to go on both fronts.
I heard a familiar sassy voice woo me from behind the bar. “Jake Daggers? Is that you?”
Jjade stood there, resplendent in a leopard print smoking jacket and a puffy crimson cravat. Her pencil-straight hair hung to just below her shoulders with all the body of an anorexic skeleton. A smile parted her lips, sending a crinkle into the caramel-colored skin of her cheeks, but the line of her jaw remained as smooth and powerful as ever.
I slid onto a stool in front of the pert bartender and owner of the eponymous establishment. “What do you mean, is it me? Who else would it be?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. My memory’s fuzzy. Of course, that could be a side effect of hunger. I’ve had to cut back on eating after losing my best customer.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” I said. “You drove me away with all these beatnik spoken word artists and hipster musicians you keep featuring.”
“For the record, I’m expanding my audience,” she said. “Growing the brand, so to speak. A varied nightly musical selection is part of that approach.”
I cast my gaze into the thick of the bar, checking out the patrons by the light of a half-dozen frosted lanterns. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”
“They drink too much coffee and they’re lousy tippers.” She smiled and gave me a nod. “It’s good to see you, Daggers.”
“Good to see you too, Jjade.”
“So, what can I get you?” She reached for the pint glasses. “An ale? Lager? Stout?”
I waved her off. “Thanks, but I’m not in the mood for a beer tonight.”
Jjade tapped her fingernails against the top of the glass stack and narrowed an eye. “Alright, two things. First. Seriously? I just complained about business being slow, and when you finally show up after weeks on the lam, you decide not to order anything? And second, who are you and what did you do with Daggers?”
I delved inside myself and found at least one of the holes within me could be filled, and not with the false hope that alcohol provided. “Sorry. You’re right. You still serve burgers?�
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“Made with fresh, one hundred percent red meat, guaranteed.”
“How oddly vague of you,” I said. “I’ll take one, with everything on it, and a basket of fries.”
Jjade stepped back to the kitchen divider and called out my order.
“So,” she said. “You’re really bypassing beer tonight? What’s going on? Girl problems with that cute partner of yours?”
I shook my head. “Not quite. Partner problems, but not with the current one.”
Jjade shook a finger. “Nuh-uh. You already got your free pass on that one. I still remember the night he retired and you got roaring drunk. I had to carry you home. Mostly, anyway. I doubt I could pick you up if I tried.”
The double entendre of that last part didn’t sail over my head. For all her feminine wiles, Jjade’s strong features and slightly lisp-ridden countertenor painted her gender as less than concrete. She knew I knew it, but that didn’t keep her from hitting on me every so often.
I stared at the bar and tapped the wood with my fingers. “It’s…not that simple.”
“Well, what could be the problem?” she asked. “What was his name? Griggs? Don’t tell me he’s un-retired.”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh, shit.” Jjade’s face fell. “Sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“He was murdered.”
Jjade blinked. “You’re…serious, aren’t you?”
“'Fraid so.”
Jjade took a deep breath and let it out with a puff. “Well, I can see why you turned down the beer. That’s not going to cut it.” She turned to the shelf behind her and selected a bottle. Then she pulled a pair of shot glasses from underneath the bar and set them before me.
She lifted the bottle to pour, but I held out my hand. “No, really. I’d rather not. I don’t want a reoccurrence of last time.”
Jjade paused, the bottle half tilted in her hand and the brown liquid within threatening to make a break for it. “Are you really giving up drinking?”
“I didn’t say that. But I do know I need to be more moderate in my consumption of the sauce, and I don’t trust myself to know when to stop tonight.”
The base of the bottle clapped as Jjade set it down. “That’s surprisingly mindful of you. But—” She lifted the bottle and poured a couple of shots. “—luckily for you, you don’t have to trust yourself tonight. You can trust an old friend. And I’m cutting you off after this one shot, no ifs, ands, or buts allowed, unless it’s a tight one in jeans.”
Jjade set the bottle aside and lifted her shot glass. I hesitated.
“Come on,” she said. “It’s not a drink. It’s a toast. To a miserable, curmudgeonly old dustbag who will nonetheless be summarily missed. To Griggs.”
I wrapped my fingers around the tumbler’s cool edge and lifted it. “To Griggs.”
Jjade and I clinked glasses, and I tossed it back. The whiskey burned as it washed over my throat. I set the glass back down. Jjade collected it and put it in the sink.
“So,” she said after a moment. “You want to talk about it?”
“I already did. With Steele,” I said. “But thanks for the offer.”
Jjade leaned in, setting her elbows on the counter and resting her chin on her intertwined fingers. “You know, with you never dropping by anymore, I haven’t gotten to hear how things are going between you two. You need to fill me in.”
I gave her the old guy with cataracts treatment. “Is this a ploy to get my mind off Griggs’ passing?”
“It’s not solely a ploy to get your mind off Griggs’ passing,” said Jjade. “Come on, it’s the least you can do in exchange for that free shot.”
“You’re not charging me?”
“Business isn’t quite as bad as I made it out to be,” said Jjade. “Besides, I’m still charging you for the burger, and I make a killing off fries. Speaking of which…”
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a platter piled high with meat and bread and toppings and fried potatoes, though not necessarily in that order. She moseyed around the counter and sat down next to me, and we chewed the fat, both figuratively and literally.
I stayed until long after the food had disappeared, and though my tongue longed for a sudsy beverage to wash down the salt of the fries, Jjade stuck true to her word. Instead, my tongue settled for a boatload of chatter, most of it tomfoolery, a good amount of it centered on me and Shay, and none of it about Griggs. I’d feel guilty about that later, but along with the food, it did help raise my spirits. Call her crafty, but I’d bet crowns to croissants Jjade knew that.
15
I woke up early the following morning, which was a tragedy in and of itself given the Captain’s directive to me regarding the Barrett case. I fought it for a while, tossing and turning in my bed, but despite my best efforts, a combination of unfinished thoughts, lingering emotions, and a clarity of mind that only came from not being drunk eventually forced me into a standing position.
After a quick visit to my pantry in which the empty shelves looked at me with sunken eyes and shrugged, I retreated to my bedroom, threw on some slacks and a sweater, grabbed my trusty coat, and headed for the door. From there I embarked upon an epic quest, told in three sweeping acts. Act one, in which the intrepid hero snagged coffee at a mobile cart outside his apartment, filling his veins with strength and courage and a desire to move. Act two, in which the hero journeyed into the great unknown, travelling four whole blocks to the doors of the strange and mysterious Fresh Market Bodega. And finally, the stirring third act, in which the hero, richer in knowledge, lighter in riches, and burdened by heavy sacks of groceries, trudged back to his apartment.
I dusted my hands as I stacked the last of the non-perishables on my shelves, but as my valiant inner monologue faded, a new voice emerged. It callously reminded me that I’d just lost my ex-partner to a ruthless killer, that my current partner and longtime crush was in search of said ruthless killer, without me at her back no less, and that no amount of heroic fantasies could shelve said grim thoughts for long.
Shelve… At least the voice in my head had a sense of humor.
I began to pace, as I found it helped with my thoughts, but after I noticed a circular tread pattern forming in my rug, I headed back out the door and onto the snow-spattered streets of New Welwic. I gave my feet free rein once more, but after they started carrying me in the direction of Jjade’s, I had to stop and reconsider.
I couldn’t go back to the bar. Not only was it closed at this hour, but I’d made a pledge not to drink, at least not to excess while in my fragile emotional state. But I needed something to occupy my mind. Something physical, ideally. The walking seemed to be doing the trick, but what else could I do? Hire myself out as day labor to a moving firm? Double dipping on pay would be nice, but what if I threw out my back? I could engage in calisthenics in the park, but that would involve extensive exposure to the elements, and my nose was already dripping. Or…
I headed west into the newer portions of the city, into neighborhoods where the trees that grew from the sidewalks remembered the days their friends had been chopped down and covered with concrete. After about twenty minutes of walking, during which I suffered a momentary and unsettling bout of the willies, I found the building I’d been searching for. I hopped up to the third floor, walked over to condo 3F, and knocked.
After thirty seconds, a beautiful blonde answered the door, dressed in a tight maroon turtleneck that accentuated her ample curves. She brushed a hand over her ear to tuck her ashen locks into place and blinked, her round, hazel doe eyes neither warm nor cool.
“Jake,” she said. “What brings you here?”
There was a time not long ago when seeing her standing there, with her big beautiful eyes and other big beautiful assets, would’ve brought me to my knees or at least tugged on my heartstrings—if not other body parts that could’ve been incited into movement. But now? I felt neither affection nor ill-will.
At best I felt a wistful longing. An appreciation for the way things once were but would never be again.
“Good to see you, too, Nicole. How are you doing?”
“Fine,” she said as she glanced up and down the corridor. “What about you? What’s wrong?”
“See, now why would you assume anything is wrong?” I followed her glance. She hadn’t seen anyone, had she? “Aren’t I allowed to pay a visit to my ex-wife and my boy every now and then without being given the third degree?”
“Oh, you’re entitled to,” said Nicole. “But that doesn’t mean you ever do. Which I why I assumed something’s wrong. Not to mention the fact that you should be at work right now. Don’t tell me you got fired.”
“Never fear,” I said. “Your alimony payments are safe.”
“So you’re not suspended then, either?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Though you’re not far off. I was investigating a case, but…well, the Captain pulled me off it. For…reasons.”
Nicole’s eyes narrowed. “Reasons?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not planning on elaborating?”
I sighed. “I mean…I could. Do you really want to know?”
“Well, it depends,” she said. “Do those reasons include you nearly beating a man to death in a rage? Or having an infectious disease that could spread to the rest of the detectives in the precinct? There are things that could affect me and Tommy.”
“Griggs was murdered. We found him last night.”
Nicole’s face softened. “Oh. Gods… Jake. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I mean, I couldn’t have—”
“I know,” I said. “It’s okay.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m off the case, remember? But there might be a connection to organized crime. Look, it doesn’t matter. That’s not why I came.”
“Sure, sure. Of course.” Nicole wet her lips with her tongue and tilted her head ever so slightly. “So…why are you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “I’ve got the day off. I thought I could spend time with Tommy.”