Steele of the Night (Daggers & Steele Book 7)

by Alex P. Berg

  “See this?” asked Shay.

  I followed her finger to a table—miraculously upright and intact—not far from the incapacitated elf. On its surface I noticed a trio of razor blades, each of them not far from a stack of mysterious white powder. A selection of pills and dried herbs, probably not of the culinary kind, had also joined the party.

  “Are those the same substances we found at the Cobra’s suite at the Banks Hotel?” I asked.

  “There’s no way to know without doing chemical analysis,” said Shay, “but I’m sure Cairny could perform it for us. I should’ve left the samples I gathered at the Banks with her. Of course, since I didn’t, it means I still have the baggies.”

  “Might as well put them to good use.”

  Shay reached into her jacket and produced the miniature envelopes with the samples collected from the Cobra’s suite. She knelt by the table and opened the first of the bunch.

  I glanced at the elf. His breathing progressed at a slow, steady pace, but his skin color resembled that of his hair. “I wonder if I should drag this guy indoors. I know it’s not that cold today, but I’d hate to have a negligent hypothermia death on my hands.”

  “Probably not a bad idea,” said Shay as she scooped a small pile of pills into one of the envelopes. “If Billy Charles dies, we’ll never figure out what the heck the Cobras were up to—among other negative consequences.”

  Glass crunched behind us, and someone spoke in a gravelly voice. “Who said anything about dying? Now get your grubby mitts off my stash.”

  17

  I turned to find an old man standing behind me—or at least, I assumed he was old. Crags and crevices covered his face, and not just big ones. The man had at least three times the density of wrinkles as anyone I’d ever met, but at the same time, he stood fairly straight, and I didn’t spy a liver spot anywhere on his person. He wore a paisley blue vest over an unbuttoned shirt that looked as if it had been left in a pile of laundry for a few months, and he’d wrapped a length of bright red fabric around his temples, allowing his finger length grey hair to curl out around it. He held a cigarette in his hand. He dragged on it as he stared at us.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “You are?”

  “Billy Charles,” he said around a puff of smoke. “Who the hell are you? The party ended hours ago.”

  “I’m Detective Jake Daggers of the NWPD,” I said. “This is Captain Shay Steele.”

  “Oh,” said Charles. “Well, in that case, help yourselves to whatever you please. Share and share alike, I’ve always said, especially for my friends down at the police department.”

  Shay stood and pocketed the envelopes. “Are you offering us drugs?”

  “Are you against that sort of thing?” asked Charles. “If so, why are you taking my pills? Speaking of which, that’s a party foul. Only take what you’re planning on using, don’t you know?”

  “You’re taking a surprisingly cavalier attitude toward the possession of illegal narcotics, Mr. Charles,” said Shay.

  “Oh, give me a break,” said Charles, waving his cigarette around. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those cops. Where the hell do my generous donations go if not to cut me some slack? And don’t make me point out you’re on my property collecting evidence illegally. I sure as hell didn’t invite you in.”

  “Ever heard of exigent circumstance?” I said.

  “Give me a break, kid,” said Charles. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You think that’s going to fly? Not with my lawyers.”

  “Alright, relax,” said Shay. “We’re not here to bust you on possession charges. We’re merely here to ask a few questions about your party guests last night.”

  “Right. Like who the hell this guy is and why he’s shirtless.” I pointed out the elf, in case my pronoun was indistinct enough.

  “Him?” said Charles. “I don’t know. I think his name was…Guido? Maybe Geronimo. I don’t know where his shirt went. What does it matter?”

  “Don’t mind my partner,” said Shay. “He’s easily distracted. We’re not concerned with Guido, or Geronimo, or whoever he is—although you might want to put a blanket over him if you’re not going to bring him inside. Rather, we’re interested in the Yellow Cobras. Chaz Willy Wilson, B. B. DuPrat, Sammy Styles, and Ritchie Roth. You know them?”

  Charles took another drag from his cigarette. “Of course I do. Known B. B. and Chaz forever. Why? What did they get into this time? Your typical, dumbass drunken antics?”

  “More or less,” I said. “Except this time Chaz died.”

  Charles blew the smoke out slowly, keeping his eyes steady on me. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “We’re homicide detectives,” I said. “Want to see my badge?”

  “So Chaz didn’t just die then,” said Charles. “You think someone killed him.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Shay. “We’re still in the process of investigating what happened—which is where you come in. We understand the Cobras came by your house last night?”

  Charles nodded. “I was hosting a party—for them, ostensibly. One year anniversary of their gig at the Moxy. Not really sure all of them considered that something worth celebrating, to be honest. Chaz in particular wasn’t too happy about not touring any more, but there’s a lot to be said for staying in one place, know what I mean?”

  “Why wasn’t he happy about not touring?” asked Shay.

  “It wasn’t the act itself,” said Charles. “It was his waning popularity. Yellow Cobra’s from here, you know. More fans in New Welwic than anywhere else. That’s the only reason the city could support them with regular shows. But it wasn’t just Chaz. All of them were upset with their fading popularity. But hey, it happens. Even to me.”

  “You were a musician yourself back in the day?” I asked.

  Charles plunged his cigarette-free hand into his chest. “Dagger to my heart, kid. I’m still a musician. I just don’t perform anymore. Seriously, you’ve never heard of me?”

  “Not until today.”

  Charles puffed on his cigarette again. “This world’s going to hell. I’m the best damn rock star who ever lived.”

  I turned to Steele. “He’s modest, too.”

  Shay ignored me. “What’s your relationship with Chaz?”

  Charles shrugged. “I’ve known him a long time. B. B. introduced him to me back when they were getting the band together. Really talented guy, very charismatic. Had some personal problems, but who among us doesn’t?”

  “Like what?” asked Shay.

  “Depression. Substance abuse issues. Delusions. The usual.”

  “And you said you’ve known B. B. even longer?” said Shay.

  “I’m a guitarist, first and foremost, girl,” said Charles. “B. B.’s my boy. Shame about Chaz, but maybe this’ll be the kick in the pants he needs to finally strike out and start his own band.”

  I felt my brow furrow. Was Charles unintentionally providing us with motive?

  “So let’s talk about last night, again,” said Steele. “You said the band members came over after their show. All of them? At what time?”

  “All of them, yeah.” Charles finished his cigarette and flicked the dying butt to the ground. “They came right after the show. Must’ve arrived about a quarter after ten.”

  Shay glanced at me. “Daggers?”

  I blinked, trying to figure out what I’d missed. Then it hit me. “Oh. Right.”

  I pulled the pad from my jacket and took note of the time.

  “Then what?” asked Shay.

  “What do you mean, then what?” asked Charles. “Look around, baby girl. We partied! Booze. Pills. A little smoke. We did it right!”

  “Pills?” said Shay. “Like the ones I found on that table over there?”

  “Probably,” said Charles, squinting. “What’s over there? My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”

  Shay produced a pair of envelopes from her jacket, the fir
st containing the drugs she’d snagged from the table. She poured them onto her hand. “These.”

  “Right,” said Charles, surveying them. “Some stims. Some tranqs. Pump you up and mellow you out at the same time. A perfect combination.”

  “Since you seem to be an expert, maybe you can help us identify the drugs we found in the rest of the Cobras’ possession.” Steele returned the drugs to her jacket and emptied the envelope from the Banks into her palm. “Are these the same?”

  “Sure. Stims and…” Charles paused, glancing at the collection of pills. “Hold on a sec. Those aren’t ’ludes.”

  “Ludes?” I said.

  “Yeah, ’ludes. Tranqs,” said Charles. “Those are different. Benzos. Anxiety meds. Who had those?”

  “We found them at the Banks Hotel,” said Shay. “Not sure who took them. None of the band members claimed to remember much of anything from last night.”

  Charles snorted. “Well, there’s your answer. They all took them? Benzos and hard liquor? Plus stims? That’s a recipe for a walking blackout if I ever heard one.”

  “Did you supply these to them?” asked Shay.

  “Hey, now,” said Charles, lifting a finger. “Don’t try to pin this on me. My parties are a free for all. I let people take what they want. If they mix things they shouldn’t, that’s on them, not me.”

  “From a legal standpoint, that’s arguable,” I said. “But again, we’re not here to bust you, we simply want to know what happened to Chaz. You said they arrived at ten fifteen. How long did they stay?”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” Charles rummaged in his pocket and produced another cigarette. “The guys didn’t hang around for more than forty-five minutes, an hour tops. And after I invited them into my home, planned this entire shindig for them. Can you believe that? Anyone got a light?” He held his cigarette out.

  “Fresh out,” I said, even though I had the Club Midnight matchbox in my pocket. “So where did they go?”

  “You’re useless you know that?” Charles returned the cigarette to his pocket. “I don’t know. Someone mentioned Leopard Jane’s, but why in the world would those idiots head there when I was offering free booze and drugs at my place? Of course, if they were hopped up on benzos, that might explain things.”

  “Who’s Leopard Jane?” asked Shay.

  “Proprietor of a dive bar down on Wheatley,” said Charles. “Beats me why B. B., Chaz, and the others keep going there. Actually, scratch that. It’s because of the waitresses.”

  “And did the whole band leave together?” I asked.

  “As far as I know,” said Charles. “Why?”

  “We’re still trying to account for everyone’s whereabouts,” said Shay. “B. B. in particular. Don’t worry. He’s fine.”

  “Of course he is,” said Charles, pulling the cigarette back from his pocket and looking at it wistfully. “He’s a horse. Can’t bring him down.”

  Given B. B.’s chest wound, I wondered if the guy might know more than he let on. Still, as of now, we had no reason to suspect Charles was more involved in any of the Cobra’s antics than he claimed to be.

  I turned to Steele. “So…ready to hit a dive bar? I hear they’re lovely in the middle of the day.”

  18

  “Is it just me, or have we visited a cornucopia of bars today?”

  Shay and I stood inside Leopard Jane’s. Unlike the Moxy and Club Midnight, the place didn’t suffer any delusions of grandeur. It didn’t open up into a concert hall or dance floor, nor did it fill its halls with tables or chairs or fancy booths. The place was a bar only, and it knew it.

  At least the bar itself had some flair. An enormous mirror stretched behind its lacquered wood, probably fifty feet from end to end, reflecting the light of hundreds of liquor bottles of every shape and color. An enormous sign with the words ‘Leopard Jane’s’ hung over the mirror, the font big and bold and covered in a leopard print fabric.

  Shay shrugged in response to my question. “Every establishment that can sell alcohol does. The markup on it is huge. I’d bet the Moxy makes more on booze than it does on ticket sales. A lot more. With that said, though, I think the number of bars we’ve visited says more about Chaz and his band mates than it does about society.”

  I glanced into the rafters, where a number of female undergarments hung from taut strings. “I’m guessing this place makes multiple statements about our society.”

  Steele nodded toward the bar, where a trio of mopey gents sat at stools. A lone bartender worked the far end. “Let’s go see if she can tell us anything useful.”

  Shay led the way, and I followed. As we approached her, the bartender looked up. “Hi, folks! What can I get you?”

  The young lady behind the bar wore a cowboy hat with the sides upturned, out from which spilled her mildly-curled auburn hair, but it was her tight black sleeveless shirt that caught my attention. Initially it had contained the bar’s moniker, but a deep, deep slit down the middle now cut the name in half. The young lady’s natural assets pushed the halves even further apart.

  I found it hard to keep my eyes off her breasts. I think that was the point.

  “Nothing, thanks,” said Shay. “I’m Steele, this is Detective Daggers. Any chance you were in last night, around eleven o’clock?”

  “I wish,” said the young lady. “I’ve got the shit shift, noon to eight. Why? What do you need?”

  A voice, a little deeper and more seasoned, drifted around from behind a bead curtain to our right, tucked away behind a cash register. “I heard that, Kari.”

  The beads rattled as a hand pushed them aside. Through them stepped a woman, probably in her mid forties, with shoulder length light brown hair kept clear of her face by a leopard spotted bandana. She carried more weight in her arms, shoulders, and midsection than did the aforementioned Kari, but her proportions remained appealing thanks to her cartoonishly large chest. She wore the same company shirt as did the younger bartender, but despite a smaller slit, the cloth seemed on the verge of tearing, the bar’s logo stretched and difficult to read.

  I started to detect a pattern among the bar staff.

  The woman nodded toward the patrons. “Kari, go see if those gentleman need any refills. You two, come with me.”

  She headed off to the end of the bar. Once Shay and I’d arrived, she leaned in and lowered her voice. “Sorry. Couldn’t help but overhear something about a detective. You’re cops?”

  I swallowed hard. I knew the woman had lowered her voice to avoid startling the bar flies, but goodness, did she really have to lean over so much? Between the angle of her torso as she rested against the bar, my height, and the strategically placed cut down the middle of her shirt, the chasm of her breasts created an inescapable, eye-sucking vortex. And of course I happened to be standing next to Shay, who I wasn’t completely convinced had fully forgiven me for my actions the night before, and who had the eyes of a hawk. Oh, why must the gods test me so?

  I cleared my throat and tried to focus on the bandana. “That’s right. Daggers and Steele. NWPD.” I gave each of us the thumb treatment. “You are?”

  The woman pointed at the sign. “Call me Jane. The whole leopard shtick was always just a way to drum up business. How can I help you?”

  “Any chance you were here last night?” asked Shay. “Around eleven to twelve?”

  Jane waved her hand nonchalantly. “I’m here every night, sweetheart. It’s the joys of entrepreneurship. Why? Looking for someone?”

  “Sort of,” said Shay. “Are you familiar with the band Yellow Cobra?”

  She shorted. “Of course. They were here last night, too. Rolled in probably…well, right around eleven, like you said. Why?”

  “We’re trying to piece together their movements from last night,” I said, eyeing a scratch on the counter for safety purposes. “With Chaz, specifically, though also for B. B. Was he here, do you recall?”

  “Sure was,” said Jane. “Th
at cotton ball platinum hairdo of his is hard to miss.”

  “And what were they up to?” asked Shay.

  “Drinking, same as everyone else,” said Jane. “Came in already hammered from the looks of it. Got the Leopard Jane signature treatment and left about an hour later.”

  “Signature treatment?” I said.

  “Come on, you’re not really that dumb are you?” Jane said to me, forcing me to make eye contact. “We get up close. Act real nice. Stick our boobs in your face and get a nice tip for our troubles. Sometimes we climb on the bar and dance, take shots, and get rowdy, though I encourage the girls to spit the liquor out behind the bar when no one’s looking. I’ve found there’s an inverse correlation between earnings and a bartender’s level of intoxication.”

  Shay glanced down the bar toward Kari, who was busy cleaning glasses. “Most of your girls like working here?”

  “The ones who work the night shift do,” said Jane. “It’s not the most mentally stimulating of jobs, but the pay’s good.”

  “How good?” asked Shay.

  “Depends on the individual. How come? You looking for work? You’re a little light on top, but you’ve got the face for it. You’d probably do pretty well for yourself if you showed some midriff.”

  “You realize you’re talking to the captain of the Fifth Street Precinct, don’t you?” I said.

  Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, girl! Good for you. Go get yours!”

  “Um…thanks,” said Shay. “But back to Chaz and the Cobras. You said they came in together. Do you remember if they left together? Around midnight, you mentioned?”

  Jane nodded. “Yeah, midnight, give or take ten minutes. No idea if they left together or not, to be honest. I’m more focused on keeping my girls in line and making sure none of the patrons get too grabby, if you know what I mean.”

  “So you wouldn’t know where they headed afterwards, would you?”

  “Sorry,” said Jane with a shake of her head. “But Crystal should know. She was their bartender. Usually is.”