by Alex P. Berg
I responded in kind, holding the door open for her to head back in.
23
The door clanged shut behind us. I cast a glance down the hall, wondering which way led back to the bordello’s main lobby. “Well, at least that clears a few things up. Now we can say with some certainty that Chaz, Ritchie, and Sammy went straight from here to Heather’s. Chaz’s limited time with a prostitute might explain his grabbiness at his wife’s place. And we finally know what happened to B. B.”
“Sort of,” said Shay. “We know how we was separated from the rest of the group. We have no idea what happened to his chest or how he got out of jail. But we have a lead, which is better than nothing. Come on. Let’s see if Rodgers and Quinto are behaving themselves.”
We found the pair more or less where we’d left them, seated on one of the leather-wrapped couches smack dab in the middle of Raccoon Ranch, Nowhere. They’d been joined by a pair of additional hussies, one of them a skinny blonde and the other a plump elf half-breed. Both of them wore the same raccoon-inspired outfits we’d already been introduced to, but the half-elf pulled hers off better than the skinny blonde did, partially due to her darker hair but mostly due to the fullness of her tube top.
“Guys?” said Shay as we approached. “You about done?”
Quinto thanked the ladies and excused himself, pulling Rodgers along with him. “That was quick. You guys learn anything?”
I didn’t think we’d been quite that speedy, but then again, time flies when you’re ogling half-naked women. “The bouncer gave us a lead on B. B. DuPrat. Also filled some holes in our timeline. How about you two?”
“We found some success,” said Rodgers, glancing back at the couch-bound ladies of the night. “We pulled back the mask on the events of last night, if you will.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “If that’s a raccoon metaphor, it’s really forced.”
“Hey, I ear you,” he said with a smile. “Now if you’ll shush, I can regale you with our tail.”
Steele eyed Quinto. “Did he ask any questions, or did he spend the entire time coming up with painful wordplay?”
“Knowing him he’s upset he didn’t manage to work ‘stripes’ in there somewhere,” said Quinto.
“Not true,” said Rodgers. “But I did fail to come up with a suitable pun involving clause and claws.”
“Guys…” said Steele.
“Right. Sorry,” said Rodgers. “Regardless, we struck gold on two out of three. The thin blonde’s name is Belinda. She shacked up with Sammy last night. The half-elf’s name is Cinnamon. She was with Chaz.”
“B. B. couldn’t find his mojo, he started a ruckus, and everyone got involved,” I said. “The bouncer already told us. Got anything new?”
Rodgers frowned. “First you disparage my puns, and then you won’t even let me tell my story? It’s rude, you know. Besides, how am I supposed to know what the bouncer told you?”
“Sorry,” I said. “You’re right. Go ahead. But assume we already know anything that occurred in B. B.’s room or in the hallway.”
“Right. In that case…ah…” Rodgers snapped his fingers together a few times. “Quinto, help me out.”
The big guy shook his head. “Puns or no, Allison isn’t going to be happy to know a brothel got you so addled. Long story short, Chaz and Cinnamon didn’t have sex. Not that they had a ton of time given B. B.’s disturbance, but given my knowledge of male anatomy and personal experience, I’d say that wasn’t the limiting factor. Neither was a, ah…physiological failure, as with B. B. From Cinnamon’s retelling of the experience, Chaz wasn’t looking to make love to her, per se. Maybe at first, but he quickly starting pining for his ex-wife, Heather. Cinnamon said that sort of thing isn’t uncommon—guys coming in more for emotional comfort than physical.”
“So it’s more or less what we already thought,” said Steele. “Chaz came here. The environment stimulated him, or his thoughts at least, and sent him packing to Heather’s afterwards. Given everything we’ve gathered since lunch, and adding to that Heather and Vance’s testimony, we have a pretty good grasp of what everyone in Yellow Cobra was up to until about two in the morning.”
“At which point we totally lose track of them,” I said. “Except for B. B., of course. We lose track of him even earlier.”
“But we know where he went,” said Shay. “Or at least where he should’ve gone. He rendezvoused with the other members of Yellow Cobra at the Banks Hotel eventually. If we follow his lead, perhaps we’ll unearth more clues.”
“Might as well since we’re already here,” I said. “Rodgers. Quinto. You guys ready to go? And before you respond, do realize that any answer other than no will be relayed to your significant others in the most incriminating way possible.”
Quinto snorted. “As if Cairny would trust you over me.”
Rodgers pursed his lips.
“Not so with your belle?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” said Rodgers. “Allison would never believe your lies either. But if she thought I was having too easy a time of it at work, she might threaten to take a long weekend away and leave me at home with the kids. I can’t have that happen. Let’s go.”
We exited back through the front of the brothel, pausing to ask Waternoose for directions to the Green Jacket lockup. Turns out it was only a few blocks away, which both did and did not surprise me given the proximity of the brothels to each other and the sheer number of them on Flatley. With our rickshaws having disappeared and the air lacking its traditional mid-winter bluster, we chose to walk, although I wondered about Shay’s feet. Her choice of heels was a good one from a professionalism standpoint but a poor one from pretty much any other. At least we hadn’t found ourselves going toe to toe with any belligerent ogres, doped-out drug dealers, or blood-sucking vampires—yet. Of course, if we did, Shay’s shoes might come in handy. Staking a vampire was one of the most well-agreed upon methods of indisposing them, and heels were made of wood, weren’t they? Or were those wedges?
I neglected to ask Shay about the construction of her shoes lest she take that as another unfounded assumption of mine regarding Chaz’s murder. Instead, we talked about much more mundane things, like what sort of creature might be friends with a vampire and still have the fangs, claws, or bladed weaponry necessary to tear B. B.’s chest to shreds. Shay didn’t care for that line of conversation either.
We skirted a large brown wagon someone had parked in the street—illegally, I might add—and the Green Jackets’ lockup popped into view behind it. If the 5th Street Precinct had suffered from years of disrepair and then had an illegitimate lovechild with a single story brownstone, it might’ve looked something like the building in front of us, squat and featuring a mismatched façade of brick and stone. If the interior in any way resembled the exterior, then perhaps the drunks locked away inside welcomed their inevitable transfer to the nearest police station.
A couple of thick-necked Green Jackets stood in front of the doors, their legs planted at shoulder width and their arms crossed over their chests. The more talkative of the pair held up a hand as our group of four neared.
“Hold it right there, gang,” he said. “Official Green Jacket business, here. Turn it around.”
“Sorry, pal,” I said. “City police trumps private every time.” I pulled out my badge and flipped it for him to see. Sure enough, I noticed serious wear in the leather at the crease. I hated being right.
“Oh,” said the guard, bringing his arm down. “Well, about time you showed up. To my knowledge, the night shift guys sent word your way about the escape, well…last night.”
“The escape of B. B. DuPrat?” asked Shay. “Sorry. These things take time to investigate. Word only recently reached us.”
The guard snorted. “Figures. Bureaucracy.”
“I don’t suppose you guys were here last night?” I asked.
The guard shook his head. “Nope. Everything we’ve heard is second hand. I can send
word for the guards who were here though, if you need to talk to them.”
“That would be great.” I pointed at the door. “Is anyone in charge inside?”
The guard nodded. “Yeah. Sure. What was his name? Drogden, I think. He arrived a couple hours ago.”
The Green Jackets had their own investigative team working on B. B.’s escape? I didn’t realize they employed more than goons.
The guards didn’t move, so I gestured toward the door again. “So…can we talk to him?”
“Talk to him?” The guard glanced to his partner, who frowned and shrugged in response. “Well, I mean…sure. I guess. Just, you know…be careful.”
The guard pulled a key and unlocked the door. He cracked it, glanced inside, then pulled it open further and waved us in. I wasn’t sure what all the cloak and dagger was about, or what the man’s cryptic warning meant, but the creative half of my brain couldn’t help but think this Drogden character might be an investigator of the paranormal kind.
Shay, Rodgers, Quinto, and I stepped into the lockup interior, which wasn’t as sad and pathetic as the outside indicated. The front portion in which we stood held a few desks closely packed together. Beyond that, past a half-height wall, I noticed a maze of steel-barred cells, with halls sneaking around and behind them to provide access. All in all, there was probably space for thirty ne'er-do-wells, and that was without packing multiple idiots into the cells that had the space.
The door squealed shut behind us. I surveyed the premises. Drogden must’ve cast a spell of obfuscation, because I didn’t see anyone who looked like they might fit that moniker, or anyone at all for that matter. Quinto didn’t either, apparently.
“Hello?” he called out.
Quinto’s big voice echoed around the room’s many reflective surfaces. No one answered.
No one.
A bestial growl erupted from somewhere in the back. We all jumped.
My eyes widened. “What the hell was that?”
24
The inhuman growl sounded once again, and I felt the hairs on my arms prickle. I looked around, but I couldn’t spot the source.
A scamper of feet. A flash of green somewhere in my peripheral vision. A rush of oncoming air.
I reached for Daisy and spun, but I wasn’t quick enough. With my arm still in my jacket, the green form lunged from behind one of the workspaces and latched onto my arm, pulling me down behind the nearest desk.
I gurgled and fell, the ceiling spinning as I lost my balance. My attacker gave me no respite.
“Get down! All of ya,” he hissed. “What in the world’s wrong with ya?”
I finally managed to get eyes on him. Rather than a four foot ball of muscle, teeth, claws, and gangrene, he was a rather inconspicuous goblin, perfectly normal except for his attire. He wore a khaki shirt tucked into a pair of khaki shorts that ended at mid thigh. His long black hair had been pulled into a ponytail, and white socks rose from the mouths of his worn hiking boots, reaching to the top of his calves.
Steele, Rodgers and Quinto took cover behind the desk, Quinto as best he could given his size. I stared at the goblin. “And you are?”
“Name’s Drogden,” he said. “I’m with animal control. And what in the fiery, blazing pits of hell are ya doing here? I told those Green Jacket numbskulls to watch the door!”
“Animal control?” said Shay. “So that growl we heard…”
Drogden nodded. “The beast I’ve been trying to corral for the last two hours—till ya lot of tossers came in and riled him up with yer whoopin’ and hollerin’!”
On cue, a bit of movement caught my eye. From past the half-height divider, I saw a brush of orange fur and the swish of a brown-tipped tail.
“Beast?” said Rodgers, eyes widening.
“Aye,” said Drogden. “A fully mature Delovian prairie lion. Male. A majestic beast, if I do say so meself. Deserves to be set free not caged for people to gawk at, but I don’t have any say in the matter. Can’t leave him here, in any case.”
“A lion?” said Quinto. “How the heck did a lion get in here?”
“Not sure,” said Rodgers. “But I think we finally figured out what happened to B. B.’s chest—and what killed Chaz.”
“Say what in the who, now?” sputtered Drogden. “Are ya saying this lion ate a man? Who the hell are ya, anyway?”
“We’re detectives with the NWPD,” said Steele. “And no, nobody was eaten. But someone was killed, possibly by a beast such as this one.”
Or by a vampire, I thought to myself. Or a were-lion.
Drogden shook his head. “Ya had me scared there for a second. Eatin’ a man…”
Something about what Drogden had said finally clicked. “Wait…you’ve been in here with that thing for two hours?”
“Well, that’s the thing, ya see,” said Drogden. “The beast’s tame. Hasn’t come at me except when I tried to catch ‘im. I’d wager he’s well fed, and not off the meat of a dead man, if ya catch me drift. Doesn’t mean he’s not a cagey son of a centaur. Almost had ‘im cornered in one of the cells three times, but he bolted off each time afore I could get the door closed. Also chewed through one of me best catch poles.” Drogden jerked a thumb toward the corner, where a wooden pole now ended in splinters.
I sat up a little. Somewhere in the back, I heard the lion growl again, but this time the sound didn’t come across as quite so blood-curdling. Not that I suffered a sudden death wish to wrestle the thing, but if a four foot tall goblin in khaki shorts could withstand two hours in closed quarters with the animal, I figured I could manage not to die for a few minutes.
“So, how can we help?” asked Quinto.
“Help?” I said. “Back it up there, big fella. Have you forgotten we’re homicide detectives? What in our training makes you think we’re qualified to wrangle a savage beast from the plains of some gods-forsaken wasteland?”
“We’ve butted heads with worse,” said Quinto, tapping his scarred forearm. “And by Drogden’s admission, he’s not so much a savage beast as a wily escape artist enjoying a taste of freedom. Besides, have you forgotten our creed? To protect and serve?”
“I always thought that was more of an either or,” I said. “The beat cops protect, we serve. And even if we’re supposed to do both, that doesn’t mean the creed applies in all situations. What if there’s a tsunami? Am I supposed to protect the public from that, too?”
Quinto ignored me and turned to Drogden. “You need help, I’m assuming.”
Drogden narrowed an eye, surveying Quinto before he turned his peepers on the rest of us. “Well…you and the bellyacher are big, if nothin’ else. And even though I doubt ya know the first thing about trappin’, ya probably do work pretty well as a team if yer detectives. What the heck. Couldn’t hurt. I’m down to me last catch pole, anyway.”
Shay regarded Drogden with the same look she gave me when it was obvious she believed I hadn’t thought things through. “I’m hoping you have some sort of plan?”
“Sure,” said Drogden, hitching his khaki shorts even further up his thighs. “We’ll try the same thing I was doing earlier, trying to force the beast into one of the holdin’ cells and lock him up tight, but this time we’ll have more people to use as a funnel.”
“Perfect,” I said. “So I’ll play the part of a delicious, walking meat funnel. Got it.”
“I ain’t gonna throw ya out there slathered in steak sauce, ya dolt,” said Drogden. “Strategery. That’s the key. Now as ya can tell, the animal’s sequestered amidst the cells. I’ve got one open in the middle of the nearest hall. If we can push ’im toward it, he’ll have nowhere else to go once we catch him in a pincer. You two bigguns can push ’im from the right. The rest of ya follow me. I’ve only got one good catch pole left, but he’s wary of me. He won’t bother us.”
“Which means he’ll try to tear his way through Quinto and me,” I said. “But hey, I’m sure if we ask nicely he’ll let us go w
ith a gentle mauling.”
“Figure it out, will ya?” said Drogden. “There’s furniture aplenty. Make a barricade or somethin’. Yer the one’s who volunteered, in any case.”
I was about to remind him I did no such thing, but Quinto clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on, Daggers. We’ll improvise.”
Not wanting to sound like any more of a Negative Nancy than I already had, I simply nodded. Drogden shimmied to the side and extracted his one remaining pole. He looked to Rodgers and Shay.
“Remember, fan out to my sides, but stay behind me. Ready?”
“Wait,” I said.
The trio turned. I rummaged around in my jacket, found Daisy, and tossed her to Shay, who caught my truncheon with a deft hand.
“Take care of her,” I said. “And yourself. Rodgers, you might want to snag one of those broken poles. Better than nothing.”
Shay eyed my nightstick, knowing I wouldn’t part with her lightly. “And you?”
“You heard Quinto. We’ll play it by ear—and hopefully not lose one in the process.”
Drogden didn’t seem to think that was amusing. He popped his head up and scanned the cell areas. “Looks like he’s on our end. We’ll get ‘im started. The open cell’s on yer side. Don’t waste time dawdlin’.”
He waved to Shay and Rodgers, and they shuffled around the edge of the far desk. I turned to find Quinto had already moved to the far side of the room. He hefted a pair of wooden chairs in his massive mitts.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “These are mine. Grab another one and head over here.”
I picked up the nearest one and joined him. “I sure hope this is hardwood.”
“Looks like oak,” said Quinto. “We should be fine.”
“Thanks. That’s very comforting.”
“Seriously,” said Quinto. “We’ve taken on worse.”
“Not intentionally,” I said. “Not knowing it would be worse. And we got lucky to get out of a few of those scrapes alive, never mind unharmed.”
“We agreed to help, and we’ll do just that. Come on.”