by Alex P. Berg
Quinto hefted his chairs and pushed through the door at his side. I channeled my inner ringmaster and followed him through, wishing I’d commandeered the whip we’d found tying Chaz to the tree and brought it with me.
Quinto crept down the hall with his two chairs held out legs first. I did the same, struggling under the weight of my single chair. Apparently, Quinto had the strength of an ox on steroids.
The big guy nodded to the side. “There’s the cell.”
It stood open, with the door swung all the way to the side. It didn’t seem particularly appealing. “I know Drogden said he thought the lion had eaten recently, but I’d sure feel more comfortable with a few steaks to throw in there.”
I noticed a flash of orange, and the sound of nails clicking off tile reached my ears. The lion had turned the corner and started to approach us, eyeing us with what seemed to me a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
By the gods, but the beast was big! At about two hundred pounds, I thought myself decently sized, but the animal must’ve easily doubled that. His head bobbed a good four to five feet off the ground, swaying as he walked.
“Quinto,” I whispered. “I’m starting to regret my earlier decision.”
Based on the big guy’s tone of voice, he had, too. “Easy. Easy. Back away. Give him space.”
Drogden, Rodgers, and Shay turned the corner, the animal control specialist looking far more confident than did our detective pals. Rodger’s broken pole shook, and Shay gripped Daisy with enough strength to force the blood out of her fingers.
“That’s a boy,” said Drogden, keeping the pole before him and using it to herd the lion. “Good boy. No sudden movements now.”
Based off the glance he shot our way, I think he meant us. As if I needed to be reminded…
The lion closed on our position, glancing back toward Drogden and his pole intermittently. He started to circle as he realized Drogden’s plan. I still couldn’t get over the beast’s size.
The goblin gave us a nod, his pole extended to keep the lion at bay. “Go on. Give him a nudge.”
“What?” I hissed. “Are you crazy?”
“Figuratively,” said Drogden. “Come around the side. Try to coax him into the cell.”
Quinto blocked the majority of the hallway with his double set of chairs, so of course the task fell to me. I swallowed hard and took a step forward, my chair wobbling.
“That’s it,” I said, cooing to the enormous lion and feeling like a walking piece of rehydrated human jerky. “That’s the ticket. Just a little—”
The lion roared and spun, lashing out with a huge paw. My chair exploded into a cloud of splinters. Quinto bellowed and lunged to the side, his chairs held like oversized boxing gloves. The lion danced and spun, hopping inside the cell to avoid Quinto’s oak-fisted dance. Drogden dove in, jabbing his pole behind the door and whipping it to the side. Quinto just managed to twirl out of the way as it clanged shut.
I sat there in the hallway, pieces of smashed chair littering my pants as I watched the lion circle the cell, separated from me only by steel bars and prayers. Sweat moistened my brow and underarms, the foul smelling kind that arose from stress as opposed to physical exertion. My heart thumped in my chest so loudly I feared it might hop up my throat and make a break for it.
I glanced at Drogden. Suddenly, I felt an immense amount of respect for the diminutive goblin, but rather than a statement of admiration or thanks, all I managed to squeak out was a simple, “I am never doing that again.”
25
I leaned back in my chair, cooling my heels as I watched Drogden try to coerce the lion into doing his bidding. With Quinto’s help, he’d moved a portable cage from the brown wagon out front all the way inside and up against the cell door. Now he tried in vain to coax the beast into the cage, but barring the magical appearance of a bale of catnip, I didn’t think he’d have much success. The animal growled and paced, angry that he’d been tricked. He’d already ruined the last of the goblin’s catch poles and turned the others into mangled stubs.
The front door squeaked, and I turned, expecting Shay. Rodgers and Quinto had already left for the precinct, whereas my half-elf partner had exited to chat with the Green Jackets outside—or so she’d claimed. In reality, I think she simply needed air. Not that I could blame her. The lion experience had been more harrowing than Drogden had led any of us to believe.
Instead of Shay, however, fate dealt me a different card. A new Green Jacket, to be specific—one with a thick black beard, sunken eyes, and a nose as broad as a barge. He held his body rigid, his shoulders square and tense as he stepped inside cautiously, casting his eyes from corner to corner as if searching for demons in the shadows.
“Howdy,” I said, picking my feet off the desk and moving them to the ground.
“Hey.”
He didn’t bother to make eye contact, continuing his visual survey. Eventually he settled his eyes on Drogden, the cage, and its feline inhabitant. He peered at the medley for a moment before his shoulders finally relaxed.
“Oh, thank the gods,” he said. “You’ve got that beast under control. You know, for a while after I woke up this afternoon, I thought it had been a bad dream. Would’ve made more sense that way, to be honest.”
I gave the guy a nod. “I take it you’re one of the Green Jackets who was here last night when the, ah…incident occurred.”
“That’s right,” said the man. “Blanchard’s the name. Caldwell outside sent word for me. Said there were cops here asking questions. That you?”
“That’s right. I’m Jake Daggers. NWPD homicide.”
“Homicide?” said Blanchard. “Holy crap. The lion killed someone? I mean, it’s not that surprising. I’m shocked he didn’t kill the guy we had in here last night. But still—someone’s dead? Here?”
“Settle down, hotshot,” I said. “Someone’s dead, but not here. Elsewhere. And their death may or may not be directly related to the lion. Either way, that’s for me to figure out. What I need from you is an explanation of what the heck happened last night, because right now I’m about as lost as a blind man wearing earplugs in the middle of a rainstorm.”
“Sure,” said Blanchard. “Uh…where do you want me to start?”
“Last night at about one o’clock, a drunk elf with a shock of platinum blond hair should’ve been delivered your way via one of the bouncers at the Raccoon Ranch. Name of B. B. DuPrat. Ring a bell?”
“The description does, sure,” said Blanchard. “The name doesn’t, but a lot of folks who get locked up here give us assumed names.”
“What did he tell you he went by?” I asked.
“Dick Longflop.”
I snorted, only managing to keep it together by the thinnest of margins. “Right. Let’s start with him. What happened after he made it to your doorstep?”
The Green Jacket crossed to the nearest desk and rested his posterior against one of its corners. “At first? Not much. It’d been an exceptionally slow night. He was the first one we admitted. The only one, actually. ‘Course he made up for the lull by cussing and screaming enough for five men, but he couldn’t fight off the effects of the drugs and booze he’d swilled forever. I think he finally passed out about an hour later.”
“And then?”
Blanchard sighed. “It was quiet until around four. That’s the hardest part of the night to get through, even for career night-shifters like me. My partner and I were sitting right here in the front, probably dozing off like we usually do around that time. Then I remember hearing the door. It squeaks, you know.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“So I look up, blinking the sleep from my eyes, and the door’s still open. Someone’s holding it from the outside, can’t see who. I hear a couple people arguing. I stand up and call out. ‘Hello?’ And then believe it or not, a giant lion saunters on in here like he owns the place—which I guess you can believe since the beast’s still here.”
I pulled my trusty pad out and took notes. “What happened next?”
“I freaked out,” said Blanchard. “Flew back about five feet and shouted out a curse my mother wouldn’t be proud of. My partner did the same. We just about fell over each other trying to get the hell out of here.”
“You ran out the door past the lion?”
“Are you kidding? We busted through into the holding cells and hauled ass to the fire exit in back.”
“Leaving B. B. in his cell,” I said.
“Dude, don’t get on my back over that,” said Blanchard. “That was the last thing on my mind. He was in a cell, anyway. What was the lion going to do to him?”
I ignored the dig. “So you made it out back in one piece. What then?”
The man threw up his hands. “I don’t know. We were in shock. My partner and I didn’t know what to do. We threw some ideas around, but they all sounded crazy. After a few minutes, we settled upon locking the place down to make sure the beast didn’t escape. I’d lost my keys in the commotion, but my partner had his, so we locked the back door and headed around front to do the same. Right as we exited the alley onto Flatley, we caught sight of three guys running into an alley across the street. Two new guys holding the elf with the blonde hair between them.”
I looked up from my pad. “Can you describe these two individuals?”
“I don’t know, man,” said the guard. “It was late. I was wired with adrenaline. I barely got a look at them before they disappeared.”
“I don’t need to know their weights down to the pound, or how many moles each one had on their left ass cheek. Anything would help.”
Blanchard scrunched his brow. “I want to say one was skinny, with black hair. The other had…braids, maybe? Or a single braid?”
“There wasn’t a fourth? One with feathery blond locks?”
“I only saw the three.”
I tapped the pencil against the lined paper in my pad. “I don’t suppose you went after them?”
Blanchard shook his head. “No. Maybe I should’ve. It all happened so fast though. I was totally caught off guard. I mean, a lion? Really?”
The door squeaked, and Steele stepped in. I held up a finger in her direction. “One more thing and I’ll let you go, Blanchard. After the trio ran off, what did you do? Not head back inside, of course.”
“No, man,” he said. “That was all she wrote. We locked the place up, went to report it, and went home. Heck, I’m not paid enough to do more.”
“Okay. Thanks. You mind letting me have a word with my partner?” I pointed toward the door.
“You bet.” Blanchard nodded to me, then Shay, then made his exit.
Shay took the man’s spot at the edge of the desk. “Learn anything?”
“More or less.” I gave her the cheat sheet version.
She chewed on her lip, taking it all in. She didn’t immediately respond.
“Something on your mind?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think Rodgers was right.”
“Oh, he’s always wrong,” I said offhandedly. “But what specific comment are we talking about this time?”
“I don’t think the lion killed Chaz.”
“Because he didn’t arrive with Ritchie and Sammy to break B. B. out?” I offered.
“Not necessarily,” said Shay. “I don’t put a ton of faith in the eyewitness testimony of a man who went from asleep to confused to terrified over the course of a few seconds. Besides, he admitted he barely got a look at the escapees. Chaz might’ve been leading the charge, already in the alley by the time Blanchard got a glance at them.”
“But you don’t think he was here, do you?”
“No,” said Shay. “I mean, it’s possible. Not likely, given the testimony, but if he was, he certainly wasn’t murdered here. I took a look around outside. I didn’t see any evidence of blood in the surrounding alleys or on building walls. No camel prints in the mud, either. And I’m sure you’d agree with me that if Chaz had his throat torn here, there’d be blood everywhere.”
“The lion could’ve lapped it up.”
“I suppose he could’ve,” said Shay, “but we’re talking about a lot of blood. Lions aren’t that meticulous, as far as I know. Especially not ones that have already been fed, as Drogden suggested. And I don’t know if you noticed, but there are a few droplets of blood here and there. I’d say they’re consistent with B. B.’s wound, not Chaz’s.”
I hadn’t noticed the droplets. “I was simply playing devil’s advocate. I don’t think Chaz was murdered here either. It doesn’t have that distinctive camel smell.”
Shay tapped her fingers against the desk and sighed. “The good news is we have one more entry into our timeline of last night’s events. The bad news is it doesn’t seem to involve Chaz.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s almost as if, following his trip to Club Midnight, Chaz just…disappeared into the night.”
Shay frowned. “Don’t start with me. Not unless you have evidence to support your theory.”
“Do gut feelings count as evidence?”
Shay shook her head. “Come on. Let’s get back to the precinct. With any luck, it won’t have caught fire in our absence.”
26
Shay proved to be right in the most literal sense of her wishes, but it turned out her fears were well founded. As we walked into the lobby of the precinct, we once again found a crowd loitering around her new office.
“I swear, problems never piled up this quickly when the bulldog was around,” I said, glancing at the mob.
“You sure about that?” said Shay. “Maybe you never noticed because you were only concerned about the Captain coming to chew on your hide. You only approached him when you needed something.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “I invited him out to drinks. Once. I think.”
Shay took a deep breath. “No sense delaying the inevitable. Let’s see what’s resulting in the end of humanity this time.”
We walked toward the crowd, who hadn’t yet realized we’d entered the arena. It didn’t take them long to figure it out. One of the amassed fighters said something and pointed our way, causing the whole group to straighten, turn, and peer at us like a gang of meerkats.
The one closest to us, a clean-shaven bluecoat with a square jaw, held up a finger as we approached. “Ah, Captain. There you are. Look, I—”
The officers and detectives behind him drowned him out as they all simultaneously voiced their own concerns.
“Captain, I have a—”
“Listen, here! There’s a four-thirty five—”
“Out of my way, all of you. I need to—”
“Stop. Stop!” said Shay, lifting a hand. “Let me in my office first. And one at a time, please! You’re officers of the law, not town criers.”
Everyone piped down—almost. The square-jawed bluecoat didn’t seem to get the message. “But Captain, this is urgent. I—”
“You just moved into last place,” said Shay as she reached the door and opened it. “Better learn to listen the first time. The rest of you, line up. Let’s hear it.”
While the other members of the police force had already quieted, now even the muttering faded away.
I blinked. I’d always known Shay harbored a ferocious spirit animal within her—perhaps a tiger or a badger—but I hadn’t expected to see her release it so quickly, especially after the morning’s complaints hurled at her under similar circumstances. Clearly she’d taken her own advice to heart, and based on the line of her jaw and the steely glint in her eyes, she wasn’t faking it.
Steele retreated to her desk, leaned against the edge, and eyed the assembled masses. She pointed to the guy more or less in front, a diminutive dark-skinned fellow who I think worked on the second floor.
“You,” she said. “You look familiar, but I apologize, I don’t remember your name.”
“Ortiz, ma’am,” said the
man. “Burglary.”
“Great. Ortiz,” said Shay. “Nice to meet you. What do you need?”
He held up a sheaf of papers. “I have a warrant request for an ongoing case involving a guy who’s been suspected of art theft.”
“Well, that’s easy,” said Shay. “Leave it with me. I’ll take a look at it and sign it as soon as I’m able. Next.”
Ortiz stepped forward, gave the papers to Shay, and headed out. Shay set them down and pointed out the next guy. “You. Wormwood, right? Let’s hear it.”
The detective nodded. “That’s right. I guess maybe my situation’s not as urgent as everyone else’s, so…”
“Make it quick, then,” said Steele.
“Okay,” he said. “Well, before the old Captain retired, he’d promised me a meeting to discuss a fraud case I’m working on. We’ve got a trio of possible suspects, but only enough resources to focus on one at a time. We were going to figure out which one made the most sense to tackle first.”
“Well, obviously I’m not the old captain,” said Shay. “Nor am I familiar with the case. Write me a summary. I’ll take a look at it and schedule a meeting if you want one. Or you can simply make a recommendation. You know the case better than anyone, right?”
“Ah…right,” said Wormwood. “Perfect. I’ll do that.”
“Next.”
One of the two remaining bluecoats stepped up—not the one with the square jaw. “Captain. Got a four thirty-five in progress.”
“In plain verbiage, please,” said Shay.
“A fire,” said the officer. “A church of some sort down on 1st. A suspected arson.”
“Then what are you talking to me for?” said Shay. “Alert the fire department if you haven’t already. Get the arson team down there yesterday. Seriously, this isn’t hard. Come on.”
The officer ran off, looking rather sheepish, leaving only the original, defiant bluecoat.
“Thanks for being patient,” said Shay. “Now, what’s the problem?”
The man’s square jaw seemed abnormally tight, but other than the facial tic he held his annoyance in check. “As I was trying to tell you earlier, we have a bit of a situation. An escaped suspect.”