Daggers & Steele 1 - Red Hot Steele

by Alex P. Berg

  37

  Once the riot suppressors mopped up the remaining Razors, we loaded them all in a paddy wagon and sent them off to the nearest station house. All except for my boy Occam, of course. He got an all-expenses-paid trip to the downtown precinct in a special police issue rolling lockbox.

  Once there, we chained him up in a brightly lit interrogation room. It contained lots of mirrors that reflected copious amounts of lamplight directly into his face. I figured he’d find the intense light uncomfortable given his dimly lit digs and the fact that he was still strung out on his own crank.

  With the pint-sized person of interest safely secured, I snagged a cup of joe, draped my coat across the back of my chair, and sat. I leaned back and propped my feet up on my desk.

  Shay buzzed around me like a fly, never pausing in a single spot for more than a few seconds. “Aren’t we going to interrogate the suspect?”

  “Slow down there, cowgirl,” I said. “There’s no need to rush. Let the guy sweat a little. Trust me. A guy like Occam will need some tenderizing.”

  I made her wait twenty minutes or so. Shay fidgeted the entire time. Either she couldn’t wait to solve the case, or she still suffered the aftereffects of endorphins released during her thrashing of Mr. Silvervein. I offered her coffee, but she turned it down. Probably a good choice. She didn’t need additional stimulants.

  When I finished my liquid pick-me-up, I set down my mug, gathered evidence materials we’d taken from the crime scene, and motioned for Shay to follow. “Alright, killer. Let’s go have a chat with Occam.”

  My partner shuddered. “Please don’t call me that. You know I wasn’t trying to hurt him.”

  “You could’ve been trying to straighten his nose, for all I care. What matters is you laid him out good and proper.”

  Shay shook her head. “I’m surprised you want me along for the interrogation.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who knocked his ass to the grass. You never know, he might be more intimidated by you than me. It won’t be easy to break him, but I suspect it might be useful to have you along. Just don’t pansy up the joint if I have to get rough with him.”

  We paused in front of the interrogation room.

  “Of course,” I said, “we could avoid all this if you could conjure up one of your visions right about now.”

  Shay sighed. “Not this again. I told you—”

  “Kidding. Ladies first.” I opened the door.

  The head Razor himself sat where we’d left him, squinting into the bright lights. Shackles bound his hands and secured them to a table in front of him. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead before losing itself in his shaggy beard.

  I pulled out my chair, flipped it around, and sat. I figured an unconventional style would make me seem more of a badass. Shay took the seat to my left. She’d left her nerves at the door, her face a mask of impassiveness. I was impressed. I hadn’t expected that sort of emotional control from her. It would serve us well during the questioning.

  I placed a couple items on the table in front of me—the three-foot long falchion Occam had wielded while fending off the riot police and a small brown baggie with the top folded over. I opened the bag and dumped its contents out for all to see—a sticky ball of yellowish orangey-brown opium residue.

  “So…Occam, is it?” I said. “Do either of these items look at all familiar to you?”

  Mr. Silvervein neglected to invoke his right to free speech.

  “Cat got your tongue? I understand. You may not be familiar with jurisprudence here in our fair city, so why don’t I fill you in. You need special military authorization to carry a blade in these parts. Not even cops are allowed to have them. Now, if you get caught carrying a blade under four inches, that’s a Class B misdemeanor. Under six inches and you’ve got yourself a Class A misdemeanor. Carry this thing around?” I pointed at the sword and whistled. “That’s a felony, my friend.”

  I picked up the glob of opium resin. “The same sort of reasoning applies to dope. If we caught you lugging around an ounce of crank, we’d slap you with a misdemeanor, assess you a fine, and send you on your merry way after a few days in the pen. A chunk like this probably weighs about, say—” I hefted the glob. “—an ounce or so. So I’d estimate two dozen crates’ worth, like we found in your basement, probably weighs somewhere in the range of a giant buttload. In case you hadn’t guessed, that’s a felony offense, too. As is the manufacture of dope from this stuff.”

  Occam finally spoke, and his voice wasn’t what I expected. It flowed with warmth and sensuality—a sound that might’ve come out of a high-end call girl’s mouth. It also had a bit of a rasp to it, but that could’ve been from the vicious throat slap inflicted to him by my partner.

  “Those aren’t mine. Never seen ‘em before in my life.”

  I scratched my chin. “I see. And the fact that we have nearly a dozen police eye witnesses that saw you attacking them with this very blade in your crank lab surrounded by boxes of opiates wouldn’t make you want to revise that statement, would it?”

  Occam gave his head a single taut shake.

  I hadn’t expected Shay to contribute anything, so I was mildly startled when she joined the conversation.

  “You know, Mr. Silvervein, much like with misdemeanors there’s also different felony classes. Felony weapons possession is a Class C felony. Drug trafficking to the level of what you’ve been involved in would be a Class B felony. Do you know what crime qualifies as a Class A felony? Murder.”

  That produced a reaction from the tattooed one. He squinted at Shay, his lazy left eye lagging slightly behind the right. “Murder? I haven’t murdered anyone.”

  “No?” I said. “The name Reginald Powers ring a bell?”

  Occam turned his still foggy granite-colored peepers on me. “No. It doesn’t.”

  “Really? Tall guy. Dark hair. Dark skin. Bit of a looker. Hole in his chest.”

  I saw a faint hint of recognition flicker across his eyes. So…he did know him.

  I pulled the placards we’d found at Reggie’s place from my coat and spread them on the table.

  “Do these look familiar to you?” I asked.

  “Dope cards,” said Occam. “What of ‘em?”

  “They’re your gang’s,” I said, “and we found them at Reginald’s apartment.”

  The head Razor squinted in the light. “I don’t know any Reginald.”

  I gathered the placards and tapped them on the table a few times. Then I stared at Occam. Met him eye to eye. The light was getting to him, I could tell.

  I let the silence stretch for a minute. Thankfully, my partner had the good sense to keep her mouth shut. I envisioned myself boring holes in Occam’s skull with my sight similar to some sort of super-powered creature of nightmares.

  “You know, it’s kind of a shame, really,” I said. “If you were facing Class B and C felonies, with the right word to the district attorney you could probably end up in a local penitentiary. Those aren’t too bad. Heck, for a guy with some clout they can be downright cushy. But there’s no leeway with Class A felonies. The magistrates send you to the federal labor camps.” I turned to Shay. “You ever been to those, Detective?”

  She shook her head.

  “Yeah, you don’t want to. They’re rough. Real rough. Lots of ogres, I hear.”

  Occam snarled. Dwarves and ogres are about as natural enemies as cats and dogs.

  “Believe it or not, though, I’ve heard the ogres like getting dwarves in the camps. Something to do with them being tall and you guys being short—makes it so your heads are right around groin level. And they treat you guys well—assuming you don’t mind getting shaved and oiled every now and then.”

  The Razor bared his teeth. “What do you want, pig?”

  “I want you to tell me about Reginald Powers.”

  Another bead of sweat dripped off the dwarf’s brow. “I told you, I don’t know anybody by that name.”

  “But you do know who I�
�m talking about. So quit stalling.”

  38

  “If I tell you what I know, I get locked up local?” Occam asked.

  “That’s the offer,” I said.

  Occam chewed his lip as another drop of sweat trickled down his brow. “I also want the drug charges dropped to a Class C.”

  “Oh, so you’re familiar with the law now?” I drummed my fingers on the table. If we did as he asked, he’d still face two Class C felony charges. He’d go away for a decade, minimum. Probably more. I couldn’t imagine the district attorney would be willing to cut him any more slack than necessary.

  “I can’t promise anything,” I said, “but I’ll talk to the DA. If you’re fully cooperative, we might be able to forge a compromise.”

  Occam blinked in the bright lights. “Alright. Deal. So what do you want to know?”

  “Everything.” I took out my trusty notepad and flipped it open, pencil grasped in my right hand.

  “I’ve never met any Reginald Powers,” said Occam. “But I do know who you’re talking about. I’ve known him a long time. Don’t know his real name, though. Around the Erming, we call him Snappy.”

  “Snappy?” I said. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, on account of him always being such a snappy dresser. Only guy I’ve ever met who’d risk his neck pinching a three-piece suit when he didn’t even have a loaf of bread for dinner.”

  “Huh,” I said. “Who would’ve guessed our dead guy’s nickname would’ve been even dopier than his pseudonym? So you guys have some sort of history?”

  Occam shrugged. “Yeah, you could say that. You could even say we were…friends—of sorts.”

  Shay leaned in. “So you’re telling us Reginald—I mean Snappy—was your friend?”

  “Of sorts.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means that business comes first, no matter who you are. And that was true with Snappy, too.”

  I scratched my head. “You’re going to have to start at the beginning.”

  “Fine,” said Occam. “Snappy was a slum rat, born and bred, like me. I met him when he was about thirteen years old. He got caught trying to steal office supplies from an associate of mine. My friend was about to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget, but I told him to wait. I figured, what kind of thirteen-year-old kid steals paper and pencils?

  “So I asked Snappy what he needed ‘em for. He was scared. Thought he was a goner. So, he told me. Turns out he was writing a falsified letter to a district judge. Something about trying to get his dad released from the joint. Pretty sad story, I’ve gotta’ admit.

  “Anyway, the kid spilled his guts. Told us everything. As it turned out, he’d been stealing supplies for some time. But I figured, hey, what if instead of kill—” Occam cleared his throat. “Um, I mean, what if, instead of punishing the kid, we put him to work? I told him to show me what he could do. And you know what? He wasn’t half bad. At forging, that is. Good at pinching, too. I had him run drugs. Swipe stuff. That sort of thing. Even ran some small time grifts.

  “The kid grew on me, so I took him under my wing. Tried to keep his nose clean. Or as clean as it can be when you’re doing the sort of work he was doing. But Snappy was smart. Too smart for the Erming. I always figured he’d find his way out.

  “And one day, he did. Just up and disappeared. I kept my ears to the ground to see if I could find out what he was up to, but I never heard much more than whispers. Word was he was doing some sort of long con, but that’s the most I heard.

  “Now, like I said, I couldn’t begrudge Snappy for leaving. I knew he would. We just had one small problem. Snappy never asked for my permission out of our business arrangement. And I couldn’t very well let a thing like that go.

  “So I kept looking. And eventually I found him. He was working at some place called Drury Arms. Hard to recognize him at first. He’d grown up a lot in the years since I’d seen him. He’d left everything from the Erming behind, or at least he’d tried. You can never totally free yourself of that place.

  “Anyway, I explained our situation to Snappy and offered him a solution. He’d deliver some military grade weapons our way, like that nice little blade you see there—” Occam nodded towards the sword. “—and we’d call it a deal. Snappy hemmed and hawed, but eventually he agreed. He gave me a time and place to meet him—a warehouse not far from here. He delivered on his end of the bargain, and that’s that.”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “About three or four months ago.”

  “And you hadn’t seen him since?”

  “No.”

  “Were you aware he’d been murdered?”

  “Not until you insinuated as much, no,” said Occam.

  “You don’t look surprised,” I remarked.

  “It’s not uncommon in our line of work.”

  I tapped my pencil on my notepad. As interesting as Occam’s story was, it didn’t add a whole lot to our overarching narrative.

  “Mr. Silvervein,” said Shay, “can you think of anyone who’d want Snappy dead?”

  “In the Erming? Nah. People knew he was with me. If they had a beef, they’d come to me first. At least they would if they had any sense.”

  “What about outside the Erming?” asked Shay.

  “You give me too much credit, elf. The Erming’s my home. Always has been, and it’ll probably be my grave. I don’t keep track much of what goes on outside. And I already told you, I hadn’t seen Snappy in years until a few months ago. I found him. We talked. I got my weapons. That’s it.”

  “You’re not being nearly as helpful as I’d hoped,” I told Occam. “You’re going to have to give me something else.”

  “I told you, I don’t know anything else,” he said.

  “That warehouse where you guys met. Tell me about it.”

  “It was a small lockup on the south side, west of the Earl. Had a half-dozen crates of weapons in it. Knives, swords, axes—the stuff you’d expect. We met Snappy there one night and cleaned the joint out.”

  “Where is it exactly?”

  Occam delved into his brain for an address. I wrote it down.

  “Better hope this leads us somewhere useful, Occam,” I said. “Otherwise my recommendation to the DA might get revised.”

  Occam was not pleased with the addendum to our arrangement. Luckily, the chains that bound him to the table held tight.

  39

  I closed the door to the interrogation room behind us, drowning out Occam’s shouts and threats. I headed with my partner toward the pit.

  “Well, that steamed him a bit, didn’t it?” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Shay. “He had quite a few choice words about you and your mother.”

  “It’s a shame,” I said. “I really thought we were starting to connect. Oh well. By the way—good work in there.”

  Shay squinted and peered at me. “Is that sarcasm?”

  “Hmm? No. You left your nerves at the door. Maintained your cool. Kept your mouth shut except when needed. That’s half the battle in an interrogation.”

  “Another compliment? Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  “You know, come to think of it, one of those dwarves back at Occam’s place did treat my head like his own personal piñata. I’ve been feeling a little woozy ever since. You think I should check with a physician?”

  Shay shook her head. “Sometimes I have a hard time telling when you’re being genuine, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I have the same problem myself. Could be I should see a doctor about that, too. So…what do you think?” I gave my partner a double brow raise.

  “About what?”

  “About Occam,” I said. “Think he’s involved in Reginald’s murder?”

  “His name was Snappy, remember?” said Shay.

  “Oh, come on. Snappy’s too stupid a name for us to keep tossing it back and forth like a hot potato, and it’s just as made up as the one we’ve been calling him by. I’m goi
ng to stick with Reginald. At least that way I can continue to be rakishly deprecating by calling him things like Reggie or Reg. What could I do with a name like Snappy? Call him Snapps?” I snapped my fingers a few times. “Oh, hey, that could work…”

  “See? This is what I’m talking about,” said Shay.

  “You didn’t answer my question. What’s your take on Occam?”

  Shay shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I mean on one hand, he’s clearly a violent, dangerous criminal. I wouldn’t put it past him to kill someone, even someone he’s known for a long time. But on the other hand, I got the impression he was being honest about Reginald. I think he actually had a sort of strange, twisted affection for the guy.”

  “Yeah, I had the same feeling.”

  “Besides,” said Shay, “we don’t have any evidence to indicate he had any motive to kill Reginald. I mean, he got his weapons, didn’t he? From what we found in his dope lab, he had enough arms in there to equip each of his guys three times over.”

  “Maybe Occam wanted more weapons and Reggie wouldn’t play ball,” I offered. “There’s lots of money to be made in illicit arms trafficking.”

  “That’s speculation and you know it. Besides, don’t you think if Occam was involved in the arms trade Detective Morales would’ve noticed and alerted someone? Maybe people ignore the drug trade as long as it stays in the Erming, but that’s definitely not true of the weapons biz.”

  We approached our stations. The corkboard still stood there, making small talk with our desks. I positioned my posterior in my trusty chair and eyeballed the information on the board. We’d uncovered lots of clues, but they hadn’t coalesced into anything recognizable. The puzzle of Reginald’s murder still missed a vital piece. But what?

  I screwed up my face and pressed my fingers to my temples.

  “If it hurts that much to think, maybe you should stop.”

  I glared at Shay. “I take back everything nice I’ve said about you today. Besides, you have no right to judge. I might be concussed from all those dwarf punches I absorbed, remember?”