An Ill Wind Blows

by Charlie Cottrell

  “Where is it?” he demanded, whirling to face me. “Did you take it?”

  “No,” I replied, turning out my pockets. “Why would I do that? It’s not like you’re planning on letting me walk out of this room alive, let alone with the Jewel of Hakido.” I held up the scrap of paper I’d found in the safe and continued. “I do know where it is now, though, and if you’ll just see it in your heart to give me some more time, maybe don’t attach a damn shock bracelet to my arm this time, I’ll be glad to get it for you.”

  “No!” Montgomery shouted, anger flushing his face. “Your time is up.” He brought the pistol up, ready to fire.

  “Police! Nobody move!” yelled someone in the hall. Montgomery’s head turned toward the door, giving me the opportunity to cold-cock the guy with my brass knuckles and grab his gun. Montgomery went down hard, crashing against Carson’s industrial desk and slamming his head on the wooden slab of the tabletop. He slumped in a heap, unmoving but alive. He’d wake up with a nasty headache.

  A half dozen uniformed officers, led by Officer Higgins, swarmed into the already-cramped office, guns drawn. They quickly disarmed and subdued Montgomery’s minions. As the uniforms escorted Montgomery’s men out, Captain O’Mally stormed into the room, a betusked wrath of some vengeful god. He stood over Montgomery, who was coming to with the requisite moaning and groaning.

  “Rupert Montgomery, you are under arrest for the attempted theft of the Jewel of Hakido and the attempted murder of your wife, Eileen Montgomery.” Officer Higgins, standing by, slapped the cuffs on Montgomery, hauled him to his feet, and nearly dragged the man out of the office, leaving me alone with O’Mally.

  “Attempted murder?” I asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Montgomery is alive and well. She tipped us off that her husband would be in the area, and your little screw up with setting off the silent alarm here led us right to the man.”

  “So, I’m not a wanted fugitive anymore, then?” I asked.

  “Technically speaking, you were never under suspicion, Eddie,” O’Mally replied. “We knew from the start you were working with Mrs. Montgomery to help bring her conniving husband down, we just had to make it look like you were a suspect. You will need to turn over the credit chips you received from the Montgomerys as evidence, I’m afraid.” I passed them over grudgingly, watching all those zeroes float away into a police evidence locker in my mind.

  I crammed my hands deep into my pockets, pouting slightly. “Would’ve been nice if someone had let me in on the game,” I grumbled.

  “Then it wouldn’t have seemed real enough. We needed you — and, by extension, Montgomery — to really think you were a wanted man. Sorry about that.”

  “So, where is the formerly late Mrs. Montgomery?” I asked, still pouty.

  “Out front, and she’d like a word with you.”

  * * *

  Eileen Montgomery stood outside Carson’s Jewelry, her rounded figure as inviting and attractive as ever. She was most definitely alive, her bodyguard Henry at her side.

  “Detective Hazzard, so good to see you’re safe,” Mrs. Montgomery cooed.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” I asked gruffly. What can I say, my injuries were aching and it’d been a long twenty-four hours.

  “It’s all rather complicated, I’m afraid,” she replied, frowning slightly. “See, my husband paid Henry here to kill me, but Henry has always and only ever been loyal to me. He revealed Rupert’s plan, then helped me to fake my death and turn things around on my dear, dear husband. Of course, to lend some credence to the whole scheme, I did have to circulate the notion that you were my killer.”

  “So, the whole thing was just a frame job?” I snarled, frustrated and angry and coming down off the adrenaline high. “I’ve been pushed around and played for a fool this whole time. I’ve had no agency in this mess, and you just seem so…casual and blasé about the whole thing!”

  “I promise you, it was never my intention to harm you or cause you any trouble, Detective,” Mrs. Montgomery replied, genuine sympathy in her tone. “If it’s any comfort, you were never really a suspect. We just needed my husband to believe you were.”

  “And what about the Jewel of Hakido?” I asked, trying to push my rage down.

  “Safe and sound with our…mutual friend,” she replied.

  “Our what now?” I asked, confused.

  “Oh, just a rather…bossy individual we both have the pleasure of knowing.” My eyes suddenly grew wide with understanding.

  “Vera Stewart,” I said. Mrs. Montgomery nodded. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, maybe this is just the blood loss talking, but Vera Stewart is a little too dead to be taking possession of any gemstone.”

  “I can see why you would believe that, Mr. Hazzard, but I assure you she is alive.”

  I was going to have to think that one over before I could figure out how I felt about Vera’s miraculous resurrection. “So, you get your husband sent off to jail, and the Boss gets a priceless gem. Great.”

  Mrs. Montgomery cocked her head to the side slightly. “Do you really know who Vera Stewart is, Detective? I don’t mean do you know what she does for a living, I mean do you know her family history? She comes from a very old family in Mordalvia. She herself has never been there, but she feels a great connection to her heritage. Even now, she wishes to bring peace and stability to the country. I believe the Jewel of Hakido will not remain in her personal possession for long, and that the lord-regent of Mordalvia will soon be receiving an anonymous gift.”

  “Altruism? From her?” I scoffed, incredulous.

  “Stranger things have happened,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “So, does that satisfy your curiosity, Detective?”

  “I guess,” I replied, still sullen. “Would’ve been nice to’ve actually gotten paid for this little disaster, though.”

  Mrs. Montgomery favored me with a warm smile. “Consider it your own good deed for the day, Detective.” She touched my arm in a brief, friendly gesture, then turned and went off to confer with Captain O’Mally. I sat down on the curb and watched the uniformed officers cordon off the jewelry store. I was tired and feeling more than a little muddled. I lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it, reflecting on Mrs. Montgomery’s revelation that Vera Stewart was still alive and kicking. Sure, I’d held her lifeless corpse in my own two hands, watched the bullet hit her in the head and kick up enough blood spray to satisfy even the goriest horror film fan, but why would Mrs. Montgomery lie to me?

  As I sat there pondering, I noticed someone making their way through the confusion and police officers. Vera Stewart came strutting onto the scene, looking for all the world like a runway model who’d gotten lost on the way to a wardrobe change. Her dress and coat were immaculate, stylish, and perfectly-fitted. If a photographer had stepped up and started snapping candid photos of her for a cover spread in some fashion magazine, I would not have been surprised.

  “You’re looking well for a dead woman,” I said conversationally as she stopped in front of me.

  Vera looked down at me, not deigning to sit on concrete. “Death is no reason to not look one’s best, detective.” I grunted noncommittally, and she continued. “Since you can still fog a mirror, we need to talk. About the Organization, about Kimiko and the clan, about what we are going to do now that I am…back.”

  “No time like the present, I guess,” I replied, standing up gingerly and ushering her away from the noise of the crime scene.

  “I don’t want the Organization back,” Vera said as we walked.

  I paused. “Why not? I’m not cut out to be a crime boss. It’s playing merry hell with my sleep routines.”

  “It’s…being ‘dead,’ however real or artificial it may have been, has given me time to reevaluate my life.”

  “So, you’re turning over a new leaf, just like that?” I asked, dubious.

  “Something like that. I want to run an information network. It was the one part of the job that I enjoyed the most, and it’s the part that could
be the most…useful.”

  “Since when do you want to be useful?” I asked.

  Vera gave a slight shrug. “As I said, I have reevaluated things. I have always considered myself a keeper of secrets. For the right price, I see no reason I could not…share some of them with the proper authorities, from time to time.”

  “So, Vera Stewart, shadowy information broker? Still gonna call yourself ‘The Boss?’”

  “No,” Vera said thoughtfully. “I think it’s time for that particular persona to die a final death. And for that, I will need your help.”

  II.

  We were back at the Church Street office, and most of the debris from the earlier fight with the Saint Blade had been cleared away, including the dead assassin’s body.

  “The solution is simple. We need people to think the Ill Winds succeeded in assassinating you,” Vera said. Against the advice of nearly everyone, I was having a drink. I’d earned it.

  “Is this going to be one of those situations where I pretend to be dead and we take pictures and stuff?” I asked. “Because if I lie down on the floor right now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back up anytime soon.”

  “No, we don’t need to do that. We just need to get in contact with the individual behind the assassination contract.”

  “And just who, exactly, is that?” I asked. “I kinda assumed it was Montgomery. It doesn’t make any sense, but neither did anything else that asshole did.”

  “It wasn’t him,” Ms. Stewart replied. She pulled up a vid window, scrolled through a folder of images, then turned the window toward me.

  “Carmen?” I said, surprised. Dresden Crowder’s righthand gal, the deadly woman without a past, stared back at me from the image in the vid window.

  “Yes,” Ms. Stewart said. “My sister.”

  “Your sister?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Yes, detective,” Ms. Stewart replied calmly.

  “Your sister?” I asked, again.

  “Yes,” she replied again, a small crack appearing in her stony calm.

  “But, like, your actual, honest-to-God, share DNA sister?” I asked. I was struggling to process this new information, but in my defense, I’d had a bit of a day.

  “Yes, Detective, Hazzard, my sister!” Ms. Stewart snapped, standing up and beginning to pace the floor. “She holds a grudge, as you can see. There’s only one way you can get her to stop sending assassins after you.”

  “Send one after her?” I asked, hopefully.

  “No,” Vera said, smiling menacingly. “We are going to set you out as bait.”

  * * *

  “For the record, I hate this plan,” I said, sitting in the Funeral Parlor, my favorite bar. “Haven’t I suffered enough on this case?”

  “No,” said Vera over my earpiece. “Now sit there and drink your whiskey.”

  I took a long sip. “I can do that.” My eyes darted around the dimly-lit bar, keeping an eye out for Carmen. “So, ever gonna tell me how you survived your own assassination attempt?” I asked.

  “Maybe. If you get through this alive, I’ll definitely consider it.”

  I frowned. “Being dead has given you an awful sense of humor,” I grumbled.

  “Considering I didn’t really have one before, it must be an improvement.”

  I sighed and took another sip of whiskey. Vera’s plan was stupidly simple: one of our ninja assassins was going to quote-unquote kill me in the Funeral Parlor, in front of witnesses. Someone would get the story back to Carmen, who would come to pay the bounty. Then, we’d spring our trap on her. It was brilliant in that there was no way any of it could possibly go wrong.

  So, of course, every single part of the plan was going to go horribly, spectacularly wrong.

  The Funeral Parlor was essentially empty when I arrived. The only other person there, Rex, was the bartender, and not someone who’d go talking to Carmen after my “death.” But that apparently didn’t matter. In this day and age, cameras are everywhere, and we were sure someone would be able to pick up the ambient camera feed in the bar and send it on to Carmen after news of my death spread.

  Closing time was fast approaching, and with it my grand death scene. I finished off my drink and tossed a couple of bucks onto the bar top for Rex before rising from my stool and hobbling toward the front door. On cue, someone in ninja pajamas came through the front door, a dagger in each hand.

  “Holy crap, an assassin!” I exclaimed, taking up the worst defensive posture anyone had ever attempted. “Have at you, villain!” I swung my cane almost playfully at the ninja, who easily sidestepped by attack and knocked the cane from my grasp.

  “Who are you, one of the Seven Ill Winds?” I asked loudly. The ninja responded by stabbing me in the gut with the very real dagger.

  I gasped in surprise and pain. “What the hell, guy?” I asked, falling away from the ninja. They pulled back their mask to reveal Carmen, the latest in my series of archnemeses.

  “If you want something done right,” she said, brandishing both daggers and looming over me.

  III.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’ve “died” before, right? Big explosion a couple of years back? I survived that just fine, for a given value of the word “fine.” I’ve been shot, stabbed, poisoned, beaten, dangled over vats of toxic chemicals, and subjected to Miss Typewell’s homemade, sugar- and gluten-free churros. Surely this isn’t the end of me, right?

  Right.

  Mostly because Kimiko was right there, the Saint Blade in hand, to protect me.

  My vision was fading in and out, what with the serious amount of blood I’d lost due to – what, four stabbings in less than twenty-four hours? Man, that had to be new record – but I saw the leader of my crack team of ninjas hurl herself at Carmen, wielding her family’s ancestral blade with menace and finesse. She knocked Carmen’s daggers away from me, and my would-be assassin fell back, hissing a curse.

  “I’ve wanted to kill you for ages,” Kimiko snarled.

  “Come try,” Carmen said with a feral grin.

  The two women charged each other, weapons held high. I’d like to say I followed the fight, blow by blow, but at this point I was too wounded and too low on blood to really notice much of what was going on around me. Their movements were a blur of blades and long limbs, parries and thrusts and ripostes sweeping back and forth across the bar as the two warrior women sought an opening. Neither had the advantage, from what I could tell, and neither was willing to give an inch to the other.

  On paper, Kimiko ought to have been able to handle Carmen easily. She had greater reach with the sword, and years of finely-honed combat skills. Plus, she’d just killed her brother, and probably had more than a little pent-up aggression to take out. But Carmen was a trained killer herself, and well-rested to boot. It was gonna be close.

  Or I assumed it was. I wasn’t really aware, ‘cause about that time I passed out from blood loss.

  * * *

  That should’ve been the end of me. All that blood loss should have killed me dead, or Carmen could’ve hurled a dagger at me and done me in. I had no doubt she was accurate enough to pull that off.

  Instead, I came to bouncing on Kimiko’s shoulder as she hauled me out of the Funeral Parlor. Which was on fire.

  “Y’burned down m’bar?” I slurred.

  “That was Carmen’s fault,” Kimiko said.

  “Di’ju kill her?” I asked.

  Kimiko was strangely silent for a moment. “No,” she finally answered. “She escaped, but I did give her something to remember me by.”

  “Did you poke out one’a her eyes?”

  “Yes, Detective Hazzard.”

  “S’good,” I said, then promptly passed out again.

  * * *

  I woke up – as often happens in these situations – in a hospital bed, an IV drip plugged into my left hand and a heart monitor attached to my finger.

  “You’ve been through a lot, detective,” a feminine voice said to my right. I tu
rned my head and saw Vera Stewart, alive and in the flesh, sitting next to my bed.

  “Thank goodness I’m on a decent health plan now,” I croaked, then coughed up something phlegmy and disgusting. Vera, a look of abashed horror on her face, handed me a bedpan in which to spit the terrible thing. “Anyway, your sister got away, as I’m sure you’re aware. Now what?”

  “Now, we have bigger problems,” Vera said, opening a vid window and turning it to face me. In it, I saw an article from the Daily Sentinel and a picture of me. The headline read, “Arcadia’s Biggest Crime Lord Revealed.”

  “Oh fuck,” I said.

  “Yes, indeed,” Vera Stewart said grimly. “As of now, you’re officially public enemy number one in the city of Arcadia.”

  Eddie Hazzard will return in The Long Fall Into Darkness.

  Acknowledgements

  Sweet Baby Jesus, this was a difficult book to write. It started out its days many moons ago as a short story – the second Hazzard story ever, in fact – that grew into a novella several years back. Then I decided to adapt that into the full-length novel you just finished reading, mostly by adding in all the stuff about the ninja assassins. What story isn’t made better with the inclusion of ninja assassins?

  Anyway, a number of fine folks helped me get this difficult baby born. My wife, Michelle, remains a solid rock of support, and I couldn’t do any of this without her. My grandmother, Theralene Cottrell, pestered me for this book every time I talked to her on the phone. She’s my biggest supporter and wholesale distributor. Sorry for all the cussing, Grandma.

  My parents were also instrumental in this book getting written. My dad has been reading these, which still fascinates and amuses me to no end. Maybe I’ll put some baseball in the next one just for him.

  Jamie Roberts, my beta reader, offered lots of great suggestions and advice. Without her, these books probably would’ve just sat in my Dropbox folder, gathering digital dust until the day I died.