The Gilded Mirror

by L. M. Somerton

  “You’ve been busy,” Gage said. “You’d make a good detective.” Landry beamed. A compliment from Gage meant more to him than anything. “You still need to be more aware of your surroundings. That goes for both of you.”

  “So stern.” Landry shivered. “We should play student and professor tonight.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his rising cock. Gage’s cheeks were a little flushed and he swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob. “Petey can finish closing up.”

  “I do need to teach you something about self-preservation. I think you’ll absorb the lesson better with a glowing behind, don’t you?”

  “I always did learn better through demonstration.” Landry licked his lips then whooped as Gage hoisted him over his shoulder and made for the stairs. Petey and Carson’s laughter following them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At the precinct the next day, Gage leaned back in his chair and let his mind drift while Sancha went to fetch them both another mug of coffee.

  “Someone got laid last night!” one of his colleagues yelled from across the room. Gage realized too late that he was grinning. He gave the other detective a slow smile and the finger. “Fuck off, Carmichael. At least I’m getting some and not ordering life-sized inflatable dolls from eBay.” His gesture was returned but nothing could alter his good humor. He was a little tired, but Landry had pressed all his buttons the previous evening, throwing himself into the role of a student who’d missed the deadline for his latest assignment and was prepared to do anything for a good grade.

  Gage, playing the strict professor, had offered a sound spanking and followed through after stuffing Landry’s mouth with a ball gag to prevent anyone else on the faculty discovering them. He finished off with two strokes of his cane, leaving a pair of beautiful, parallel lines across Landry’s backside. He’d then bent him over the dining table and given him a fierce fucking for coming without permission. Landry had come up with a number of further excuses for why his work was always tardy, getting increasingly inventive as the evening went on. The dog hadn’t just eaten his papers, he’d buried them in the garden alongside his bone… Landry had stayed up all night nursing a sick relative who’d overindulged at an oyster bar and swallowed a pearl without noticing… He’d had to leave his assignment in the trunk of his car because a passing Canada goose had hopped in and those things were evil incarnate… It had taken every ounce of Gage’s willpower not to break down laughing and hold onto his character. It had been a fun evening, made complete by some entirely vanilla lovemaking in their bed and a lot of cuddling. Gage sighed. I am a very lucky man.

  “Get your mind on the job, partner.” Sancha thrust a mug of coffee at him. “My usually sunny disposition has been darkened by whichever idiot finished the coffee and didn’t make a new pot. If I find out who it was”—she raised her voice, getting the attention of everyone in the room—“he’s going to wish he was spending the day on traffic duty on a nice congested highway somewhere, sucking down exhaust fumes.”

  There were several audible gulps. Gage shook his head. “What a bunch of chicken-shit detectives, peeing their pants every time you get loud.”

  Sancha preened. “They should be scared, too.” She glared at anyone who dared to make eye contact.

  “This is excellent coffee, Sancha.” Gage raised his mug in a toast.

  “Nice self-preservation technique, Roskam. Now, if you’ve finished daydreaming about Landry and whatever the two of you got up to last night, could we do some actual police work?”

  “I want to have a go at identifying these first,” Gage said, laying Royston McKenzie’s medals on the desk. “And see whether or not we can find out anything about his military background. Landry said Mr. Lao is delivering a whole load of new stock today so he’s not going to have time to do any more research. Considering the lengths someone is prepared to go to, to get hold of Landry’s map, I want to get this research done as quickly as possible. We need to get to the bottom of this treasure hunt.”

  “Well, you experienced a home invasion. We can contribute to the investigation, so it counts as work even if it’s not strictly our day job. I’ll get in touch with a contact I have in the military and see how we go about researching McKenzie’s background. You take the medals.”

  “Deal. Thanks, Sancha. I appreciate it.”

  They both tackled their phones and computers. Several cups of coffee, two cherry Danish and some bagels later, they agreed to share their results.

  “I worked miracles for you, Roskam. You owe me big time and by that I mean taking the rug rats out for a day so Pietro and I can get down and dirty. Nearly sixteen million Americans served in uniform during World War II. According to my contact, The National Archives and Records Administration has custody of many of the records relevant to personal participation in the war. It would be a lot easier if we could get our hands on a copy of McKenzie’s discharge form because all veterans received a brief, single page summary of their service. It covered things like rank, service number, dates of service, unit, battles and campaigns and decorations and awards—but we don’t have that. The National Personnel Records Center has custody of the personnel files for individuals who served in the army, but a fire destroyed eighty-five per cent of the army's individual files in 1973.”

  “Fascinating. So, did you get anywhere?”

  “Patience, big guy. Am I the best detective you know, or not?” Sancha buffed her fingernails on her blouse.

  “Yes, Sancha. You are the best detective on the entire planet, bar none. Poirot, Sherlock Holmes, Columbo… None of them are a patch on you.”

  “I detect no lies. I found out that some veterans may have had their forms recorded or registered at County courthouses, so I called Bellingham and bingo.”

  “Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to play twenty questions?”

  “McKenzie was in the 12th US Army group, 90th infantry division. On the fourth of April, 1945 elements of that division found a sealed salt mine containing a large portion of the German national treasure. It included vast quantities of German paper currency, stacks of priceless paintings, piles of looted gold and silver jewelry and household objects, and an estimated two hundred and fifty million dollars’ worth of gold bars and coins from various nations.”

  “Holy hell. That’s so much better than I expected.” Gage tapped a pen on his pad. “All the pieces of the puzzle are coming together. Did the records you found list any medals McKenzie was awarded?”

  “Yes, it mentions a good conduct medal, one for overseas service, the soldier’s medal, which was awarded for acts of heroism not involving conflict with the enemy and the war medal, which was specific to the Second World War.”

  “Excellent,” Gage said, “that matches my identification of the medals from the tin. Except one.” He pushed it toward Sancha. “This one seems to be an oddity. I can’t find anything like it in records of war medals from any of the Allied nations. I checked out German medals too in case it was a souvenir he picked up somewhere.

  The shape of the cross strikes me as Celtic. It’s some kind of yellow metal, and I’d guess the stones are red glass or semi-precious gems.”

  “Well, it’ll have to wait till later. Landry will be happy with what we’ve found so far. You can start searching images later tonight. We need to do some of the work we’re actually paid for.”

  “You’re right.” Gage slid the medals into his desk drawer. “What’s our next step with our money launderers?”

  “I’m always right. What kind of mood are you in?”

  “That sounds like a dangerous question,” Gage said, suspicious of Sancha’s motives.

  “Perhaps I should have started with the fact that I know you got laid last night. I guess it involved all kinds of kinky shit, so you should be happy.”

  “Where is this going, Sancha? You’re starting to scare me.”

  Sancha leaned back in her chair and pressed her fingers together. “Okay, bear with me because I know how you feel ab
out women’s intuition but I have a theory.”

  “Go for it. It’s not like we have much else to go on at the moment. A bit of female fulminating can’t do any harm.”

  “Thanks for that resounding vote of confidence and ‘female fulminating’—where the hell did that come from?”

  “Landry said his mom does it all the time when she’s made a decision already but wants his pop to think he had something to do with it.” Gage put on his serious face. “You know I have every confidence in you. Now spill it, it’s not like you to be reticent.”

  “This is a bit out there, but what if the money laundering was a front for a diamond heist?”

  Gage had enough sense of self-preservation not to laugh. He let Sancha’s words roll around his mind, mulling over the theory. “Actually, that’s not such a ridiculous idea,” he said. “A crime to cover a crime. Set up as a money launderer, build some trust and wait for the big score in the form of a sizable package of gems. That would mean that the guys that stole from Petey, either worked for or were paid by the gem dealer.”

  “I’d guess worked for. Who else would know about that delivery arriving at a specific time? There’s no way it could have been opportunist. That place is buried down a back street. One package was stolen. How could anyone else know the value of an individual package unless they had inside information?”

  “So, we were assuming that the firm cleared out because they were afraid of whoever owned the diamonds coming after them because they’d been stolen. That still applies but it must have been planned. If they knew when the robbery was going to happen, they knew they’d have to be gone. I’d guess they cleared out long before the day we went to visit, which means that something doesn’t add up.”

  “The maintenance guy!” Gage and Sancha both shouted at once.

  “Fuck, I’m dumber than a box of rocks,” Gage said. “I’m gonna be busted down to traffic patrol.”

  “I’m glad you said I and not we,” Sancha said.

  “Like I would ever suggest you’re as mentally challenged as I clearly am.” Gage ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “We need to start running down information on that guy… What was his name?” He leafed through his notebook. “Cyril Kazlo.” He slapped the pad against the desk. “Fuck it!”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Gage. I spent more time with him than you did. If he was faking it, he was good.”

  “Hindsight is a wonderful thing. He did know a lot about what went on in that building for someone who was only supposed to be an occasional visitor.” Gage sighed. “We need to console ourselves with a big, greasy lunch at the Copper Kettle while we think this over.”

  “Sounds perfect, let’s go.” Sancha shoved her chair back. “Maybe one of Pops’ triple chocolate milkshakes with whipped cream and sprinkles will reactivate some of your brain cells.”

  “Fuck!” Gage was disgusted with himself. His shouting drew quite a few amused stares. “I’m not ready to share this yet,” he said, in a much lower voice. “Let’s go work at Pops’ place. We can have pre-lunch snacks, lunch then post-lunch snacks.” He high-fived Sancha, who grinned.

  “We’re back! Superheroes fighting crime. I’ll be Batman, you can be Robin.”

  “The fuck I will,” Gage grouched. “I look much better in black than you do.”

  “You have a point,” Sancha said. “And Robin is much cuter, so okay, you can be the weird bat guy, I’ll be the clever, intuitive sidekick.”

  “Remind me never to have an argument with you about anything.” Gage grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

  Within half an hour they were both seated at their favorite booth at the Copper Kettle. Gage’s appetizer was an enormous bowl of nachos drenched with cheese, salsa and sour cream. Sancha was tackling her second bowl of Rocky Road ice cream.

  “We already had pastries and bagels. How are we still hungry?”

  “That was hours ago and don’t give me that look,” Sancha said. “Dessert is a perfectly legitimate appetizer.”

  Gage crunched down a loaded nacho. “Who am I to judge? Today calls for comfort food regardless of what that might be.” Sancha stole one of his nachos. “That mixture, however, is gross.”

  “It’s brain food.”

  “It’s an abomination. It’s the kind of thing Landry would eat.”

  “He’s my soulmate.” Sancha kept stealing his nachos then dunking them in her ice cream.

  “You’re both freaks.”

  “And that’s why you love us.” Sancha grinned.

  Gage slapped his notebook on the table. “So let’s work on the assumption that your intuition is right and the pair of us have been a couple of dumbasses.”

  “Fair enough.” Sancha kept eating.

  “One. Petey gets mugged dropping off a parcel to what on the surface seems to be a firm of accountants. It’s a ruthless attack because he could have died and for all they knew the people who attacked him shoved him in the dumpster thinking he was dead.”

  “Pair of assholes, check.”

  “Point two. The accountant’s firm that should have received the parcel was a front for a jewel trading business, which in turn was a front for a money laundering operation.”

  “Complicated, but feasible.”

  “Point three. The firm cleared out of the building, on first impressions in a hurry. But, and this is a bit of a stretch, that impression could be deliberate.”

  “Or”—Sancha waved her spoon at Gage—“and this has been playing on my mind, perhaps it did happen in a hurry. So much of a hurry that when we arrived to check out the building, they were still finishing up.”

  “Which would mean that Cyril Kazlo could have been disposing of evidence.”

  Gage flicked back through his notes. “I’m gonna ring the management company that Kazlo said he worked for.” He spent the next ten minutes on his cell then disconnected. “So the company is real and it does have the maintenance contract for that building but there’s no record of a recent call-out. and they weren’t due to make a routine visit for another month. They don’t have an employee by the name of Kazlo.”

  “Well, fuck.” Sancha scraped the last of the ice cream out of her dish. “We were right there with him. We had him.”

  “I’d like to give your gut a hug right now,” Gage said. “We have solid leads. We can assume that Kazlo is either involved, or the brains behind this operation. We know he has at least two accomplices, the men who attacked Petey. Whether or not others at the jewel trader’s were aware of what was going on is open to question. We have to assume they were all in on it. It wasn’t a big firm, there weren’t many desks on the office floor, but they would have needed to stay beneath the radar if they were laundering money via jewel trading. They were biding their time, waiting for the big score, building trust with their clients. They knew when the package would be arriving. It would have been straightforward to make it look like a robbery and, knowing that we would end up investigating the firm, meant that they would have to clear out. Their clients would write off the loss because it’s not like they could report it to us. They might try to go after the supposed robbers, but motorcycle helmets and an untrackable vehicle wouldn’t give them much to go on. They would have no way of knowing that the robbery wasn’t genuine.”

  “Thieves stealing from thieves. You realize, we’re not gonna have much chance of tracking down those muggers either.”

  “How about I try some theorizing?” Gage said, frowning. “What if those guys never actually took the package with them? What if they handed it over at the time for a quick pay-off?”

  Sancha gave a slow nod. “That’s entirely possible, but you know what that means?”

  Gage shoved his seat back. “We got to that building much quicker than we should have. Kazlo was still there, which means that the jewels may also still be there.”

  “And he’ll have to go back to get them.”

  “We have to go.”

  “Yes, yes, we do.”

&n
bsp; Gage slammed a couple of bills on the table. “Sorry, Pops… We gotta run.” Fueled by adrenaline and nachos, he and Sancha raced for the car.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Landry wriggled and squirmed until he managed to get into his favorite pair of leather pants. It took a liberal application of talcum powder and rigorous calisthenics to get them done up. They even had side zippers at the ankles, they were that tight. He lay on his back with his legs in the air so that he could reach the zippers then flopped flat, panting. “Dressing should not be this difficult. Gage better be grateful...and appreciative.” He slithered off the bed then did a bit of rapid crotch adjustment to get comfortable. There was no room for underwear beneath the leather and his bits were complaining about the restriction. He grabbed a T-shirt, not caring which one because he fully intended to remove it later. He and Gage had agreed on a pizza night so he didn’t have to worry about cooking. After a long day in the store, he intended to chill on the couch in front of a bad movie until Gage got home. Something involving the imminent destruction of LA or New York would be followed by pizza, mutual consumption of garlicky dough balls and a shared bowl of indulgent tiramisu topped off with a night of kinky sex. The latter being pretty much guaranteed by Landry’s pants.

  He bopped around the apartment clearing up a bit and was about to pick out a DVD from Gage’s growing collection of blow ’em up and disaster movies, when his cell rang. He grabbed it to find a text from Gage saying that he was going to be working late. Landry sighed. “Second place to the Seattle police department,” he moaned, but sent a heart emoji back to Gage to let him know that it was no problem. The last thing Gage needed if he was working on an operation was to be worrying that Landry was upset, even if he was feeling a bit sulky. He understood that Gage had an unpredictable job, but his absence was accompanied by an undercurrent of anxiety whenever he wasn’t in Landry’s line of sight. Landry chuckled. Gage’s possessiveness is rubbing off on me.