Steele of the Night (Daggers & Steele Book 7) Read online

  I heard footsteps. Rodgers materialized from around the edge of the stage curtains. “As well as could be expected. Took a bunch of statements. Spent some time in the ready room looking for documentation, so don’t blame us if we’ve acquired a certain camel-induced aroma. Some of the information we gathered might pay dividends down the road, but it hasn’t yet. How about you? Filling in Chaz’s timeline?”

  “Slowly but steadily,” I confirmed. “We’ve got him accounted for until midnight. I’m guessing our next stop will fill in the gap until his arrival at Heather’s.”

  “Well, we’re pretty much done here,” said Quinto. “We could tag along, if you like.”

  I glanced at Shay. “You’re the one with psychic knowledge. Are you sure this big lug doesn’t have ESP?”

  Quinto lifted an eyebrow.

  “Our next stop is the Raccoon Ranch,” explained Shay. “A brothel. Which I’m sure would be torturous for you to visit.”

  Rodgers elbowed Quinto in the ribs. “Sounds like a pair of someones need an escort. You know, to protect each other from their own worst instincts.”

  “You realize I’m the captain now, right?” said Shay.

  “Right. Sorry,” said Rodgers. “I’m trying a new equal opportunity snarkiness campaign. Just edit that in your head so I’m only disparaging Daggers.”

  I sighed. “No one puts any faith in me whatsoever. Come on, Quinto. Lead the way.”

  21

  It wasn’t that I thought Quinto knew how to get to the Raccoon Ranch because he frequented the joint. Far from it. Prior to his romance with Cairny, I’d assumed he’d been in a monogamous relationship with his work. Rather, I knew the guy had walked the beat with the Green Jackets before he’d joined the boys in blue. He’d made a point of telling us so the last time we ventured into the brothel district.

  I spotted a few of the aforementioned Green Jackets as we rolled down Flatley in our rickshaws, partially to save time and partially to save our feet. The Green Jackets, so known for their olive-colored coats, consisted mostly of thick-headed skull crackers, former army types, and guys whose muscle mass outweighed their gray matter by a few orders of magnitude. Most of them carried truncheons, but not hidden like my own—rather in plain sight to discourage morons from trying to flee their financial obligations.

  I didn’t hold the Green Jackets in a particularly high regard, but at the same time, their presence made my life as a police officer easier. Without them, my brethren and I would have to spend far more time and resources patrolling the endless stretch of brothels on Flatley by ourselves, and while the Green Jackets contained their fair share of unsavory individuals, the consortium of whorehouses that paid for their operation enforced a strict policy of intolerance when it came to Jackets acting with excessive force or outside the boundaries of the law. Besides, they weren’t all bad. Quinto was proof.

  Our rickshaws clattered to a stop outside the Raccoon Ranch, an observation which I astutely based upon the enormous sign that hung outside the front reading ‘The Raccoon Ranch.’ I hopped off the handcart, helped Shay down, and paid the driver, then followed her inside as the bouncer held the door for us. Rodgers and Quinto performed a similar song and dance.

  Inside, the brothel wasn’t as nice as the last I’d visited in the course of our work, but neither was it a rat hole. Bleached wood and barbed wire ran around the perimeter of the first floor, pasted over an enormous wrap-around mural depicting a scene of rolling hills backed by snow-capped peaks and bright blue cloud-dotted skies. Clearly, the owners had run with the establishment’s ranch motif, as evidenced not only by the wall art but also by the whiskey barrel tables, brown leather couches, and trophy animals adorning the floor. Between this place, our horse-themed lunch destination, and Leopard Jane’s vaguely rustic flavor, I felt like the gods were trying to send me a message. Maybe I needed a vacation?

  Shay snickered as she glanced around.

  “Amused by the agrarian backdrop?” I asked.

  “That’s not it,” said Shay. “I was simply reminded of the time we visited the other brothel, the 9’s. Remember when that gigolo started grinding on you? Good gods, that was the funniest thing ever. It took all I had not to laugh out loud.”

  “Yes. Passion Faust,” I grumbled. “How could I forget? Though I seem to remember you being more enthused by him than amused.”

  “What can I say? He was easy on the eyes.”

  Rodgers and Quinto joined us. The former took in the surroundings with wide eyes.

  He whistled. “Wow.”

  “It’s a themed bordello,” said Quinto. “Not as crazy as some of them, if memory serves me right. So what’s the plan?”

  “We should split up,” I said. “Shay and I can talk to the girls who work here. You guys take the staff. Try to figure out when the Yellow Cobras arrived, what they were up to, that sort of thing. Well…actually, I have a pretty good idea of what they were up to, but you know what I mean.”

  “Hold on there, cowboy,” said Rodgers. “If memory serves me right, the last time we visited a brothel you and Steele talked to the prostitutes and Quinto and I were stuck gabbing with the security guards. How come the tables haven’t turned?”

  “You’re upset about the last time?” I said. “Steele and I just talked about this. The prostitute we talked to turned out to be a guy. He was dancing and gyrating on me and everything. It wasn’t a memorable experience.”

  “Oh, it was memorable,” said Shay.

  “That’s immaterial,” said Rodgers. “It’s only fair to switch this time.”

  “You do realize you’re married, right?” I said.

  “Everyone here is in some form of relationship, am I right?” said Rodgers. “Besides, Quinto and I aren’t animals. We’re not going to jump the first floozy who walks by.”

  “Excuse me?” said a sultry voice. “Hi.”

  I turned and nearly lost control of my jaw muscles. “Oh, dear gods…”

  While Rodgers and Quinto might not be animals, the woman standing behind us was trying her hardest to be. A black eye mask concealed part of her face, a narrow black tube top hid substantially less of her torso, and striped black and gray pants covered her from hip to ankle, though they were tight enough not to conceal much either. She also wore fake ears that poked up through her shoulder length brown hair. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she actually resembled a raccoon, but she resembled what prepubescent boys with unhealthy obsessions with the outdoors wished raccoons looked like.

  “Captain?” said Quinto. “I’m going to defer to you on this one. But you know I’m a man of principles, and from a perspective of fairness, I think Rodgers makes some great arguments.”

  “Ooh, a captain?” said the floozy. “Are you here for some role play? That sounds fun.”

  Poor girl. She’d be so disappointed when she found out Rodgers and Quinto weren’t paying customers.

  I turned to Steele, trying to give my eyes a reprieve from all the delectable bodies they’d had flaunted at them so far today. “Your call.”

  Shay looked at me, smiled, and gave Quinto a nod. “You two are up. Make sure you don’t forget why we’re actually here, otherwise you can be sure Cairny and Allison will hear about this. Daggers and I can handle the Ranch’s less tempting constituents.”

  To their credit, both Rodgers and Quinto managed to express their enthusiasm without a single fist pump or cackle of glee.

  Quinto placed his hand gently against the young woman’s back. “Sorry about that, miss. If you could join us on the couch, perhaps? My friend and I have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”

  Rodgers and Quinto traipsed off in the direction of the nearest sofa. I glanced at my partner and shook my head. “You’re enjoying being in a position of power way too much.”

  “What?” said Shay, still sporting her sly grin. “Someone needs to question her. Rodgers and Quinto had a point. It’s only fair they get a shot.”


  “And would that issue of fairness still have reigned supreme if the harlot in question had been of the male variety, with chiseled features, perfectly coifed hair, and abdominal muscles like paver stones?”

  Shay shrugged. “It depends. If he was dressed in a raccoon costume like that woman was, probably not.”

  I snorted.

  Shay’s smile melted away. “What? Don’t tell me that outfit worked for you?”

  “I mean… Well…it’s kind of cute,” I said. “You’d look good in it.”

  Shay raised both of her eyebrows. “Um…yeah. We’re not quite at that point in our relationship yet.”

  I felt my cheeks warming. “Right. Well, I don’t know about you, but I think it would be a great time to go question some waitstaff. Let’s get to it!”

  22

  We headed first in the direction of the Raccoon Ranch’s bar, because what would the day be without a fourth visit to an elongated piece of hardwood covered with beverage stains. There, hidden among the decorative horseshoes, rusted out wagon wheels, and coils of rope, we found another young woman manning the bottles. Unlike her coworkers disguised as raccoons, she wore a much more sensible outfit—a tiny tied-off flannel top and cutoff shorts with chaps. Perhaps Sammy Styles had stolen his pair from her. Of course, the Ranch probably only stocked women’s sizes, but when had gender designations ever stopped rock musicians in their fashion choices?

  We asked the bartender about Chaz, B. B., and the rest of the Cobras, but she told us she hadn’t been in at the time, instead suggesting we try the bouncers who worked in twelve hour shifts. We thanked her and headed back out front in search of the guy who’d held the door open for us upon arrival. He was still there, and as we discovered, he’d been around during the Cobra’s visit the night prior. However, he wasn’t particularly interested in chatting, perhaps valuing his job security substantially higher than he did his sense of civic duty. With all the warmth of a snail on New Year’s Eve, he told us to go bother his partner in crime, who he claimed we’d find in back of the Ranch taking a smoke break.

  The back door squealed as I pushed it open, announcing our presence. There in the alley behind the Ranch, propped up against a nondescript brick wall that could’ve belonged to any number of other establishments, stood Sunny and Warm’s bouncing partner. The guy lacked hair on the crown of his head but was hairy as all get out everywhere else, with a foot and a half long reddish brown beard and eyebrows that could entangle migrating birds. He resembled a pack horse, covered in leather and straps and with shoulders almost as wide as he was tall. Of course, he only stood about four feet six inches, but given his dwarven heritage, I bet he didn’t feel too shabby about it.

  The guy puffed on a wooden pipe. He dismissed us with his free hand as we stepped into the cool afternoon gloom. “Wrong door, folks. Head back around to the front.”

  “We’re not here to get laid,” I said. “Or…done getting laid, as the case may be. We’re looking to talk to you.”

  “Something must be wrong with you, then,” he said. “Nobody comes to the Raccoon Ranch to talk to old Jorbrick.”

  “Something is wrong with us,” I said. “We took low-paying government jobs instead of something with more vacation days and better upside. But that’s not why we’re here.”

  Jorbrick furrowed his brow and puffed on his pipe, eyeing Steele. “Do you know what the hell he’s talking about?”

  “We’re detectives,” she replied. “With the NWPD. I’m Steele, he’s Daggers. That’s his version of a joke. Miraculously, they get funnier the more time you spend around him, which is sort of the inverse of the norm.”

  I gave her a smile. “Thanks.”

  “You guys got some ID?” asked Jorbrick.

  “Do I have to show it?” I said. “We’ve interviewed so many people today I’m afraid I’m going to wear my wallet’s leather out at the crease.”

  Jorbrick snorted and tipped his pipe at Shay. “You’re right. That one made me chuckle. Fair enough. I’ll take your claim at face value. What do you want?”

  “Were you in last night?” asked Shay. “Around midnight?”

  “Sure was,” said Jorbrick. “That’s right toward the end of my shift. Why? You here about those rock star dumbasses?”

  “The Yellow Cobras?” asked Shay. “Yes. Did they come by the Ranch last night?”

  “Sure did,” said Jorbrick around the mouth of his pipe. “Bunch of pricks. Figuratively speaking, of course.” The dwarf smiled and started to chuckle.

  “Why is that funny?” I asked. “You know, other than the standard amusement factor of male genitalia.”

  Jorbrick pulled the pipe from his mouth and leaned forward off the wall. “Okay, so get this. Those rocker blockheads…what did you say their name was? The Yellow Cobras? Well they roll into the Ranch last night probably at a quarter after twelve. I’d seen them before. I wouldn’t say they’re regulars exactly, but they’re not unknowns either.”

  “Hold on a second,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt, but did all four of the band members arrive together? Chaz, B. B., Sammy, and Ritchie?”

  “I don’t know their names,” said Jorbrick, “but yeah, there was four of them. Three humans, each with a different hair color, and the elf with the platinum blond locks. The girls inside recognized them right off the bat. So anyway, they’re raring to go. Pick out their girls in short order and head upstairs to do their business. You’d figure everything was hunky-dory at that point, but fifteen minutes later, that’s when the commotion started. Now this isn’t my first rodeo. I knew exactly what to do. I hustled my squat ass up the stairs and busted into the room with the screaming coming from it. Now, I know what most of the girls at the Ranch sound like, and it wasn’t any of them doing the cussing and yelling. Not most of it. It was that elf with the ridiculous hair.”

  “B. B.?” said Shay.

  “Sure. B. B. Whatever. Well, he was pretty sore and was this close to taking it out on our girl Misty. Luckily we got to him before he did. But you’ll never guess why the fool was so upset.”

  Jorbrick paused. I gave him a moment, but the dwarf was a master of suspense. “Um… Why?”

  Jorbrick puffed on his pipe again. “Seriously…you’re not even going to guess?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Misty’s secretly a man down below?”

  Jorbrick laughed. “Hah! Yeah, the humor definitely gets better with more exposure. No, but that was a good guess. B. B. couldn’t get it up.”

  “You mean…” Shay gestured to her groin area.

  “Exactly,” said Jorbrick. “Too hopped up on goofy pills, I guess. And as I said, he was not happy about it. So me and my partner Waternoose—he’s the john at the front door—we drag that B. B. yahoo out of Misty’s room and down the stairs, him still with his pants down.”

  “Bet that was fun,” I said.

  Jorbrick waved his pipe at me haphazardly. “I’ve seen almost as many dongs on this job as the girls inside have. I’m numb to it. Anyway, we’re dragging the elf down the stairs, ready to toss his ass in the mud and tell him never to show his pretty boy face around here again when the other members of his band pour out of their rooms and run our way to figure out what the commotion is. I’ve seen this stunt before, so I disengage the elf to go cool the rest of the guys’ heels, leaving B. B. to Waternoose. And so here I am, trying to keep a level head while the band mates are yelling and cussing at me, and wouldn’t you know it, but the stupid elf gets an arm free and takes a pot shot at my pal.”

  “B. B. tried to punch Waternoose?” said Shay.

  “Oh, he didn’t try,” said Jorbrick. “He succeeded. Didn’t do much damage, mind you. Doped up, rail thin elves tend not to. But that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Waternoose took B. B. down to the ground. I turned to the rest of the rockers, ready to throw their asses to the floor just for being there, but despite them being high on who knows what, their fight or flight instincts still
worked. They tore out of there like bats outta hell. I couldn’t even get a hand on them. Could be I’m losing a step with all the years I’ve got on me. No matter. At least the girls got their pay and didn’t have to do much for it.”

  “So, when you say Waternoose took B. B. down to the ground,” said Shay, “did he seriously hurt him? Cut him up?”

  Jorbrick puffed on his pipe and spoke around the mouthpiece. “What? No. Might’ve bruised his ribs a bit, but that’s all. Just landed on him and tied his wrists together and maybe gave him a little knee in the gut for good measure.”

  “What about Ritchie?” I said. “You punch him in the face? Toss him in the mud?”

  “Who?” said Jorbrick. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. I told you I didn’t get a hand on any of the other three. They got away clean. Literally.”

  “And Chaz?” I said. “The one with the feathery blond hair? Did he seem…off in any way?”

  Jorbrick shrugged and blew a smoke ring. “Beats me. Not like I hung out with the guy. Ask the girl he shacked up with. Not sure who that was. Maybe Cinnamon.”

  “And what happened to B. B.?” asked Shay. “After your partner hogtied him?”

  “He had the Green Jackets pick him up,” said Jorbrick. “They should’ve taken him to our lockup. We have one on site for drunks and rule breakers. They usually let the johns cool off and transfer them to you guys in the morning for processing. Based on your questions, I’m guessing that last part didn’t happen.”

  “We found him elsewhere this morning,” said Shay. “And with some mysterious wounds. Nothing to bother yourself over, though.”

  “Good,” said Jorbrick with a smile. “’Cause I wasn’t about to.”

  “Thanks for your help,” I told the dwarf. “One last question before we go. When did this all end?”

  “That’s easy,” said Jorbrick. “Waternoose hauled the elf off toward the lockup at about one, right at the end of our shift.”

  “Perfect. Daggers?” Shay nodded toward the door.