Crucible Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 5) Page 17

  “Hey guys.” I stifled a yawn and blinked back the fog. “What brings you here? And what time is it?”

  The creases in Rodgers’ forehead tightened. “Were you asleep?”

  “I was napping,” I said defensively. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Quarter after ten,” said Quinto.

  “Holy harvest,” I said. “I slept that long? I was more tired than I thought.”

  “Your nap schedule is irrelevant, Daggers. Look, I—” Quinto wet his lips and looked at me with pained eyes. “I don’t know how to say this…”

  I glanced at the pair. So my forehead detection skills weren’t amiss. Something was up. “What’s going on?”

  Quinto shook his head and sighed. Rodgers came to the rescue.

  “Daggers, we know the Captain told you to lay off the case, but—” He glanced at Quinto. “—something came up. We made an executive decision.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked where he was going.

  “You know we’ve been investigating the murders through the West and Smith angle,” said Quinto. “Well we finally tracked some of the shipments—specifically the containers themselves—to a warehouse on the east side.”

  I felt a churning in the pit of my stomach. I kept my eyes glued to my friends but uttered not a word.

  “Quinto, Steele, and I went over there to investigate,” said Rodgers. “Place looked abandoned. Quinto and I went in while Steele played lookout. Long story short, other than discovering we’d tracked the containers to the right place, we didn’t find anything of note. Then…”

  I thought back. Had I left any evidence of my presence at the warehouse? Forgotten clothing, lost identification, left footprints? I didn’t think so. Did Rodgers and Quinto know? They couldn’t possibly think I was involved in Griggs’ death, could they?

  “Then, what?” I asked.

  Quinto spoke softly. Slowly. “Steele. She’s gone, Daggers. We don’t know where she is.”

  White light exploded through my brain and a forty-pound python latched onto my lungs. My face froze. Images flashed before my eyes. Shay, her cheeks red and brows furrowed in anger over something moronic I’d said. Shay, flashing me a demure smile. Shay, cupping my cheek with her hand on a cold, dark night, her breath hot on my neck and her lips inches from my own. Her laugh. Her eyes. Her loving heart. I could almost hear her melodious voice from far off in the distance.

  Rodgers snapped his fingers in my face. “Daggers. Buddy? You there?”

  A torrent of emotions rushed through my soul. Anger and pain. Disbelief. Fear. Longing. Concern. Love, even. And a cold, steely reserve.

  I think I surprised everyone, myself included, when I opened my mouth. “The Captain should’ve known better, taking me off the case. He had his reasons, I know, but this is why we work in pairs. Three doesn’t work the same way.”

  “You’re…taking this extremely well,” said Quinto.

  “Trust me, I’m not,” I said. “But yelling and gnashing teeth and punching holes in walls won’t solve anything. I assume you didn’t establish a fallback meeting location with Shay prior to entering the warehouse? And that she didn’t leave a note or any clues?”

  Rodgers shook his head. “She was supposed to wait for us and come get us if she spotted anything suspicious.”

  I bit my lip. “Which means the Wyverns have her.”

  “The Wyverns?” said Quinto.

  I looked the big guy in the eyes. “Sorry, old pal. I wasn’t completely honest with you last night. I have been investigating Griggs’ death, but from a different angle than you guys, on orders from the Captain. Regardless of how this turns out, I think he’s going to be in a bit of a jam.”

  Rodgers shared a glance with Quinto. “I don’t think either of us quite follows…”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t take long to weigh my options. Only one of them had any real chance of success. That alone set my nerves on edge, but I tried to keep calm.

  I snapped my lids open. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. You two rustle up some backup and head to the warehouse. Look for any evidence of the Wyverns—yes, they’re the gang we’re after, and yes, they’re those Wyverns. Go through that place with tweezers if you have to. If you find evidence, follow it. But leave a comm trail open. If I get anything on my end, I’ll send a runner.”

  “Your end?” said Rodgers. “Seriously, Daggers, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t have time to explain right now,” I said, “and even if I did, I’m not sure I would. It’s complicated, and Steele’s in danger. Suffice it to say I might be able to track her down before you guys do. And—” I gulped. “—time may be of the essence.”

  33

  With the chill night air prickling the skin of my neck, I turned onto Edelman and headed south. I shifted my eyes toward the street numbers, affixed to the front of the three-story split-levels and gleaming in the light of the moon, which for once wasn’t shrouded by thick clouds. I appreciated its efforts, not only for illuminating the addresses but also for its general presence. The neighborhood featured a single lantern at each street corner, and though I hesitated to call it a slum, it wasn’t the sort of place I wanted to be caught half-blind and unawares.

  I’d turned at the thirty-nine hundreds, so it wasn’t more than a few blocks before I reached the forty-threes. Once I’d realized the Wyverns had sent me to a residential neighborhood, I’d harbored suspicions, but sure enough I found my destination as I’d suspected: abandoned and in disrepair, flanked on either side by more lifeless structures.

  My split-level was the bleakest of the bunch, featuring boarded windows and cracked masonry. Thick masses of cobwebs bunched in corners and stretched between overhangs. It looked like the kind of place that might be inhabited by dope heads, serial killers, or vampires—or with my luck, all three.

  I patted my jacket to remind myself of Daisy’s presence before wrenching on the front door’s handle. The thing cut loose with a rusty scream, but at least it didn’t break off in my hand.

  A strong smell of mildew assailed my nose as I entered, and the floorboards underfoot creaked. A staircase stretched up into the darkness at my left, its steps rotting and splintered. At my right, a black fungus covered the wall, making a meal of whatever glue remained in the wallpaper that had once given the home its cheer.

  I thought to call out to see if anyone was home, but a light caught my eye. I headed in its direction, past the steps and around the corner at the end, where I found Cobb seated at a small folding table. His narrow bottom occupied the only chair.

  “Howdy, Cobb. Good to see you got an early start today.” I gave the table a nod. “You bring that with you?”

  “I left it here once upon a time,” he said, eyeing me coldly. “Thankfully no one’s given it a new home. I don’t think this abode receives many callers.”

  “You think.” I rolled my eyes as I took in the rest of the crumbling house. “Are you intentionally leading us to creepier and creepier meeting spots? What are you trying to prepare us for? Is your hideout in a haunted slaughterhouse?”

  Cobb stared at me in reply. Perhaps he didn’t like me speculating on the whereabouts of his hideout prior to my induction into the Wyverns.

  I stared back. As I did so, unwelcome thoughts came to mind. I’d already noted the man’s hands, which seemed strong enough to wield a garrote, but what else hid behind his mask of ice? By Quinto and Rodgers’ accounts, Shay must’ve gone missing about nine. I expected the stroke of midnight any minute. Was Cobb responsible for her disappearance?

  I forced my gaze away because I couldn’t guarantee that a snarl might not creep onto my face otherwise. “So…who are we waiting on? The ogre or the elf?”

  “You presume too much,” said Cobb. “The missive said nothing of what was to come. It merely provided a meeting place.”

  “Please,” I said, still gazing at the wall. “Don’t tell
me you don’t see the hypocrisy in this? You pit us against each other in tests of knowledge, skill, and wit, but you don’t expect us to figure out you’re whittling the contestants down to one? I suspected as much after the first night.”

  “I expect you to keep it to yourself,” said Cobb. “In this line of work, verbiage is key. We say only as much as we must, and we never presume to know what’s left unsaid.”

  I snorted and shook my head.

  The front door screamed again. My ears perked, hoping for a deft, almost inaudible whisper of feet.

  They didn’t get it. Bonesaw thumped around the corner, as mean and large and ugly as ever. He scowled when he saw me.

  “Seriously?” he said. “You beat Kyra?”

  “Trust me,” I said. “Your face isn’t the one I was hoping to see, either.”

  Bonesaw took a step forward. “Why? ‘Cause you’ve got the hots for that elf? Or ‘cause you’re afraid of me?”

  “Can’t it be both?” I said.

  Cobb clapped his hands. “While I do love a good professional rivalry, it’s time for business. Each of you was ultimately successful in your efforts to deliver the information I requested last night, although one of you came short in your manner of delivery and the other went a little far in the retrieval of said information.”

  I glanced at Bonesaw. Had the ogre killed the poor brownie? With hands the size of his, how could he not have?

  “Either way,” continued Cobb, “while my employers appreciate your efforts, I regret to inform you that—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “We get it. There can be only one. So what’s the final mission—assuming this isn’t the JV league?”

  Cobb’s eyes twinkled. “Impatient, are we, Mr. Baggers?”

  “I’m always impatient. More so at midnight when it’s freezing out.”

  “Baby,” said Bonesaw.

  Cobb and I both ignored him.

  “Very well,” said the Wyvern recruiter. “Tonight’s task is different. There’s a man who has, shall we say, connections to our organization. We don’t work with him directly, nor vice versa. The knowledge he has of us is minimal at best, but recent events have come to light indicating the little the man does knows may be too much. He could expose us if he so desired. We need one of you to…eliminate the threat.”

  “You want us to whack a guy?” asked Bonesaw.

  Cobb played with his fingernails. “I’ll forgive you this time because you weren’t here for Mr. Baggers’ and my conversation, but language is important. I’m asking you to eliminate his threat. Instilling fear. Removing him from the city. All are acceptable methods.”

  “Kill, scare, or evict,” I said. “Got it. At least I know which route Bonesaw’s going to favor.”

  I joked about it, but inside my gut clenched. How could Cobb put the mark of death on a man’s head so casually? Perhaps he was an assassin, and he did kill Griggs. Either way, Lazarus’s mention of a ‘purge’ must’ve been correct, and in more than a physical sense. According to the Captain’s oral history, the Wyverns of old would’ve never been so vicious and cruel, or so quick to kill.

  “You’d better hope Cobb’s rules stay in place for this round, Baggers,” said Bonesaw. “Otherwise you might not be the only one getting the axe.” He chopped the air with the side of his hand.

  “Yes, of course,” said Cobb. “The same rules apply as before. And I’ll need evidence of the deed. Seeing as I’ve given you a few options, I can’t require something too specific, but regardless of which route you pursue, I think it wouldn’t be too much to ask for his…finger.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “The left ring finger, to be precise,” said Cobb. “The target wears a rather opulent bauble on it. I’ll be able to recognize the man, and the finger, by it.”

  A memory tickled the back of my mind. “And who’s the target?”

  “A lawyer,” said Cobb, “by the name of Jeremy Droot.”

  34

  I pounded on the glass at the front of Droot’s downtown office tower, hoping beyond hope my incessant banging would eventually attract attention.

  I wasn’t wrong. After a minute or two, a heavy-eyed tough who looked like he’d fallen off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down approached from the inside, clad in the sharp black and grey of private security and with a lantern in hand.

  “Go away,” he shouted, his voice muffled by the glass. “Place opens at eight, ya nutjob.”

  I pressed my badge to the face of the door. “Police. This is urgent. I need you to let me in.”

  The man sighed and shook his head. Reluctantly, he reached for a key ring at his side and unlocked the door.

  He cracked it and stuffed his squat head in the gap. “What is it?”

  “Jeremy Droot, of Droot, Miller, and Starchild,” I said. “I need his home address. Please tell me you have it.”

  The guy scrunched his eyebrows—or more accurately, his eyebrow. He really only had the one. “Ya came here for a guy’s address?”

  I nodded.

  “But…you’re a cop,” he said. “Isn’t there some sorta official place to go for that?”

  Clearly, the man—orc? dwarf-giant hybrid?—had never worked in government before. “There is, but it’s not open at one in the morning. And before you ask, no, Taxation and Revenue doesn’t hire night guards. One, the city won’t spring for the expense, and two, the place is housed in a giant block of solid granite, not some fancy high rise packed with glass that young rapscallions could break and vandalize.”

  The guard grumped. “And I suppose this can’t wait?”

  I didn’t think the man had any other pressing business to attend to, but I tried to keep my snark to a minimum. “This could be a matter of life and death. Now, do you have the man’s contact information or not?”

  The squat-headed sentinel grunted and let me in. He then led me back to a small office behind the lobby where he pulled a ledger out of a drawer that he first unlocked with another of the keys from his ring. After providing him with Droot’s name twice more, he eventually found it and gave me the associated address.

  I thanked him and split.

  My luck held as I found a rickshaw at the edge of the Pearl district and booked it toward—where else—the Brentford district, New Welwic’s premier home for the rich and famous. I’d made the trip on several occasions, always for work, as when I went to dawdle the rent-a-cops patrolling the neighborhood quickly ushered me out. Their presence might be a boon for once, though. They might keep Bonesaw at bay. Of course, unless he ran into a score of them, I doubt they’d slow him down much, especially after seeing the carnage he wrought at the Metro. My best hope was to beat the bruiser there.

  I didn’t have long to brood. Within a quarter hour, my driver deposited me at the foot of Droot’s estate, a two-story mansion on a neatly-manicured plot of land made seem like a cottage only by the opulence of the homes and gardens surrounding it. I rushed down the gravel path, between rectangular holly bushes dusted with frost, to the front door. I grasped the heavy, brass door knocker I found there and began to work it.

  I stretched my ears as I waited for a response, but none came.

  I slammed the knocker into its base again and stepped back. I didn’t see any light burning through the windows, but neither did I see shards of glass or broken latches. The door similarly appeared to be un-Bonesawed.

  I got impatient. I banged once more on the knocker and called out in a commanding voice. “Droot! Droot! Open up! Police!”

  That did the trick. After a moment, I heard footsteps, increasing in strength. A latch clanked, and the door opened. Jeremy Droot stood inside, dressed in a checkered fleece robe and fuzzy slippers.

  “What in the WORLD is going on? I’ll have you know, I am a lawyer, and I won’t tolerate this harassment. Who do you think—” The man blinked. “Wait…you’re that detective, aren’t you? The one who came to my office the oth
er day asking about Randall.”

  I didn’t have time to waste. I got straight to the point. “What were your business dealings with Barrett?”

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s a simple question, Droot. You said you didn’t know Barrett that well. That you hadn’t kept in touch. But what about financially? You said he’d fallen on hard times. Did you ever loan him money? Invest in any questionable business ventures?”

  The lawyer’s demeanor, which had cooled from when he first cracked the door, now frosted over. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “This isn’t the time, Droot. I’m not here to drag you to the precinct for questioning. I just need to know, okay? How deep in with the man were you?”

  Despite the frosty glare, the man’s cheeks reddened. “This is outrageous. I can’t believe you’d drop by my home to threaten me with unfounded allegations about my investments. To insinuate I was somehow involved in that man’s death. And in the middle of the night no less! You can expect a strongly worded letter to arrive at your supervisor’s desk in the morning.”

  I sighed. Why was it no one ever told me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

  Droot started to close the door.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  “And why not?” asked Droot.

  “Because there’s a bloodthirsty, four-hundred pound ogre assassin on his way here to kill you. And rip you to pieces. And then murder you some more.”

  Droot’s mouth fell. “WHAT?”

  “The Wyverns sent him here to scare you, but that’s not the guy’s style,” I said. “Sent me to do the same, actually. It’s a long story.”

  “Wyverns? What are you blathering about? Is this some sort of tasteless joke?”

  I gauged his reaction. Maybe the guy really didn’t know much more than he pretended, although he’d certainly lent Barrett money for something. Even if he wasn’t aware of how, surely his crowns had grown thanks to the Wyverns’ smuggling efforts.

  “If only it were,” I said, “but unfortunately your life is very much in danger. You need to get out of town. Like, yesterday. Don’t pack a bag. Do not pass go. Just gather your wife and kids if you have them and GTFO.”