Crucible Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 5) (19 page)

Kyra shot me a sly smile. “It’s a self-portrait, you know.”

Bonesaw rumbled and narrowed his eyes at the pair of us. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if the Wyverns think I’m gonna work with you two chumps, they’ve got another thing comin’.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” I asked.

Bonesaw set his jaw and lowered his voice an octave or two, if possible. “Get what?”

Thankfully, fate interjected and I didn’t have to explain myself.

“Well, I see we’re all here…” Cobb emerged from the shadows, in the direction of the front door. As before, he wore a pair of slick, knee-high boots, but he’d traded his extravagant fur coat for a waist-length army green blouson. “Might as well get started.”

I gave Bonesaw a nod. “You need to work on your stealth, big guy. Everyone made a dramatic entrance but you.”

The ogre snarled. “Bet you’d have a hard time sneaking up on anyone with broken legs.”

Cobb held up a hand as he peeled off a leather glove. “Please. No violence. Those rules remain in effect, same as yesterday.”

“Rules?” said Bonesaw.

Cobb inspected his fingernails as he had the night before. I couldn’t tell if he was that vain or that desperate to appear aloof. “Yes. Unfortunately, there’s been another change of plans. Despite all your efforts last night—and all of you performed admirably, if I may say so—my employers have informed me we don’t have enough room to bring all of you onboard. Therefore, we’ve constructed a new task to test your…
skills,
should we say.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Even if two of us are successful, your employer will have another change of heart tomorrow night, am I right?”

Cobb’s glance indicated he both did and did not appreciate my wit. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Baggers.”

“So the crucible continues,” said Kyra with a roll of her eyes. “We get it. At least Drake and I do. So what’s tonight’s task?”

“Last night, you competed to bring me something tangible,” said Cobb. “What I have need of tonight is something more immaterial but just as valuable.”

“Go on,” I said.

“In my organization, we sometimes work with certain close associates,” said Cobb. “One of them has become uncooperative. A brownie by the name of Flex Broadstone.”

“Flex Broadstone?”
I said. “A
brownie
? You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s an alias,” said Cobb. “You get used to it in this business. You might want to think about that for future reference.”

My heart skipped a beat, but I think Cobb meant that I shouldn’t use my Baggers name should I be admitted to the Wyverns, not that he suspected Baggers of being a pseudonym.

“So what’s Mr. Broadstone done to annoy you?” asked Kyra.

“He’s a provider of consumer pharmaceuticals,” said Cobb, “and he’s managed to
misplace
a recent shipment, which he now desires additional compensation for. We think that’s an unfair change to the terms of our operational agreement.”

“So he’s a drug runner who’s blackmailing you,” said Bonesaw.

“Watch your language, ogre,” said Cobb. “We don’t discuss our business in such crass terms. That’s something
you
might want to mull over for future reference.”

Kyra overlooked the exchange. “So what do you want us to do? Find Broadstone? Or just his shipment?”

“Neither,” said Cobb. “While we do have an interest in Mr. Broadstone, our primary concern is the shipment. But you can leave retrieval to us. All we want is the information leading us there. Now as far as I know, there are two ways to obtain said information. One of them will undoubtedly result in one of you teaching Mr. Broadstone the lesson he so richly deserves. The other, I think, will require deft fingers rather than closed fists.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “How do we find Flex?”

Cobb smiled. Barely.
“That,
Mr. Baggers, is part of your task.” He grabbed the lantern and pointed to his left. “When you have what I require, I’ll be in the office on the far side. I suggest you make haste.”

29

I pounded my fist on the door again, then shifted my feet impatiently. Not for the first time, I wondered if I’d made the right choice. One the one hand, the Captain had expressly forbidden me from visiting the precinct while the investigation into Griggs’ murder was ongoing, and should I drop by, even in the middle of the night, there would be those who saw me. On the other hand, he’d also instructed me not to tell anyone about my clandestine affairs. While I had no intention of doing so, my friends did have the ability to think and reason for themselves. But what other choice did I have? My resources outside the precinct were limited.

“Come on, come on, come on.” I frowned. Where was he? He never went out.

I lifted my hand to pound on the door for a third time, but before I could lay palm to hardwood, I heard thumping. Then the crank of a latch and the pine jerked back. Quinto’s gray-tinged, bucktoothed face appeared in the gap. He lifted a fist to rub sleep from his eyes, the sleeve of his voluminous black satin robe falling back as he did so.

“Daggers?” he said. “What the hell are you doing here? It must be around midnight.”

“No time to explain,” I said. “I’m going to need you to get your coat. And, um…the rest of your clothes as well.” Somehow, I’d never pictured the guy wearing satin to bed. I’m not even sure where he’d found a robe large enough to fit him.

“My coat?” said Quinto. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

I sighed. “I need you to come with me to the precinct.”

“Why?”

“Because the Captain forbade me from going there myself until you resolved the case with Barrett and Griggs.”

Quinto frowned. “That’s not what I meant. Why do you need to go to the precinct? And why now, for gods sakes?”

I waffled. “It’s…complicated.”

Quinto crossed his arms and leveled me with a stony glare. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who didn’t appreciate being brought out of deep sleep by the furious pounding of fists on hardwood.

“Okay, fine,” I said. “I need you to head up to narcotics. Find Morales’s desk and go through his files. I need any information I can get on a brownie drug dealer by the name of Flex Broadstone.”

“Flex Broadstone?”

“Trust me, I know,” I said. “Now come on. I need your help.”

Quinto eyed me with that same glare for a moment, then his gaze softened. He uncrossed his arms. “Daggers…is everything ok? Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“No, no,” I said. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then, what—”

“Quinto, how long have we known each other?”

The big guy blinked. “I don’t know. Ten years?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“This is one of those times when I’m going to need you to do as I ask and not pepper me with questions,” I said. “Look, I promise I’ll explain everything when the time is right, but right now I need urgency and tight lips. Capiche?”

Quinto chewed on that for a few moments. “Answer me one thing, Daggers. Does this have anything to do with Griggs?”

I hated lying to the guy, but at least my need for information on Flex’s location wasn’t
directly
related to Griggs’ death. More like tangentially.

“I need to track this guy down, Quinto,” I said. “It’s important.”

Quinto sighed and shook his head. “Alright. Give me a few minutes.”

I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Too bad I carried so many at the moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Before Quinto could move from his post, a voice carried over from the interior of his apartment. “Folton, sweetheart…is everything alright?”

I recognized the melody of the words. ”Hold on. Is that Cairny?”

Quinto looked at me, his annoyance evident. “If you must know, yes.”

“Dude…
nice!”

“Oh, come off it,” he said. “As if you didn’t know.”

“Oh, I’d joked about it to Steele and Rodgers,” I said. “And I knew you were together. I just wasn’t sure of the degree of
togetherness
you two had achieved.” I made some awkward hands clasping together sorts of gestures.

A hint of a smile crept across Quinto’s wide lips. “Well, to be fair, we hadn’t reached
peak
togetherness until tonight.”

“My man!” I gave him a pop on the shoulder. “Look at you. Gloating and everything. But what’ll you do if she asks about, you know…this?” I did the finger thingy between us.

“What do you think?” he said. “I’ll tell her the truth. That you popped by, needing my help, because you’re a weirdo who stays up too late and drinks to excess.”

I shrugged. “A little unfair, given the circumstances, but eminently believable.”

Quinto shot a meaty finger at me. “You owe me by the way. Big time.”

“Sign me up for babysitting in the indeterminate future.”

I don’t think that quip went over well. The rush of air from Quinto closing the door nearly bowled me over.

30

I stood in the cold night air outside a bodega by the name of Eggs, Milk, and Half-and-Halfling. I snorted.
The shops in this city…

Of course, it made sense, given the neighborhood. I was smack dab in the middle of the dwarven quarter, lovingly referred to by the rest of the city as Little Welwic—the only place in the city where the average six story building was only three stories tall. Miniature furniture stores abounded—both tiny stores as well as those specializing in tiny furniture—as did miniature restaurants and curio shops. Night club owners threw fire code occupancy guidelines to the wind. Only places that catered to pixies racked up more violations, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if anyone, fireman or otherwise, cared if those annoying little prats all died in a raging inferno.

I recalled the only other time I’d been forced to delve deep into Little Welwic’s underbelly, on a case featuring a volatile, stock-trading dwarf who’d lost his job and subsequently murdered his wife and mother-in-law. It was back during my heyday with Griggs, but not so long ago that the old guy hadn’t cited his back as the primary reason he couldn’t accompany me into a tenement after the criminal. After crawling up five stories and battling a crazed dwarf in a five and a half foot tall room, I’d gotten a week-long glimpse into what it felt like to live with a creaky spine.

I blew into my hands to banish the night’s chill, just as I banished the memory of my old partner. I could reminisce about backaches later, but I’d already wasted enough time tracking Flex Broadstone—or should I say Solomon Blin.

Quinto hadn’t unearthed much information from Morales’s desk in regards to Broadstone’s location. Mostly, he’d found a number of unsubstantiated rumors about his drug business, which suggested his sales efforts were limited to a few dozen blocks in Little Welwic. That alone didn’t help me much, but he had provided me with a gem: the brownie’s (presumed) real name.

With that and a fresh thermos of coffee in hand, I’d gone to work, canvassing every establishment in the target area that happened to be open at one in the morning: bars and brothels and cafés, mostly. It took me until almost three, long after my thermos had run dry, but eventually I scored a hit.

So I found myself outside the Half-and-Halfling. Thank goodness it was a twenty-four hour joint.

I hunched over, pulled on the door to the convenience store, and walked in. A shopkeeper’s bell announced my entrance. Past shelves packed with knickknacks, non-perishable foods, and assorted crap, I found a sleepy-eyed gnome, seated on a tall stool behind a counter. Despite his obvious lethargy, he acknowledged me in the way most three-foot tall beings would when confronted with a beast of my size in the middle of the night—by reaching under the counter for a weapon.

“Slow down, pal,” I said. “I’m not here to rob you. I’m looking for Solomon.”

The gnome’s eyelids narrowed, perhaps in suspicion. Then again, given his sleepy look, it might’ve been a return to form. “Come again, squatch?”

I didn’t feel the insult was warranted, especially given how I’d recently shaved. Then again, unlike dwarves, gnomes didn’t know the meaning of body hair.

I let it slide. “Solomon. I heard he lives here. You rent lofts above the store, right?”

The gnome relaxed. “Oh. Yeah. Stairs in the back. Try not to break them.”

“An apartment number would be nice,” I said.

“You’re visiting a guy and you don’t even know which pad is his?” The sleepy eyes got narrower. “What kind of friend are you?”

I flashed my badge. “The official kind. The number?”

Stool boy snorted. “What did you say his name was?”

“Solomon Blin. Short, potbellied, and sprightly, if race is any indication. Goes by Flex.”

“Oh. That idiot. 2C.”

The second floor. For once, a stroke of luck. I nodded and crab walked over to the stairs. From there, I tested my flexibility, eventually twisting myself over and around and up to the second floor landing where I found Flex’s apartment.

I paused at the door. I took it as a positive that it was still there, and attached to the frame no less. That meant I’d probably beaten Bonesaw, if not necessarily Kyra—not that the ogre could’ve possibly gotten as far as I had given the confines. But where did that leave me? Should I knock? Yell? Threaten? I wasn’t sure I could get enough of a good swing to kick down the door.

I settled for the element of surprise and a flying shoulder blow with a short windup. Luckily, the apartment wasn’t of quality construction, and the thing gave way with a pitiful crack.

I didn’t bother announcing myself. If Flex was home, he’d have heard me, and he certainly wouldn’t come out with his hands up if I declared myself a policeman. If anything, I’d find him in the wash closet flushing crank down the toilet.

I took a quick survey of the apartment, made easier by the place’s size but made harder by the incredibly low ceiling. I had to get on all fours and turn my body sideways to get through doors, but after a few minutes of searching, I convinced myself Flex wasn’t in.

That, of course, meant my options for retrieval of the information Cobb requested were down to one. Besides beating the knowledge out of the brownie, the Wyvern recruiter implied the information on the missing drug shipment could be stolen, but where was it, and in what form?