Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) (2 page)

I glanced toward her bedroom. Could she be sending me a message?

I sighed. If only women were as easy to solve as murders.

2

Morning sunlight glinted off the seal of justice over the entrance to the 5
^th
Street Precinct. Despite the chill, beat cops milled outside the broad double doors, chatting and smoking and shuffling their feet, as did young runners with hopes of earning coin in exchange for their services. My old pal Tolek, proprietor of a mobile pastry cart, purveyor of fried goods, and preyer on unsuspecting detectives’ stomachs, waved at me, trying to get me to come over and purchase one of his delicious apricot kolaches. I waved and smiled in return, but I didn’t reach for my coin purse.

I turned to Shay, who’d bundled herself in a shearling jacket, scarf, and gloves, and spoke under my breath. “I wish Tolek would stop hanging around the precinct entrance. It’s awkward seeing him every morning and not buying anything.”

“You make it sound like you’re ex-lovers,” she said.

“You jest, but those looks he gives me? I gave my ex-wife Nicole much the same for the first year or two of our breakup.”

“So go over there and buy something if you feel so bad,” said Shay. “Doesn’t even have to be for you. Think how happy you’d make the rest of the station if you sprung for a couple dozen donuts.”

“And risk a citation from the Captain for willfully fattening members of the force?” I snorted. “You know how he is about our healthcare premiums. Besides, I don’t think it would be a good idea. It would only make Tolek pine for me that much harder. Look at him. He’s devastated.”

He kept smiling and waving.

I shook my head. “Poor sap.”

Steele snickered. “You’re a heartbreaker, Daggers. Get the door for me?”

I did, and we waltzed into the precinct, past the welcome desk, and into the dimly-lit heart of misery, gloom, and despair we lovingly referred to as the pit.

In truth, it wasn’t so bad. It was austerely furnished, thanks to the city legislators’ belt tightening efforts, and gloomy to be sure—the only natural light we got was what trickled through the windows in the Captain’s office—but hidden behind the heavy, not-quite antique desks and the ever-present musty odor hid a bit of rustic charm. Or so I’d convinced myself, anyway. It was possible I’d been around the precinct long enough that, like a kidnappee, I suffered from severe capture-bonding.

I followed Steele as she snaked through the cubicles toward our own desks on the far side. We weren’t more than twenty paces from our thrones when a big, rumbling voice cut across our path.

“Hey, Steele. Welcome back.”

Like a hill giant surging from underneath a layer of dried leaves and detritus, Quinto rose from his desk and lumbered over to join us. Standing roughly six feet, seven inches tall and weighing over three hundred pounds, he in many ways resembled a giant, but the grayish tinge to his skin hinted at a different heritage, one with a little less giant and a little more troll.

Not that I knew for sure, of course. No one at the precinct did, unless our resident coroner and Quinto’s girlfriend, Cairny, had been successful in liberating the information. Regardless, we all knew better than to press the issue. Quinto was sensitive about his lineage and not because of his mismatched buckteeth, brick outhouse-like stature, or looks only a mother could love. Rather, Quinto hated the stigma of weak-mindedness society attached to the so-called lesser races: orcs, ogres, and trolls. He prided himself on being as clever, observant, and astute as the rest of us. Ten years of working at his side had proven he was far better than most.

“Glad to
be
back, Quinto,” said Steele. “And I’m happy to see the precinct hasn’t descended into anarchy and chaos in my absence.”

“Anarchy and chaos?” Quinto smiled and snorted. “That’s a bit much. Although a churning morass of sloth and inactivity…?”

Steele lifted an eyebrow. “It’s been that bad?”

“Are you kidding?” said Quinto. “For one thing, we haven’t had a murder since you left, which alone makes for dull times. But then you add your absence to the equation, and, well…you know Daggers.”

I puffed out my chest. “I was a model of inefficiency. A coffee-swilling, light banter-slinging, rib-elbowing machine. A primo chatter, eavesdropper, and nose sticker-intoer. I died and was reborn as an anthropomorphic sloth.”

“His chatty nature negatively impacted us all,” said Quinto. “I barely got any work done.”

“Work?” I said. “What work? You admitted we didn’t have any murders to investigate.”

“Since she’s the analytical sort, I present to Detective Steele the evidence.” Quinto leveled a thick finger at his desk, pointing out a stack of unfinished paperwork, then shifted the finger to Shay’s and my own desks, upon which languished much larger stacks of paperwork.

“Oh.
That.”
I shot Shay a smile. “Well, I couldn’t very well deny my partner the sheer
joy
of filing past-due forms.”

Shay rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s boring moments at your desk where you really form those lifelong bonds, you know?”

“Precisely,” I said. “Who needs passion and adventure when you can dive into a good T99 or 1053B?”

“Or a P96.” Rodgers, bright eyed and bushy tailed as ever, arrived and slapped a sheet of paper against my chest.

I furrowed my brows at my blonde-haired, blue-eyed, unfairly handsome pal. “P96?” I glanced at the sheet. “What the heck is this?”

“A requisition sheet from the folks in accounting,” said Rodgers. “Apparently they took your three day saunter around the station as evidence you don’t have anything to do, so they’re letting us conduct our own inventory on office supplies.” Rodgers turned to Steele. “You heard, right?”

“I heard.”

I shook my head. “I should’ve seen this coming. The Captain’s not the only one with a mean streak. Speaking of which, where is the old jarhead?” I glanced at the bulldog’s office, but I didn’t spot him through the windows.

Quinto glanced at the empty office, too. “Apparently he’s meeting with the chief of police and the DA. Fallout from the Wyverns case.”

I chewed on my lip. During our last investigation, the Captain had revealed to me information about a former smuggling ring which we’d eventually brought down. As it turned out, the Captain had known one of the major players in said ring. At one point, they’d had a cordial relationship. While I believed the Captain had never taken hush money or acted against the best interests of the department, he might look less than sympathetic in the eyes of the public, especially once the prime suspect in the case was forced to testify. The Captain had assured me he’d get through the mess unscathed, but I wasn’t so sure.

I forced my eyes away from the office. “So I’m guessing there haven’t been any new murders this morning?”

“Not that we know of,” said Quinto.

I pumped my fist.

Shay unleashed her upturned eyebrows on me. “You do realize this means we need to wade through that stack of paperwork?”

My face fell. “Oh. Right.”

Rodgers lifted a finger. “Actually…that’s going to have to wait. The Captain left instructions for the two of you before he left for his meeting this morning.”

That was different. “Go on.”

“He said you should talk to a Detective Steck in vice, on the third floor,” said Quinto.

“What about?” I said.

The big guy shrugged. “How should I know? He didn’t elaborate as he stormed out the front doors. Just made sure we knew to tell you your cooperation with Steck wasn’t voluntary. Whatever he says goes.”

I scratched my head. “Well, I’m not sure how much I know about vice crime, but it if gets me away from a T99, who am I to complain?”

“But you don’t need passion or adventure if you’ve got forms.” Steele made her eyebrows dance at me.

“You really need to stop using my own words against me,” I said. “It’s eminently fair and reasonable, and I can’t stand it.”

“Then maybe you should stop stretching the truth all the time,” said Steele.

“And ruin the aura of carefree indifference I’ve toiled for years to create? In your dreams.”

Shay leaned in. “As if you knew what I dreamed about…”

She pulled away, and I took a long draught of my coffee, more as a way of preventing speech than anything else. It wasn’t really a question, but for my own well-being, I didn’t trust myself to provide an answer.

3

We found the indicated desk on the third floor by the bronze placard on it that read ‘G. Steck.’ Luckily for us, a man sat in the chair behind hit, his head buried in a notebook and a pencil twirling between his fingers.

“Excuse me,” said Steele. “Detective Steck?”

The man lowered the notebook, revealing a face so smooth I was surprised his nose hadn’t slid right off. I would’ve pegged him as having barely celebrated his twentieth birthday if not for the dangerous lack of hair at the corners of his temples. Short, golden brown stubble covered the rest of his head, and a prominent mole on the top of his left cheek provided a point of reference in an otherwise featureless face.

He smiled. “Ah. Detectives Steele and Daggers, am I right?”

I eyed the mole. It wasn’t hairy, thank the gods, which meant I could probably force myself to ignore it. “Guilty as charged. I’m Jake, and this is Shay.”

“Glenn. Nice to meet you.” We all shook hands. “Pull up some chairs. I’ll be right back.”

Steck stood and rounded a corner, calling out as he did so. “Munn? Hey, Munn! They’re here.”

Steele and I grabbed chairs from a pair of empty desks and plopped them in front of Steck’s workspace. Steck returned and seated himself, as did we. A moment later, a stocky middle-aged woman with a bouffant haircut and a maroon pantsuit appeared.

She extended her hand. “Detective Summer Munn. Fraud. Nice to meet you.”

Steele stood and shook the woman’s hand. “Detective Munn. How is it we haven’t met yet? I thought I’d sought out all the women in this precinct by now.”

“There aren’t many, are there?” She shook my hand in a perfunctory manner. “But you didn’t miss me. The Grant Street Precinct is my home base. I’ve only been here a couple weeks collaborating with Steck on our case.”

“About that,” I said. “I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage. We arrived after the Captain left this morning, so all we know is you wanted to speak with us.”

Steck launched into a spiel as Munn left in search of another chair. “Right. Sorry. This all developed so quickly. Well, not really. It’s been in the works for two weeks now, but it all went to hell overnight, and the Captain thought the two of you would give us as good a shot of success as anyone in the precinct.”

I shared a glance with Steele.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” said Shay.

“Of course,” said Steck. “As I suspect you know, I’m in the vice division. I mostly work on gambling cases. I can’t tell you how many underground dice parlors I’ve shut down. Actually, I
can
tell you. Thirty-seven. I tend to obsessively count things. And share too much personal information, which is neither here nor there, but you’re going to figure it out yourselves, so I might as well warn you.”

Munn returned with a chair. “What he means is he has a hard time shutting up.”

Steele snickered. “Don’t worry. Daggers suffers from a similar ailment. I call it foot in mouth disease.”

“Anyway,” said Steck, “as Munn already let you know, she’s in fraud. Now you might be wondering why fraud and vice are collaborating, but it’s quite simple. You see—”

“Somebody’s running a gambling con?” I said.

Steck deflated like an old balloon. “Um…yes.”

I felt bad for stealing the guy’s thunder. “Sorry. I should’ve let you finish. Like my partner said, foot in mouth.”

“No, it’s good,” said Steck. “You’re thinking. You’re on your toes. We’ll need that for later. But yes, we’re investigating a
potential
gambling con, one involving three well-known players: Johann Preiss, Orrin Wyvernjaw, and Ghorza Skeez. We’re not entirely sure
how
the con is going to go down, but we’ve heard enough rumors from contacts in the underworld to know something is afoot, and we have a very good idea of
when
and
where
it’s going to happen.”

“Well, if you know when and where the illegal gambling event is going to take place,” said Steele, “then it should be easy to take down. You can stop it before it starts.”

“If it were that simple,” said Munn, “then Detective Steck wouldn’t have needed to collaborate with me.”

“So what’s the problem?” I asked.

“The problem is the purported con isn’t supposed to occur at an illegal gambling event. The event we’re tracking is one hundred percent legal. Have either of you heard of the
Prodigious?”

“The prodigious what?” I said.

“It’s not an adjective,” said Steele. “It’s a noun. A ship’s name. She’s the enormous new steam ship whose construction recently finished, isn’t she?”

“Correct,” said Munn.

I eyed Steele over the length of my nose.
“Steam ship?”

She responded in kind. “Yes, Daggers. Get with the program. You remember when we went to the World’s Wonders fair, right? And we saw that Bock Industries steam engine and generator? I told you steam technology was old hat. The impressive part of Bock’s design was getting it into such a small package. But the
Prodigious
has been making headlines for the exact opposite reason. It’s, well…
huge,
to use a synonym. Every part of it. Including the steam engines.”

“To be specific,” said Munn, “the
Prodigious
isn’t simply a steam ship. She’s an ocean liner. A ‘pleasure vessel’ as the press is calling her. She has a ballroom and a theater, an indoor pool, a massage parlor, and exercise quarters, among other things. And the main draw is its casino.”

“They can have that on the ship legally?” I said.

“As long as they only operate it while over international waters, yes,” said Steck. “And to celebrate the
Prodigious’s
maiden voyage, the ship is hosting a high stakes poker tournament in one of its private rooms. So now you know why we can’t shut down the event which is supposedly being targeted.”