Chapter Seven
I walked back to the office from the Seventeenth precinct. I was livid. No one, but no one, touches my gun. I mean, honestly, I wouldn't touch your wife, why would you touch my gun?
Stringer, that bastard. I would have my revenge. Maybe I would take Chief Fredricks up on his offer. That would show Stringer.
The smell of a freshly brewed pot of coffee assaulted my nose as I pushed open the door to my office. Oh, sweet angels in Heaven, thank you for my beautiful secretary.
“Honey, I'm home,” I called, not giving a damn about the cliche. “Jacks? You'd better have pants on!” I added for good measure.
The office was well-lit, the fluorescents humming and casting the office in their yellow light. It looked like we were still open. It was remarkably quiet, though.
“Hello?” I called.
Jackson appeared from his office. He was dressed in his bathrobe and a pair of striped satin pyjama pants and no shoes or slippers.
“Oh thank God,” Jackson breathed, leaning against Trixie's desk in relief.
“What?” I asked.
“I've been on the horn with our lawyer for the past two hours,” Jackson explained, running his mechanical hand through his hair. “The news sent us both into a frenzy, as soon as your name came up...”
“Oh, they already covered my arrest for a crime that I couldn't possibly have committed?” I asked cheerily.
Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned in exasperation. “It's not a joke, Blaze.”
“Really?” I replied. “Because I could have sworn that Stringer arresting me without just cause was a pretty hilarious joke.”
Jackson stopped and stared at me. “Stringer has the lead on this case?”
I shrugged. “Dunno now.”
“What happened to your face?”
I looked back at Jackson, a look of confusion on my face. “What? This?” I asked, pointing to the bruise that covered a good portion of my jaw. “Stringer lost his shit in front of his boss.”
Jackson chuckled. “Serves him right. What'd you say to him?”
“Nothing,” I said simply, stretching my arms over my head in exhaustion. “I was the model of good behaviour.”
Jackson and I shared a long look before we both began to laugh hysterically. I walked over to the coffeepot and poured myself a steaming mug of the blessed caffeine. I smiled to myself as I took a sip of the strong, black beverage. Today was not a day for cream and sugar. I needed the straight up caffeination and the pleasant bitterness of the drink to keep me wired.
“So really, what happened?” Jackson pressed, leaning against Trixie's desk as I mumbled sweet nothings to my coffee.
I shook my head. “Long story,” I admitted.
“I think I have the right to know,” Jackson said.
I huffed a sigh. “You're not gonna let me enjoy my coffee and my freedom are you?”
“Not until you tell me what's going on,” Jackson agreed. “You owe me at least an explanation of how you got arrested.”
I shrugged. “Doctor Jones fell down some stairs. I was there as it happened, so I broke open the door and checked to see if he was okay,” I paused. “Then I was arrested, assaulted, offered my old job with the cops back, and I got a date on Friday.”
“And the delivery?” Jackson pressed, seeming to ignore everything I had said about everything not directly related to the case. I knew he was worried about the ten grand I was holding in the safe. We were successful, yes, but three grand each would make payin' the bills a lot easier.
“We have a no refunds policy, don't we?” I asked.
Jackson stared at me, his face pale and drawn. Oops. I'd hit his panic button. Again.
I held my hands up in a placating manner. “Jacks, partner, calm down. That was a joke.”
“Not a very funny one,” Jackson grumbled. “For the record, we don't have a no refunds policy and the fact that you're wanted for murder probably isn't going to make Wayside very keen on letting us keep their money.”
I shrugged, letting my hands drop to my sides. “My name has been cleared, dammit,” I argued. “I made the delivery, though.”
“You left highly sensitive, proprietary information in a manila envelope with a dead guy?” Jackson asked, incredulous. He ran his hands over his face and groaned into them. “Are you insane?”
“Likely,” I agreed. “But Doctor Jones doesn't have the envelope.”
“So the cops do?”
I laughed and helped myself to more coffee. “No. God no. That wouldn't have been very professional – or courteous – of me, would it?” I took a slow sip of my second cup of java for the night. “I hid it so that we can go get it and figure out what was so important that the Doctor's death was necessary.”
Jackson nodded slowly. “All right, I will go back to the Doctor's house in the morning, police presence should be minimal and I can get access as a private investigator so long as you hire me to maintain your good name.”
I frowned at the prospect. I hated when I had to hire Jackson to keep me out of jail. Jacks was the best detective to have on your side, if you didn't have me, but he drove a hard bargain when it came to working relationships. Especially when he was dealin' with my hijinks.
“I'll give you half of that last grand from the Wayside delivery that would otherwise go into the joint account slush fund,” I said in defeat.
“Deal,” Jacks said with a nod. We shook on it. He knew I was good for it.
“So Stringer is the lead on this case, unless the Chief decided to pull him after his little stunt. Tryin' to get me to sing was not a smart move. I'm not so easily coerced,” I explained around another sip of my coffee. “And it looks like the murderer had snapped the Doctor's neck just before I got in there.”
“And how is this gonna keep you from gettin' pinched again?” Jackson pressed.
“Kali found some sub-dermal bruising that clears me,” I said.
“Sounds hinky.”
I snorted. “It's all scientific,” I assured my partner. “She said the bruises on the guy's neck were all mechanical, and that she could see the imprints of gears,” I eyed Jackson, my gaze intentionally resting on his mechanical digits, even though they didn't look anything like what Kali had described. “So in all honesty, you might be the one who needs an alibi for the night.”
Jackson didn't have time to answer me before the door to our office opened with a clatter. I turned to see who had come barging into my place, unannounced and after hours. Part of me was hoping it was Stringer, I was still pissed off about Nadia. No one touches my iron without my express say-so, and I wasn't one to forgive the transgression of injuring my beautiful little iron lady.
Ratty had returned. He was holding his hat in his hands and he looked downright nervous to me.
“Evening, Ratty ol' boy,” I said amiably, smiling. “Offer you a cuppa?”
“I think that, considering the situation, a cup of coffee would be most welcome,” Ratty agreed. “Two sugars, and please, call me Edward.”
Oh, so Ratty had a name. I flashed him a grin and poured him a cup of coffee, dropping two sugar cubes into the mix and handing it over. Ratty, no sorry, Edward, took a slow sip and nodded his approval.
“So what can we do for you, Edward?” Jackson asked. “And please, pardon my appearance,” he added.
“You see, we've caught him on his night off,” I explained. “And he's been bunking out here in the spare room upstairs ever since he and my secretary have gotten closer.”
Jackson punched me in the arm with his robotic hand, knowing it would hurt more. I didn't flinch. I'd gotten used to his warning shots.
Edward slumped down into the sofa where he'd sat earlier that afternoon, coffee still in hand. I looked him over again. He was definitely more dishevelled than he had been earlier. His shirt was untucked and I saw the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes. He'd probably been busy in the three hours since word of Doctor Jones' murder had spread. I was absolutely posi
tive that there had been reporters crawling all over the place as soon as I had been cuffed and safely tucked away in the back of Stringer's bucket. I only hoped that Chief Fredricks had made good on his word and officially cleared my name.
“So what brings you back to my joint?” I asked, leaning nonchalantly against Trixie's desk and setting my coffee down. “Not here to ask for a refund are you?”
Edward shook his head. “Actually, detectives, I was hoping that you might have some light to shed on this most unfortunate turn of events.”
Jackson and I exchanged looks.
“Look, Bo, I can only tell you what I told the brass so far,” I said flatly. “I was makin' the delivery, when I saw the doctor take a fall. I ran inside, breaking open the door in my haste to make sure the guy was all right. I heard a noise, assumed there was someone else in the house, drew iron and checked it out. By the time I got upstairs, whoever was there made a dash for it. I didn't see anyone and the cops were tryin' to pin the whole thing on me.”
Edward nodded and stared into his coffee mug. I watched him carefully. I didn't trust it. He was too torn up about the doctor's death for someone who didn't even work with the guy.
“Is that all you want?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest. “Because if you don't mind, I've had a long day and would sorely like to close up shop and get some sleep before I have to deal with the fact that I'm probably going to be charged with murder.”
My mood was heading south faster than migratory birds in a Canadian blizzard. I didn't have the patience to deal with any more of Ratty's bullshit. Getting charged with murder, even if your name was cleared, tends to do that to you.
“Actually,” Ratty said slowly, “I do have one more order of business to discuss with you gentlemen.”
“If it's about the delivery...” I began.
“No, it's actually not about that anymore,” Ratty interrupted. God, I wouldn't be able to call him Edward to save my life, he'd forever be Ratty to me. “I am here on behalf of my employers to offer you gentlemen a contract.”
“What kind of contract?” Jackson asked.
Good boy, Jacks, I decided, giving him a subtle nod of approval. You deal with the scary half-robot bureaucrat before I say something we'll all regret. I picked up my coffee and sipped tentatively at it, not wanting to choke when I undoubtedly heard something I didn't believe, or found utterly hilarious.
“We want to see Doctor Jones' killer brought to justice as quickly as possible,” Ratty-cum-Edward explained. “And my employers don't believe that traditional police work will be effective in solving this crime.”
Oh, so Wayside Firms didn't trust the brass either. That was definitely not a good sign
“And you want to hire us to find the supposed killer?” Jackson asked.
“Essentially, yes,” Edward agreed, casting a pointed look of suspicion at me. “That is assuming that you are telling us the truth, mister Tuesday, and that you aren't responsible for the death of Doctor Jones?”
Yep, it was a good think that I hadn't had a mouth full of hot coffee just then. I'd have choked, or, more likely, spit-taked it all over Ratty's suit.
“Oh yeah, because it's definitely my policy to murder my clients,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
Ratty gave me the most condescending smile I'd seen all day. It definitely put Stringer's to shame, anyway. Oh yes, I had hit Ratty's last nerve. Good. If I had to have a hell of a day, everyone else could suffer through my sarcasm and disrespect.
“I don't mean to offend you, Detective,” Ratty drawled. “But it is in my employer's best interest that this murder be solved quickly and professionally. And hiring suspected murderers to solve the case in which they are accused of committing said murder, is likely not the best way to get the desired results. Now if you're done trying to throw me off of our business here, I would very much like to make the offer my employers have instructed me to make. Of course, if you're not willing to let me say my piece, I will happily take this offer elsewhere and return to my employers with the suggestion that yes, you are indeed guilty of murdering Doctor Jones and that charges should be pressed post haste in order to bring closure to this whole nasty business.”
Jackson placed his hand against my shoulder. His reflexes were impeccable. He knew I wanted to take a swing at someone, anyone, and Ratty here wasn't giving me any reason to want to play nice anymore. I let myself relax under Jackson's hand and he patted my shoulder affectionately, letting me know he would deal with the situation.
“I assure you, Edward, that my partner is not guilty of committing murder,” Jackson said. He paused a moment before continuing. “In this case, anyway.”
Way to go, Jacks. It wasn't a secret I'd clipped my fair share of wiseguys in the past, but bringing up my past transgressions against the well-being of the general populace, and the living, was definitely not the way to secure Ratty's trust in me. I shot Jackson a sideways look, there would be hell to pay for that little comment if there wasn't a good point to it all.
“I think that it would be in all parties' best interests if you allow myself and Detective Tuesday to assist you in this case,” Jackson continued. “We are already familiar to your employers, you know that our reputations are excellent and you can be assured that there is more than just your continued patronage on the line with this case.”
Ratty nodded. “I'm glad that at least one of you is smart enough to handle business transactions in a professional manner,” he said, glaring at me.
“Apologies,” I crooned. “Being accused of murder tends to set the bar pretty low in my standards of etiquette.”
Ratty ignored me.
“My employers have offered you each five thousand dollars up front, to hopefully pay for your retainer. They are also willing to pay for any expenses you accrue during the investigation. Then, upon completion of your investigation and the successful apprehension of the murderer, my employers are willing to offer you each an additional five thousand dollars and a bonus.”
I had to admit, that was a staggering amount of money. I still didn't like the thought of being in bed with Wayside, but I could see the excited glint in Jackson's eyes. He wanted to be able to settle down one day, and ten grand all to himself minus the tenth that would go into the firm's account and whatever we racked up on expenses was more than enough to make his settling down that much closer.
“Your employers have no problem with handing over thirty grand in total to a single detective firm to solve this case?” I asked. It was a steep number to hire any detective in the city. And I wouldn't be the only one chomping at the bit to get in on that action.
“Is that not enough to retain your services, Detective Tuesday?” Ratty countered. “I am authorized to increase the amount if so required.”
“It's more than reasonable, thank you,” Jackson interjected. “Your employers are most generous.”
“It seems to me that your employers think that discovering who ended a human life is only worth ten thousand dollars?” I pressed, earning myself another shot in the arm from Jackson. “I mean, ten grand seems like a small number to place on the value of a human life.”
“Please ignore Blaze,” Jackson said, glaring at me.
I smiled innocently back at Jacks. Putting a number on a human life didn't jive well with me. Even when you considered my salary, and Jackson's salary, it still meant that Doctor Jones' life was only valued at twenty grand to Wayside. And that didn't even start to take into consideration how much whatever research he was doing for Wayside would bring in in revenue in the long run.
Kind of a bleak thing to consider.
“It's quite understandable,” Ratty said, nodding. “It does seem like my employers are putting a numbered value on Doctor Jones' life, but I assure you that that isn't the case.”
“Oh really?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest defiantly. “Then please enlighten us as to what the actual reasoning behind offering us only twenty grand is?”
“My dear man,” Ratty began carefully, “the ten thousand dollars each is merely to retain your services. Five thousand up front, five thousand upon completion. Then, upon results, my employers are willing to compensate you even further. Depending, of course, on the outcome of your investigations.”
“So if the murderer goes to trial and is convicted your bosses are gonna toss us an even bigger bone?”
“I suppose that you could look at it that way,” Ratty agreed. “I'm not entirely clear on what my employers have planned for you gentlemen after you close this case and bring Doctor Jones' murderer to justice.”
That sentiment was about as reassuring as an expiration date on a bottle of poison.
Jackson held up his hand to keep me from saying anything else that could potentially ruin the deal we had sitting in front of us.
“All right, we'll take the case,” Jackson assured Ratty, giving me another one of his patented 'shut up and let me deal with this' looks.
I nodded my agreement and took a slow sip of the lukewarm coffee in my hand. Anything that I could do to avoid blurting out something else that was less than helpful, I was willing to do for the moment, while Jackson finished securing the deal.
“Do you have a few moments longer for us to ask you a few questions?” Jackson asked, shooting a glance at the clock on the wall. It was well past eight o'clock now and I knew that Trixie would be getting impatient waiting for Jacks upstairs.