3 Time to Steele

TIME TO STEELE

A Daggers & Steele Mystery

ALEX P. BERG

BATDOG PRESS

KNOXVILLE, TN

Copyright © 2015 by Alex P. Berg

All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away freely to others. If you are reading this book without purchasing it, please purchase a copy for your own use. Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work.

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Batdog Press

www.batdogpress.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in this novel are a product of the author’s imagination.

Cover Art: Damon Za

Book Layout: ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com

Time to Steele / Alex P. Berg — 1st ed.

ISBN 978-1-942274-08-7

1

I put my head down and shouldered my way through the unwashed masses at the biennial World’s Wonders Fair. All around me, charlatans and quacks hawked everything from hair restoration tinctures to miracle balms, shouting and pointing and waving colorful flags. Legitimate scientists with exhibits founded in facts and data looked down upon them from their hardwood podiums, dour looks on their faces, and I wondered to myself what exactly about the experience was supposed to be
fun.

Steele glanced at me out of the corner of her eyes and read my mind. “Oh, come on Daggers. Keep an open mind. You might enjoy yourself.”

Shay Steele was a psychic—of sorts, anyway—but not the type who could discern my thoughts from a mere glance. That particular trick had more to do with the fact that she’d come to know me—and because the fates had cursed her with a unique blend of hormones, body parts, and personality traits that most people generally referred to as ‘being a woman.’

Of course, Shay hadn’t let that particular genetic handicap slow her in the least. She was sharp as a tack and quick on her mental toes, able to dodge my verbal barbs and sling them back into my own face with ease. She also possessed incredible observational skills, a trait that had quickly made her the second-most valuable homicide detective in the precinct—behind only me and my deft deductive abilities, naturally.

“You know I’m not particularly interested or well-versed in either science or technology—of which precious little of this even is,” I said as we passed a greasy-haired snake oil salesman.

“Well, I’m not sure there’s much I can do regarding the first part of that statement,” said Shay, “but I’m actively trying to remedy the latter.”

“By exposing me to guys in flat-rimmed boater hats trying to sell me on the health benefits of deer musk?”

“It’s not all balderdash,” said Shay. “What about the exhibit we passed concerning the improvements to the Stearns and Company water pumping system? Or look up ahead. There’s a demonstration about the security of modern door locks. I’m sure we could learn something useful there.”

At the exhibit in question, a man with a lengthy salt-and-pepper beard and a knee-length black wool coat gestured toward a display, a torsion wrench held in one hand and a hook pick held in the other. He spoke in a bombastic voice, one stronger than I would’ve expected for a man his age. “On the right, we have a conventional, everyday tumbler lock, built to standard manufacturing specifications. On the left we have a special lock of my own design, featuring not four, not five, not six, but a grand total of seven pins. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, seven. I fabricated the device using—”

Steele looked at me expectantly, her azure eyes bright in the mid-morning sunshine. A hint of a cool fall breeze flitted past, tickling the long, sleek chocolate-colored hair that hung over her pointed ears—a byproduct of her mixed human and elven ancestry. It fluttered the jacket of her tailored charcoal gray pantsuit which flared over her slim hips and hid the heel of her stylish boots.

By the gods, she was beautiful. I hadn’t realized it when we’d first met several months ago in the Captain’s office—which wasn’t to say I hadn’t noticed her narrow waist and elfin features. I’d noticed, but at the time I’d been more concerned with what her appearance suggested: youth, inexperience, and ineptitude—or so I’d assumed. Thankfully, the last part couldn’t have been more false, but it had clouded my assessment of Shay. I’d always been attracted to women with a few more curves up top and below the belt, women like my ex-wife Nicole. But as Shay had grown on me, keeping step with me in our investigations, taking my jabs and delivering counterpunches in full force, so too had her arched eyebrows, sharp nose, and slim bust infected me with admiration for her beauty.

Much to my chagrin, Shay’s contagious spirit had changed me, and not simply in terms of who I found my tongue lolling over. As I spent more and more time in her presence, I’d become less ornery and irritable. I’d lost some of my trademark biting humor—something I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive her for. I’d even changed physically. I’d lost a few inches around my waist and was down about a dozen pounds to a svelte two ten. If only her smile and witty banter could do something to stem the premature creep of gray into my otherwise perfect crop of umber hair…

I sighed and tried to hide a smile that threatened to overtake my face. “Alright. I suppose we can check out the locksmith. Whatever he’s demonstrating, it has to be more interesting than the mechanics of drawing well water.”

Shay gave me a sly grin, and I pushed my way through the crowds closer to the display. I heard the announcer’s voice over the buzz of the onlookers as we approached.

“—and as you can see, with a quick flick of my wrist, the traditional lock has been disarmed, its contents made available to whichever band of thieves or brigands chose to assault it. Can you imagine it, friends? Your home or apartment broken into, your belongings stolen, your sense of personal safety violated? Have any of your endured such heartbreak? Let’s see a show of hands. Yes, indeed, I see. That’s four hands too many. Now that’s a sensation no man or woman of any breed should ever have to endure. And with my new Septasure brand of tumbler locks, you won’t have to. But don’t take my word for it—try them yourselves, friends. I have the tools, you have the know-how. Now who wants to take a crack at the Septasure? No one? Surely someone wishes to give it a try. I didn’t mean anything by my last remark, you understand. Knowing a little lock picking doesn’t necessarily make someone a bandit—”

I found a gap in the crowd where both Shay and I might be able to see the exhibit, but apparently my choice of spots was a bit too close to the action. The graybeard with the booming voice took advantage of my curiosity right away.

“You there, sir,” he said. “The large gentleman with the worn jacket. You seem like a man who knows his way around a lock. Why don’t you take a crack at the Septasure? Show your lady friend how secure the technology is.”

Worn jacket?
Was it really that bad? Shay had given me guff about my coat before, but the old piece of cowhide I kept draped around my shoulders had saved me from more scrapes, cuts, and bruises than I could remember, and it served as a perfect place for me to hide Daisy, my eighteen inch steel law enforcement companion who helped me bash civility into the brains of the unruly.

I cleared my throat, unsure how Shay might’ve taken the hawker’s last comment. “Um…we’re just friends.”

It was a true statement. Despite the freshly shaken cocktail of admiration, lust, and affection which I’d developed for my partner, I was fairly sure my emotions toward her were one-sided. Not that she didn’t enjoy my company—a fact I was still coming to grips with—as we often spent time with one another, even outside of work. We’d dined together a number of times, and here we found ourselves at the fair with only each other as company. But we weren’t dating—the word had never been uttered in our mutual presence—and based on Steele’s demeanor, she seemed perfectly happy to keep our relationship at the level of simple friendship.

“Well, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” said the man onstage with a flourish of his hands. “She’s a lady, and your friend. A companion, perchance. Now don’t blow your chance to show her your skill with a lock pick. Come on up and take a stab at the Septasure.”

My smiling half-elf partner nudged me in the ribs. “Go on. Give it a try.”

“What?” I hissed. “I don’t have any experience picking locks. You know very well my preferred method of opening locked doors.”

“I’m sure your foot will forgive you for this act of indiscretion,” she said. “Now go. Consider it a learning experience. We’re here during working hours, after all.”

I pictured the Captain’s ugly, scowling muzzle and sagging jowls as we told him we were heading out to the World’s Wonders Fair. He’d only let us leave because we didn’t have any active cases at the moment. If I took his kindness for granted, he might enact all sorts of punitive measures to keep me in line, and that never went well. I still remembered the murderous looks I received from the other detectives when he confiscated the department’s coffee supply because of my stubbornness.

Grudgingly, I made my way up on stage. As I reached the lock salesman, I held out a hand for the tools, but the graybeard mistook my gesture. He grasped my hand in his own and shook it heartily. His coat flapped in rhythm with his arm, and scents of stale cologne and machine grease drifted my way.

“Welcome, sir, welcome,” he said. “Now, before we begin, why don’t you introduce yourself to the crowd.”

“Really?” I said.

“Really?
Do you hear this man, friends?” The salesman held his hands out in appeal to the crowd. “Why, of course, sir! Don’t be shy. The people want to know what sort of man holds the safety of their families in his hands—metaphorically speaking, of course.”

I sighed. Might as well get it over with. “I’m Daggers.”

“Is that an adjective or a surname?” said the locksmith, chuckling in exaggerated fashion. “Please, sir, your full name, and profession.”

“The name’s Jake Daggers. I’m a detective with the New Welwic PD.”

The graybeard’s face lit up like a jack-o-lantern. “Did you hear that, friends? A member of the city’s finest! Who better to test the impenetrability of the Septasure?”

“Well, actually, I’m in homicide,” I said. “I don’t have any—”

The announcer drowned out my protest as he jammed the tools into my hand. “Yes, indeed, a master of security is our new friend, Detective Daggers. Go on, sir, give the Septasure your best.”

I had half a mind to smack the obnoxious announcer upside the head, but I couldn’t very well do so with Shay and a legion of civilians watching me, so I bent down and tried to figure out what to do with the tools I’d been provided. I jammed the hook pick into the lock and stuffed the torsion wrench underneath it, hoping I was doing it right.

“There you go, sir,” said the graybeard to the crowd, guiding my hands a little as he did so. “Why, you’re a natural—which doesn’t surprise me in the least given your occupation.”

After a minute of fumbling with the tools, I stood and handed them back to the announcer.

“Well, sir…your verdict?” he said.

“I couldn’t do it,” I said.

The man’s voice boomed forth, even louder than before. “Did you hear that, friends? The lock cannot be picked! It is impervious to all attempts!”

“Well, that’s not exactly what I—”

“Give the detective a round of applause,” said the graybeard, cutting me off again. “Let’s thank him for his service to the city.”

I returned to Shay to the sound of two dozen clapping hands. “I feel used.”

“Yeah, maybe that was a bad idea,” said Shay. “I can’t help but feel he’s going to use that in all his future marketing efforts.
The Septasure—not even police can crack it.”

“Thanks for making me feel like everyone’s going to forget my ineptitude. I appreciate that.”

Shay shrugged, a malevolent smile creeping its way onto her lips.

“So, are you ready to go?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? We haven’t seen the big show yet. In fact—” Shay glanced at the sun. “I bet it’s about to begin. Come on. I’ve heard this year’s display is out of this world.”

2

A throng of sentience, from human to elven to dwarven and beyond, pressed itself around the World’s Wonders Fair central stage on which the morning’s performance would occur. Rather than push into its meaty core, I led Shay to a small hillock overlooking the stage from the right—a brilliant idea which unfortunately had already been thought of by hundreds of other fairgoers. With a little luck and perseverance, I found a free spot for two behind a small crowd of dwarves, which afforded Shay and I a good view. As we waited for the show to begin, I sent a silent thank you to the gods for the onset of fall. Without the cooler weather, the hints of body odor and ethnic cuisine funk of the various humanoids and half-breeds around me would’ve been a full-on nasal assault.