Death in the Hallows (Hank Mossberg, Private Ogre Book 2) Page 8

  “Is that so?”

  “Of course it is. Even if Excalibur still existed, which is highly unlikely, it would belong to the Lady of the Lake, and I assume it would be in her possession. And to be blunt, the items my husband owns are all cheap knock-offs. They were replicas that he purchased from the bazaar. Do you really think my husband can afford to spend millions of dollars on rusty old relics like that?”

  “I suppose not,” I said. “My apologies if I’ve offended you. I just needed to verify that your husband owned the weapon. I don’t suppose you know if your husband knew Flick Hunter?”

  “Now how would I know that?” she said.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t,” I said cautiously. “How about a guy named Castle O’Rourke?”

  “That name isn’t familiar. Should it be?”

  “Oh, probably not. He sells weapons like your husband’s sword.”

  “They’re not weapons, Steward, they’re displays. Like art.”

  “Right.”

  I was still skeptical about her, but I could tell she was sharp enough that she wouldn’t slip up no matter how long I talked. I could also tell from the tone of her voice that she was growing weary of my questioning. The saccharine sweetness was gone. Her voice was normal now, slightly sharp, slightly hard-edged. It matched the dark glint in her eyes, and I knew it was time to leave.

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mrs. Kevyle. I hope your husband’s campaign goes well.”

  “Thank you, Steward. I hope your investigation goes well also. We certainly don’t want a killer running loose at election time.”

  I left feeling flustered, angry, and slightly confused as to how that tiny plump woman had commandeered our conversation so effortlessly. I’d had more questions when I went in there, and I would have liked to pry more information out of her. Instead, she’d somehow guided my line of questioning right where she wanted it to go. I left without any new information and the unsettling feeling that I may have said too much.

  But why? I thought. Why was I worried? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was it because her powerful husband could destroy my career if I upset him? Was it because of her fake, abrasive personality? Maybe it was a combination of those things that made me feel like she couldn’t be trusted. Regardless, my hands were pretty well tied now. I hadn’t talked to the mayor but my conversation with his wife had been more than enough to get me in hot water. I just hoped that our conversation had been quick and cordial enough that it wouldn’t come back to bite me later.

  I decided the best thing I could do at that point was track down the origin of that sword and find out whether it was real or not. Despite Moira’s assurances, I wasn’t ready to dismiss the possibility that Excalibur was the real thing. Not until I knew a little more about it. But where would I find such information? Castle O’Rourke hadn’t been very helpful, and I hadn’t figured out a better way to get more info out of him. I couldn’t go to the mayor, I’d worn out my welcome there. So who did that leave? Who else could tell me about Excalibur?

  I decided to start where the mayor had supposedly purchased his sword: at the bazaar in the Hallows.

  I drove to the nearest undercity access point, which happened to be in the basement of a parking garage on Geary. Convenient for me, since parking in the area is a nightmare. There’s always plenty of parking in the subterranean basement of the parking garage because it isn’t even visible to humans. It looks like a closed concrete wall at the end of the building. I drove through it with a smile on my face and pulled into a parking space near the tram station entrance.

  Twenty minutes later, I left the tram and made the hike down into the Hallows. I passed along a narrow street and entered the bazaar from the south end. The change in atmosphere was immediate. Canopies hung over the streets, concealing the activities inside the bazaar from those who might try to spy from above. The air was thick with the smoke of incense and the faint aroma of burning sensha leaves, often used by addicts to conceal the smell of their illegal drugs.

  The bazaar is an underground black market catering to every appetite, a den of thieves, con-men and prostitutes. It’s not a place I usually spend my time, and the regulars are just as happy not to have me there. After all, I am the law after a fashion. I’m not a cop but I have certain powers that tend to make the criminal elements itchy.

  It was getting late but it was Friday, so the crowds were still heavy. I didn’t waste any time pussyfooting around. I figured the people I was looking for might just disappear if they knew I was coming, so I went in fast and aggressive. I was hoping to catch the weapons vendors before they had a chance to pack up and disappear.

  The crowd parted to make way for me as I moved through the chaos. No one wanted the Steward’s attention. I moved quickly, stopping at the first place I saw that had weapons on display. The goblin in the booth was elderly, with wrinkled skin and a broad forehead. A scar ran down the side of his cheek from just below his left eye all the way to the tip of his jaw.

  “All legal,” he said in a hoarse voice as I approached him. “Nothing here to concern you, Steward.”

  “I’m not concerned,” I said. I pulled a small gold-plated coin out of my pocket. The fae prefer to use the international standard of precious metals, but they use alchemy to make the metals which renders it unusable in the human world. I always keep a few coins on hand for occasions such as this. I showed it to him and his eyes widened at the sight of the precious yellow metal.

  “What do you want?” he said suspiciously.

  “Just a little info.” I showed him the picture of Excalibur. “I’m wondering where I might find something like this.”

  He examined the photograph for a second and then handed it back. He looked nervously back and forth to make sure we weren’t being watched. We were, of course. There wasn’t a soul in the bazaar who wasn’t keeping an eye on me.

  “Sorry, can’t help ya,” he said.

  I reached out and grabbed him by the collar. “That sword killed a friend of mine,” I said between clenched teeth. “It was enchanted. I know that you know where it came from. If you don’t tell me, you and I are going to have a problem.”

  “No!” he said desperately. “No enchantments, it’s not legal! Here, feel!” He reached out and pulled a sword down from the wall. I loosened my grip on him so I could touch the handle. Sure enough, there was no magic there at all. Just plain, cold steel.

  “What about the others?” I said, nodding towards the back wall. “Surely some of them are enchanted.”

  “No way! I don’t deal in that kind of stuff. You can check them all. Help yourself.”

  I looked him up and down. He seemed sincere. Frankly, he looked terrified. “Who would sell something like that?” I said.

  He licked his lips. “You want something like that you go to Chester’s, just down the way.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, over the heads of the crowd. I could see the sign hanging over Chester’s Arms a hundred yards away. I tossed the coin in the air. “Thanks for your help,” I said. “Now keep your mouth shut or I’ll come back for another visit.”

  I left quickly, wanting to get to Chester’s before the old goblin had a chance to warn him. Fortunately, Chester hadn’t noticed me at his competitor’s booth. I appeared out of the crowd and stepped up to the counter. Chester, as it turned out, was another goblin. He was younger, with an athletic build. He was stocky for a goblin, muscular in the upper body but not as much as a hobgoblin. Still, he looked like trouble. He was wearing a wife-beater shirt and sporting a gold chain around his neck and several gold earrings in each ear. His lips parted and his eyes went wide as I appeared before him.

  “Is there something I can help you with Steward?” he said. He licked his lips dryly.

  I showed him the picture of Excalibur. “I want one of these,” I said. “I understand you sell them.”

  He tilted his head sideways. “Hang on a sec.” He handed the photo back to me and started digging through a trunk at t
he back of the booth. After a moment, he returned carrying an exact duplicate of Excalibur. “Lucky for you it’s on special,” he said. “Ninety-nine bucks.”

  I took the sword by the handle and pulled it out of the sheath, examining it. “Hey, be careful with that,” he warned. “It’s sharp.”

  I dragged my thumb across the blade. “So it is. But it’s not enchanted.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No… that wouldn’t be legal.”

  I slammed the sword back into the sheath. He flinched. “I want a real one,” I said. “I want a magical sword.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” he said. “It’s against the law. I got a family to feed, I’m not gonna get myself thrown into prison over a trinket.”

  I laid the sword down on the counter and leaned forward. “Look Chester, I’m not after you. I don’t care who’s enchanting the swords or who’s selling them. I just need to know who bought that one from you, that’s all. Whoever bought the sword in that picture killed someone, a friend of mine.”

  “Look Steward, I’d help if I could but I really don’t sell enchanted stuff. It’s way out of my price range. Maybe you should check with my cousin Rousha, just up the way.”

  “Rousha? Old guy with a scar?”

  He nodded mutely.

  “We already talked. He sent me to you.”

  Chester narrowed his eyes. “That conniving bastard,” he muttered. “He knows I don’t carry anything like that. He was just trying to get rid of you.”

  “Isn’t that what you were just doing by sending me to him?”

  Chester frowned and crossed his arms. “I don’t know what else to tell you,” he said. “I ain’t got a sword like that.”

  “Well, where would I get one? You must know that much.”

  He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There is a guy topside. I don’t know him personally but I’ve heard rumors…”

  “What rumors?”

  “You know, that he gets stuff. He specializes in getting things for collectors.”

  I was instantly intrigued. “Where can I find him?”

  “I don’t know… he works out of some bar.”

  I got a sinking feeling in my gut. “What’s his name?”

  “Castle O’Rourke. He’s supposed to be a real sleazebag.”

  I grimaced. My head was starting to spin from going in circles. Castle had more or less admitted to dealing in replicas, but hadn’t given up any real information except for the fact that he’d sent Flick to the mayor before he got killed. Moira Kevyle said the mayor’s weapons came from the bazaar, but Chester and Rousha both swore they didn’t sell enchanted weapons. Now the trail was leading right back to Castle. I clenched my fists, realizing I should have leaned on him harder when I’d had the chance.

  “You’re saying that O’Rourke sells weapons like this?” I said, pressing for more information.

  “That’s the rumor, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t deal in that kind of stuff.”

  “I see. What else do the rumors say?”

  He looked me over thoughtfully and I could see his gears turning. It was time to loosen him up. I pulled another gold coin out of my pocket. “My last coin,” I said, waving it in front of him. “What do you know?”

  Chester considered it for a moment and then snatched it out of my hand. He looked nervous. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “You didn’t hear this from me. The rumor is that he’s got a special connection, somebody high up. Somebody who can make sure he doesn’t get busted, if you know what I mean.”

  I considered that. “The mayor?” I said. “He’s working with the mayor?”

  “What? No! I didn’t say that!”

  “Then what are you saying? Who’s working with O’Rourke?”

  “I don’t know, but do the math. He sells these high-end artifacts, maybe even enchanted stuff, but somehow doesn’t get busted. You explain it. If I was selling that stuff, the cops would have me locked up already. Not Castle. He’s got his claws in all kinds of stuff, but nobody ever looks into his operation. To be honest, it’s been bad for business for the rest of us.”

  I considered that. I had no illusions about the integrity of Chester and Rousha. Their business may have been on the level but it wasn’t because they were so honest. It was because they were afraid of getting busted. That must have been why Castle started up his business topside. He wouldn’t have to deal with the local undercity police that way, and the humans wouldn’t have known or cared about his enchanted weapons - or whatever else he might have been dealing out of that bar. And if any undercity enforcement types like the mayor came along, he could just pay them off.

  Or kill them, I thought grimly, remembering what had happened to Flick. “Thanks Chester,” I said.

  I rolled it over in my mind as I wandered back across town. I felt like I was putting together a puzzle made with pieces that didn’t fit. Castle O’Rourke looked good for Flick’s murder, but I wasn’t sure about his motive yet. It was possible that Flick had threatened to expose him, but I wasn’t sure if that was worth killing him. If Flick had known his life was in danger, I was sure he would have backed off, especially since he had a family. If Flick kept pushing until he got himself killed, that would have been plain stupid. And Flick may have been naïve, but he wasn’t stupid.

  I wondered if Chester was right about O’Rourke getting protection from high up. If the mayor was his client, that would make sense. The mayor would want to protect his only source for rare and valuable artifacts. Then again, the mayor’s wife had been quite adamant that her husband’s weapons weren’t enchanted and that they came from the bazaar… but the evidence said otherwise, which begged a couple questions: Had the mayor lied to his wife about the weapons? Or had she lied to me, trying to protect him?

  It bothered me that someone was lying about Excalibur. Somehow, either the mayor or his wife were involved. From where I stood, it looked like it was probably the mayor. That made the most sense. He’d been buying up enchanted weapons and lying about it to his wife, and then when Flick came snooping around…

  Well, that didn’t add up, either. The mayor would have risked everything by committing murder, and I just didn’t see a motive for it. It was conceivable that the mayor killed Flick for trying to expose him as a collector, but unlikely. The mayor could have shut Flick up a hundred ways without killing him. He could have bribed Flick, threatened him, or even used his political powers to get Flick fired from his job at The Sentinel. Even that would have been overkill, considering that the mayor’s collection probably wouldn’t cause much damage, politically. After all, did anyone even really care if the mayor owned a few enchanted weapons? They were illegal to produce, but collecting them wasn’t necessarily even a crime. Judging by Malone’s reaction to the situation, the police didn’t care at all.

  I was missing something, something important enough that it was worth killing over. Too many questions remained unanswered: Who had killed Flick? Why? And how had Excalibur gotten into the hands of the killer?

  None of it explained Flick’s interest in the weapons, either. Surely, he could have found more important things to investigate. Enchanted weapons may be illegal but it’s not as if they’re a major problem. Black market dragon eggs and pixie dust are a problem. Suitcase nukes are a problem. Enchanted swords? Not so much. But for some reason, Flick had pursued this story deep enough to get himself killed. What was it he had learned? That was what I needed to find out. There had to be more to the story, a puzzle piece that I was still missing. There was only one way to know for sure. I had to go talk to O’Rourke again. This time I was going to get the truth if I had to beat it out of him.

  Chapter 6

  I took the nearest access point out of the undercity because I didn’t want to park my Blazer in the Tenderloin, and I knew I could get to Curly’s faster by cab anyway. Not that most thieves pay much attention to my Blazer, considering it’s more than forty years old and has a rust hole in the fender the size of a football, bu
t I still don’t like to taunt fate. Sometimes the thieves will vandalize your car just because they didn’t find anything worth stealing. I know from experience. One dirtbag stole the knobs off my old cassette stereo and slashed my seats just for the fun of it. He was long gone when I found the damage, of course.

  Just once I’d like to catch them in the act.

  One thing about the undercity access points is that they are not all equal. They’re designed for function and privacy, but not necessarily for convenience. I hadn’t used this particular one before, but I stepped into the elevator assuming I’d end up in a department store or the main lobby of a large commercial building. I wasn’t too far off. As the elevator doors parted, I found myself standing at the back of a large broom closet.

  The walls were lined with shelves of cleaning supplies and smelly old chemicals, and every inch of floor space had been packed tight with an army of old manikins. I had to push them aside just to step out of the elevator. As the door slid shut behind me, the room went dark. I pushed my way forward and body parts came raining down around me like a scene from a low budget horror flick. I finally managed to locate the closet door, despite the fact that I was in almost total darkness. I went stumbling out into the hallway with an avalanche of arms, legs, and torsos crashing down around me.

  I found myself at the back of an old clothing boutique. The two middle-aged women who were shopping there screamed as they saw me come stumbling out of the closet. I gave them my warmest smile.

  “Evening, ladies,” I said gruffly, tipping my hat. I walked past them and out the front door, ignoring their confused stares. I stepped up to the street, waved down a cab, and headed straight across town to Curly’s.

  When I got there, Curly’s looked dark from the outside but the OPEN sign was lit up and I expected things were probably a bit more lively inside than they had been that morning. Nonetheless, the bruise on the back of my head reminded me to be more cautious as I entered this time. I pushed the door open quietly and slipped into the darkened interior. The place was empty. I was surprised because it was late, and in that neighborhood on a Friday night, the place should have been packed.