The Sword-Edged blonde

TWENTY-THREE

I went back to sleep. What the hell else could I do? I had vivid dreams of both Cathy and Janet berating me for my idiocy.

I had no sense of time, but I awoke at the sound of another key in the lock. This one was furtive, though, and the door only opened enough for someone to peer in. I didn’t recognize the eyes, but I knew the distinctive voice. “Hello?” Spike whispered.

“Yeah?” I answered softly.

She stepped into the room. “Canino’s on his way back down. You don’t want to be here anymore.”

I nodded. I got to my feet, shook my head to clear the last of the cobwebs, and followed her into the hall. “In here,” she said, and gestured at the open door to the next room.

She locked the door behind us. It was dark except for the hallway’s flickering lamplight around the edge. We both put our ears to the wooden surface.

Canino’s measured steps approached down the hall and he stopped just outside my cell’s open door. He stood silently for a long time, and we did likewise. I just knew my every breath sounded like a bellowing ox and would give us away at any moment.

I did not hear a footstep, but the doorknob directly across the hall outside rattled. Then I heard a key, and the slight creak of hinges. After a moment the door closed again, and the lock slid back into place.

Again he moved so lightly I couldn’t hear it. He rattled the door beside the one he’d just checked, unlocked it, closed it. I listened so hard for his movement that I nearly yelled when the doorknob right beside me rattled.

In the dark, Spike clutched my hand.

The key slid into the lock. There was no place to hide, and nothing to be used as a weapon. I felt so weak that if he blinked hard at me, I’d fall over.

The key began to turn.

“Boss!” a muffled voice called, and rapid footsteps approached. “We’ve got a situation upstairs. That naval attache won what he’s supposed to win, but he’s drunk and won’t stop playing.”

Canino did not respond, but the key slid from the lock and two sets of footsteps receded.

Spike sighed. She struck a match and the flame rippled in her shaky hand. She lit the room’s single candle. Its furnishings and ambiance were identical to the one I’d just left.

I grabbed the water jug in the corner. It was only about a third full, and warm, but to me it tasted like damn ambrosia. I poured the last bit on my face and rubbed it into my eyes.

“You smell pretty bad,” Spike observed.

“Yeah,” was the only comeback I could manage.

“He’ll figure out where you went. But not for a few minutes. The only thing he likes more than pain is money. Here.”

She gestured at the bed. My boots and shirt were there, but not, I noticed with annoyance, my brand new jacket. “Why are you helping me?” I asked as I dressed.

“You saw what he did to Gretchen.”

“Friend of yours?”

She shrugged. “Not really. She’s just the latest member of the club.” She turned, having to twist her whole upper body to compensate for her immobile neck, and tapped one of the finials. “Who do you think stuck this in me, anyway? And do you know why? ‘Just to make a point,’ he said.” She snorted. “He made his point, all right.”

I laced up my boots. “I guess I owe you one, then. Do you want to get out of here?”

“Nah. Except for the neck thing, I’ve got it pretty good. Nobody bothers me, the money’s great, and I don’t have to put out unless I want to. It’s not bad.” Her eyes bore a hopelessness far beyond her years. “Canino thinks I’m his lucky charm.”

“Where are your folks?”

“Hmph. I have no idea who screwed my mom at the wrong time of the month. And she’s dead. And you can save the pity for someone who needs it. If you get the chance, kill that towheaded bastard and we’ll call it even. If not, well, messing with him is its own reward.”

I stood and tucked my shirt into my pants. I felt mostly human again. “Won’t he be pissed off when he finds out you helped me?”

She laughed. Again I was reminded of cloth ripping. “Like I care, old man. Like I care.”

Spike led me to a service entrance that opened onto the club’s private dock. It was sometime after midnight, judging from the stars and the moon, and the pier was dark and deserted. Launches, from two big pleasure schooners anchored far out in the harbor, bobbed next to smaller vessels.

“Take that rowboat,” Spike said, pointing. “Go left and follow the waterfront until you reach the main public pier.”

I patted my empty pockets. “I’d give you a tip, but I’ve been cleaned out.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I looked up at the apparently lifeless warehouse that hid the club. It was gray against the dark sky. “So does the Dwarf really run this place?”

“Canino runs it. The Dwarf just pays the bills.”

“So is the Dwarf here?”

“No. I’ve never seen him. But Canino goes up to one of the estates on Brillion Hill a lot.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know. I’m not one of the girls who gets invited to those sorts of parties. But he always brings back fresh flowers for the rest of us, if that helps any.”

I bent and kissed the top of her head. “What’s your real name?”

“Allison,” she said with no inflection.

“Thanks, Allison.”

I climbed into the rowboat, untied it and pulled away from the dock. The last I saw of her was a silhouette against the warehouse, moonlight reflecting like tiny stars off the golden balls at her neck.

I STAGGERED INTO my boarding house at dawn. Luckily the tavern on the ground floor was empty. I slept for about three hours, cleaned up as best I could, then went down to Bernie’s office. I got there before he did, so I was asleep in his chair when he arrived and knocked my boots off his desk.

“You look like you spent the night in a barrel with a bobcat,” he said as I moved to the guest chair. “I’m surprised the desk sergeant let you in. What happened?”

“I got snarked at the Dragonfly Club.”

He paused in arranging the parchments and papers on his desk. “You didn’t tell me you were going to the Dragonfly.”

“If I’d known I was going to get snarked, I would have.”

He closed his office door. “We’ve been trying to get undercover people in there for months. If anybody connects you up with me, they’ll shut the place up tighter than a convent on May Day. Thanks.”

“They didn’t know me,” I said. “Canino dug up my alias, but not my real name.”

“Canino,” he repeated as he sat down. “Did you take him out like you did Saye’s friend?”

“I wish. No, basically I curled into a ball and whimpered.” I gave him the short version of the previous night’s events. Spike had confirmed the Dwarf’s existence, and considerably narrowed my search area. If I’d only thought to press her about Andrew Reese, I might know for sure that I was on the right track. Still, it was a lot more than I had any right to expect, and it sure beat a stint as Canino’s punching bag. “Any idea which estate on Brillion Hill might be the right one?”

Bernie walked to the big map of Cape Querna on the wall. “This is Brillion Hill. You can see how the streets all wind around almost like it was designed to confuse people. There’s probably twenty mansions up there, and this time of year they’ve all got flowers. They even have a big garden tour to show ’em off.”

I joined him to gaze at the map. He was right, the roads resembled some sailor’s arcane knot. “It would be somewhere they could discreetly have wild parties with the girls from the Dragonfly.”

He made an inclusive gesture. “You could do that at any of ’em. These are the cream of C.Q. society. They invented decadence, and they’re able to pay to keep it quiet.”

I pondered as much as my still-fogged brain allowed. It could take weeks to check each house; there had to be a way to narrow the search. “How old are these houses?”

“Varies.”

“Any of them built in, say, the last twenty years?”

“I don’t think so. That hill had the defensive high ground over the harbor, so it was the first place settled. It has some of the oldest buildings in town. Big stone things, like castles that never grew all the way up.”

“But they’ve changed hands over the years, right? They’re not still owned by the founding families.”

“Some are. Most aren’t.”

“So if you were rich and powerful enough to buy one of these, but also, let’s say, deformed, you might have your mansion modified to suit your disability.”

He sighed. “Enough with the damn Dwarf, Eddie. Your little girlfriend might’ve been feeding you a line, you know.”

“ Somebody yanks Canino’s chain.”

“Yeah, and you’re yanking mine.”

I ignored his skepticism; I’d just had an idea. “Who’s the best mason in town?”

“Like I’d know,” Bernie said. But I knew he’d find out.

Cape Querna’s top household design man, who’d turned his masonry skills to making sure rich people always felt rich at home, had a shop right on the edge of the Brillion Hill district, in a refurbished home that had probably once been as grand as those he now served. It was surrounded by a small landscaped yard and trees pruned to perfection. It advertised, without actually advertising, that gracious living was its prime commodity. Bernie and I tied our horses next to an expensive covered buggy with a liveryman and driver lounging beside it.

A tasteful sign by the road identified the business as Tanko Interiors. Beneath it was the slogan: The best homes for the best people. A tall young man in ruffled cuffs opened the door before we could knock. He disdainfully regarded our attire. “Yes?”

Bernie held up his identification pendant. “Civil Security. We need to speak with Mr. Tanko.”

“He’s with an important client right now,” the ruffled guy said snottily. “Perhaps if you made an appointm-”

I could’ve told him that wasn’t the attitude to take with my pal. Bernie punched him right in the center of his chest, so fast I barely saw his hand move. Ruffles made a tiny “oof!” sound, his eyes popped wide and he started to fall. Bernie stepped forward and caught him.

“Hey! You got a fella in distress here!” Bernie yelled. He lowered the red-faced young man to the floor, where he wheezed as he tried to catch his breath. “Sorry, friend,” Bernie muttered as he undid the florid collar. “Next time try manners.”

The foyer was huge, with well-chosen paintings on the salmon-colored walls. Luxurious chairs and couches were provided for waiting clients, and a decanter of wine stood open beside a tray of classy, jewel-crusted mugs. Overhead a huge chandelier hung like a diamond rose. At night, with all the candles lit, it would’ve been bright enough for ships to navigate by.

A door slammed at the far end of the room, and a man walked rapidly toward us. He seemed to be enveloped in a swirl of colors, with a bright blue puff-sleeved shirt offset by a yellow scarf and his own frightfully red hair. “Oh, my God!” he cried in a high, twittering voice. “What’s happened to Cecil?”

“Looks like some kind of seizure,” Bernie said. He stood to greet this newcomer. “Happens sometimes when folks don’t cooperate. You the owner?”

“Good heavens, did you do this?” the yellow-scarfed man exclaimed. If possible, his voice grew even more shrill. “You rude wolverine, you! This man is an artist, he has a delicate constitution!”

Again Bernie held out his identification. “He’ll be fine, and so will you if you just calm down. We’re looking for Robert Tanko. Is that you?”

“Yes, yes, that’s me,” he said as he fell to his knees beside Cecil. “My little dove, can you hear me?”

A woman with an enormous plumed hat appeared from the same door that had disgorged Tanko. She had a body that curved in all the right ways, and her clothes were cut to show it off. “Bobby,” she called impatiently, “they’re walk-ins, and I had an appointment.”

“Reschedule it,” Bernie told her. “Civil Security business.”

The woman’s eyes first opened in surprise, then contemptuously narrowed. She started to speak, but Bernie cut her off. “And don’t ask me if I ‘know who you are,’ because then I’d have to say I do. And yes, I know who your husband is. And I know about your little jaunts down to Lewis Beach with your herbalist, something I bet your husband doesn’t know.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she turned red even through her considerable make-up. She flounced past us out the door, stepping over Cecil as if he were something her dog left on the rug.

Tanko glared at Bernie. “How dare you-”

“The more you keep acting like a spoiled brat, the longer this’ll take,” Bernie said. “Your friend here will be good as new once he catches his breath, and we only have a couple of questions. Where can we talk?”

Tanko started to protest further, then thought better of it. He helped Cecil, still woozy, into a padded chair, then we followed him into his private office. Like the foyer, it was classy and stylish, dominated by a huge table piled with drawings and designs. A floor-to-ceiling archway behind the desk opened onto a garden.

Tanko shut the door and whirled on us. All traces of swish vanished. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded, his voice a full octave lower. “You can’t just come in here and start beating on people, I don’t care what your badge says.”

“We’re the guys with the questions,” Bernie said as he looked around, unruffled by Tanko’s complete change in demeanor. “My friend here,” he said with a nod at me, “will do the asking.” Bernie then leaned against the wall by the door, stuck his hands in his coat pockets and left me the floor.

Unlike Bernie, I didn’t hide my surprise at Tanko’s personality reversal. Tanko saw my expression and laughed. “Oh, come on, nobody’s that much of a hummingbird. It’s what people expect from a man in this profession. Rich old men have to be able to trust me alone with their trophy wives; you think I’d get any business if I didn’t flutter around in this kind of get-up?”

“Must be tough on your wife,” I said, noting the band on his finger.

“I never said I liked girls. Just that I wasn’t a hummingbird.” He winked at me, sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. “So what’s so important that Cape Querna’s finest have to hassle someone like me? Are you finally going to redo those hideous uniforms?”

“Somebody on Brillion Hill has modified a house to accommodate their handicap,” I said. “A guy with arms and legs that don’t work right, that look like they’ve been pushed up into his body. He’d have money, so he’d come to you, the top man in your field. And even if he went to someone else, I’m betting you know about it. All I need is an address.”

Tanko’s eyes narrowed. “And just who are you again? I haven’t seen your badge.”

“Mine’s big enough for us both,” Bernie said.

“Not from where I’m sitting, tough stuff. What happens if I say I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

I looked around until I spotted a large wooden cabinet. “Bet you keep very neat records. Be a shame if they got all mixed up from us looking through ’em.”

“That’s illegal,” Tanko protested, but clearly he knew such niceties weren’t a consideration.

“Then tell me the address,” I said.

He sighed and undid the scarf as if it choked him. “Some of my clients won’t take it too well that I’m giving out that kind of information. They like to think their dealings with me are confidential. I’ve been known to make changes for them that facilitate certain, ah… illegal intimate activities.”

“Oh, come on, Tanko,” Bernie snapped impatiently. “Otherwise I get a dozen of my clumsiest and least aesthetic officers down here and we turn your tidy little business into a rummage sale.”

Tanko swallowed hard. He looked at me for sympathy, but I kept my expression neutral. He paced to the arch that overlooked the garden. “Okay, fellows, we’ll play your game. How much,” he asked quietly, “to make you two go away?”

“I can’t hear you,” Bernie said; he’d heard him just fine.

Resigned, Tanko nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, then, gentlemen. I’m not telling you a thing.”

Before either of us could respond, he held up a hand. “That’s right. You came in here with threats and scare tactics.” He found a quill, dipped it into an inkwell on his desk and began to write. “But I didn’t tell you anything. If you’re honorable men, you’ll pass that information along. Bob Tanko told you nothing.”

He handed the parchment to me. On it was a street address. “If you tell anyone any different, I won’t see the next sunrise,” Tanko added with fatalistic calm. “I’ve always liked the dawn. I’d hate to miss it.”

I blew on the ink to dry it, then put the parchment in my pocket. “He’s too tough for us, Bernie. He won’t crack.”

Bernie nodded and dislodged himself from the wall. “Yeah. Damn near wore myself out trying to shake him loose.”

Tanko nodded gratefully. As we left his office, Bernie paused and kicked over a large potted plant. The dirt and water spilled onto the carpet. When he saw Tanko’s aghast expression he said, “Just to make it look authentic.”