36

  Conway sat back and crossed his arms, staring daggers into the youth opposite him. Cameron Haney, 24 years old, blonde haired, blue eyed, with a bit of fluff on his lip and a fresh black eye, glared right back. Conway cleared his throat and pulled the file towards him.

  “Would you like to know what we’re charging you with?” Conway asked, and Cameron gave a small, noncommittal shrug of his shoulders.

  “Whatever it is, it’s bullshit,” he said.

  “Import and distribution of a controlled substance in the quantity of over five kilos. Attempted murder of a police officer. Resisting arrest. Possession of a deadly weapon. Payment in commision of a crime. Laundering gold. Purchase of property by means of deception and fraud. And my favourite, commissioning of criminal enterprise.” Conway looked at Cameron. “How old are you? 24? You’re looking at… sixty maybe seventy percent of your natural born life in a concrete hole. That’s what, fifty years? You might see sunshine again when you’re in your mid seventies.”

  Cameron shifted in his seat.

  “I want my lawyer,” he said.

  “You have one?”

  Cameron pursed his lips.

  “I’ll get one.”

  “Better be a bloody good one,” Conway said. "Although I can’t imagine you're too flush with gold right now. What with the purchase of that new warehouse, all those goons you hired, and the fact that we’ve got forty kilos of your Burn sitting in the lockup. You did pay for that up front, didn’t you?”

  Cameron stayed silent.

  “Because I’d hate to think there’s some real nasty sorts waiting for their gold while you're sitting here clinked up. I’d imagine you wouldn’t last long in BlackWater with that sort of debt hanging over your head.”

  “I dunno what your talking about,” Cameron said, sniffing and shrugging his shoulders. “I was just there visiting a mate. If there was anything illegal going on, it ain’t got nothin’ to do with me.”

  “That’s good,” Conway said, nodding his head. “I was just visiting a mate. There’s about two hundred other inmates who all got locked up just for visiting a mate at the wrong time.”

  “You ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

  “Son, d’you know what the problem with hiring muscle is? They ain’t got no loyalty to you. My detectives are all having this exact same conversation with all those men who we nicked in the warehouse. Quite a few of ‘em have priors, and they ain’t looking to do double time for reoffending, not for you. I’d bet my left ear, there’s at least half a dozen of ‘em right now, signing sworn affidavits that you owned the warehouse, that was your Burn, and that you hired them to protect it.”

  Conway saw a trickle of sweat run down Cameron’s temple.

  “Come on, you’re not thick. How many thugs that can be bought for a couple gold pieces are gonna do the time? We’re putting this up as a criminal enterprise case, which means everyone gets the same charges and the same time. I bet you don’t even know most of their names, do you?”

  “Lawyer,” Cameron choked out.

  “It doesn’t have to go that way though,” Conway continued. “Gimme the names of your suppliers, and I’ll see how many of these charges we can reduce down. You’ll do some time, maybe a few years, but you’ll see sunlight again. “How many wanna be Villains like you are there in this city? I don’t care about you. I want whoever is bringing this poison into my city. They’re the ones that should be doing the big time, not you.”

  Cameron’s forehead glistened with sweat now, his eyes shone brightly, and his leg had begun bouncing nervously under the table.

  “Gimme their names, it’s the only move you’ve got left.” Conway pushed a blank piece of paper towards him and uncapped his pen, holding it out to Cameron.

  Cameron looked down at the paper, then at the pen, and finally at Conway.

  “And how long do you think I would last if I snitched?” Cameron spat at him. “Get me my fuckin’ lawyer, pig.”

  Conway sighed and pushed the cap back onto his pen.

  “I’ll give you some time to think on it.” Conway stood up and left the charge sheet on the table where Cameron could read it before exiting the room.

  Timmy and Wally were sitting outside of the interrogation room, waiting anxiously. They were battered and bloody but refused to leave the station. Wally had been stitched up by the on site nurse, and now they sat pressing coldstones to their various lumps and bruises.

  “Did he talk?” Timmy said as soon as Conway came out.

  “What are you two still doing here?” Conway snapped at them. “I sent you home hours ago.”

  “We can’t go ‘til we know we got the son of a bitch,” Wally said, half of his face an ugly shade of purple.

  “We got him, but he ain’t talking,” Conway sighed. “I got a feeling he’ll stay tight lipped until he knows he’s facing big numbers, then it’ll all come out.”

  “But what about about the suppliers?” Timmy asked. “Didn’t the river patrol get them?”

  Conway shook his head.

  “They were only a minute or two behind but they disappeared in the fog. We’re searching right now, but there’s no sign of ‘em.”

  “We got the Burn though?” Wally said.

  “Yep, forty kilos of it.”

  Wally whistled through his teeth.

  “That’s a lot of Burn.”

  “It’s only a drop in the ocean,” Conway growled. “We need the suppliers if we really want to make a dent in the trade.”

  “Were there any clues in the warehouse?” Timmy asked.

  “No idea,” Conway said. “No one’s been back there yet. We got a couple lads stationed outside, but it’s been all hands on here with all the interviews.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “We’ll go!” Timmy said.

  “No you will not!” Conway said. “You’ll go home and rest! You’ve been beat to shit! You deserve a couple hours of downtime.”

  “We’re good to go, sir.” Wally said, heaving himself to his feet. “We wanna catch these bastards.”

  “And besides, all we’re doing is looking around, right?” Timmy said. “Nothing dangerous about that.”

  Conway scratched his stubble and then sighed.

  “Fine. You can go and have a look and see if there’s any clues as to who the suppliers are. The warehouse is secure so you shouldn’t get into any trouble there. But as soon as you’re finished you write your reports and head home for the day, understand?”

  “Yes sir!"

  Timmy and Wally limped away while Conway watched them go. He hated to admit it, but he had to admire them; they had guts.

  *

  Rufi stole across the waterfront, his gleaming leather loafers sinking into the mud. It was still a few hours before sunrise, and the coppers had only left a couple of blue shirts on guard out front of Cameron’s warehouse. Rufi scaled the chain link fence around the back and landed with a gentle thud. With the back of his tomahawk, he popped the lock to the rear entrance and stole into the warehouse. The near complete darkness was punctuated by shafts of gleaming moonlight. Rufi paused for a few seconds and waited. Silence. He crept into the warehouse and peered around. The place was a mess. Arrow bolts stuck out of every wall and all across the floor. There were dried puddles of blood, torn metal, and broken wood everywhere. The police had come in here heavy it seemed. A part of Rufi almost felt sorry for Cameron. Getting raided and robbed twice in the span of a week was a tough break, even for a piece of shit like him. The police hadn’t left much, but Rufi needed something—some reassurance that this wasn’t a fresh supply of the Bad Batch.

  Feeling around while letting his eyes adjust, Rufi pieced together the layout of the warehouse. He stepped around the puddles of blood and worked his way across the warehouse carefully. He kept one ear trained on the outside, listening for any sounds of someone approaching. Across the warehouse floor, he saw the moonlight glinting from more metal. As he approached, he saw a broken metal door hanging off its hinges and a staircase leading upwards. He thought back to Cameron’s last warehouse and knew that the stash room would be at the top of those stairs. He stepped over the ruined door and placed one foot on the bottom step. It creaked under his bulk. He froze and waited a few seconds before beginning his ascent. At the top of the stairs, he stepped through another busted open door and found himself in a now almost empty room. Rufi pulled his lighter out of his pocket, flicked it on, and held up the light. There were only a few broken crates and cardboard boxes laying about. Rufi kneeled down and held his flame closer to the boxes. Then he felt a shard of ice pierce his chest. There on the floor was a single piece of red string.

  “Fuck.” Rufi growled in the darkness.

  He picked the string up and inspected it. It was the same string, it had to be. He tucked it into his jacket pocket and stood up. Then he heard the door to the warehouse open.

  *

  “You sure you two are gonna be alright in there?” The officer on guard asked as he pulled the warehouse door open.

  "Yeah, we’ll be fine now we got these torches,” Timmy said as he hobbled past them.

  “You said Lieutenant Conway sent you?” the officer asked sceptically.

  “Yeah mate. We’re special detectives on secondment,” Wally said as he limped into the warehouse, still clutching his wounded side.

  “If you say so,” the officer said, walking back to the front gate.

  Timmy and Wally held up the bright glowstone torches and looked around the ruined warehouse.

  “Ahh man, that was a whole day’s work clearing this place up!” Wally moaned as he looked around.

  “I hope Al got paid before he left,” Timmy said as he looked at the wreckage of the warehouse.

  “What’re we even looking for?” Wally asked.

  “I dunno,” Timmy replied. “Some sort of clue maybe.”

  “A clue about what?”

  “Who sold the shipment to Cameron.”

  “You reckon they left an invoice?” Wally asked, wincing as he tried to grin.

  “Would be nice. With like a home address on it,” Timmy chuckled dryly. “You take the left, I’ll take the right, and we'll work our way back to the middle. Then we’ll go upstairs.”

  *

  Rufi hugged the wall to the stashroom and peered around the corner. There were only two of them. They had glowstone torches but he couldn’t see any weapons. There would be backup outside though. He could take them if he needed to, but putting hands on coppers was never ideal. What did they say there were, special detectives? Rufi forced his heartbeat to slow down and tried to figure out a route to sneak out of the warehouse. He looked around at the windows. They had all been barred shut. The only way to the back door was down the stairs. He looked at the stairs and remembered how treacherously they had creaked when he went up them. There was no chance he could creep down them without being heard. He could make a dash for it. That seemed the best solution. If there were more coppers out there though, he’d have a time outrunning them through the sucking mud of the river banks.

  “Shit!” Rufi breathed.

  He listened to the two detectives talking. They sounded young, too young, like kids. And not very bright kids, either. Special detectives or not, Rufi could smell a rookie copper from a mile off, and these two reeked. He peered around the corner and saw one of them step into the moonlight. He was a scrawny beanpole with a youthful face and big ears. He also looked like he’d had seven shades of shit kicked out of him recently. They were just kids. Another idea occurred to Rufi. He pocketed his lighter, loosened his tomahawk in its strap, and took a deep breath.

  *

  “Find anything?” Timmy called out to Wally.

  “Naa nuffin’ but blood and arrows,” Wally shouted back.

  “Let’s have a look upstairs,” Timmy said, walking towards the steps.

  “Evening detectives.”

  Timmy froze with his foot on the bottom of the step. He whipped his torch up and found himself staring at a Goblin. A massive Goblin. He was standing at the top of the stairs with his hands raised and a genial smile on his face.

  “Wh-who are you?” Timmy stammered, his tongue feeling twice as big in his mouth.

  “Just a concerned citizen,” the Goblin said, taking a step down the staircase.

  “What are you doin’ ‘ere?” Wally asked, taking a subconscious step back from the imposing figure slowly making his way down the stairs.

  “I heard there was a bit of action here, and I just came to see if you needed any help.” The Goblin was halfway down the stairs now.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Timmy said, backing away from the staircase. “H-how did you get in here?”

  “Through the back,” the Goblin smiled again. “But you’re right, I am imposing on your investigation. So I’m just gonna make my way back out again.”

  “Hold on, what were you doing up there?” Timmy said as Wally stepped to his side.

  “Just having a look around. Lot of blood about, watch your step, be a shame to get any on you.” The Goblin’s smile never slipped, but his eyes were hard, and his hand crept towards the inside of his jacket.

  “You can’t just… leave,” Wally said, but his voice had no conviction.

  “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Just slowly make my way out of here. Real calm like.” The Goblin backed slowly towards the rear exit.

  “We’ll call for backup,” Timmy said. “There’s a dozen officers out there.”

  “And that’s where they should stay. It’s always good when things stay where they should.” The Goblin’s voice was cold and threatening. “Coppers. Civilians. Blood. All things have their places.” He was at the exit now. “You boys have a nice night.” With that, he vanished out of the warehouse.

  Timmy and Wally stood staring at the door.

  “Did that just ‘appen?” Wally asked. “Did a massive bloody Goblin in a flash suit just walk out of here?”

  Timmy blinked sweat from his eyes.

  “Do you know who that was?”

  “Who?”

  “That was the Goblin from the Gnommish restaurant we went undercover in. That was Ruf’Gar Chaw’Drak.”

  “Bloody ‘ell,” Wally breathed. “Good. I thought I had one of them concussions.”

  “You might,” Timmy said, still staring at the door.

  “Tim?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can we go ‘ome now?”

  “Yeah.”