Chapter 14

Chapter14

Sachie almost sideswiped two cyclists and a moving van in the short drive to Rukhsana’s base of operations in Strathcona, Vancouver’s oldest neighborhood, where she worked out of the back of a former brothel.

I exited the car on a thrum of adrenaline, tempted to crack the expensive bottle of Glenfiddich single malt whiskey to calm my nerves after the breakneck pace of the drive. I’d picked up the liquor in addition to my usual offering of donuts for the guys in Rukhsana’s chop shop.

The corrugated loading bay door accessed by the alley was raised slightly, yet no one guarded it, which was strange.

Sachie and I had a whispered exchange. She’d check the chop shop while I’d take the stairs to Rukhsana’s office. We ducked under the door to find the usually orderly illegal business trashed.

Stacks of tires were scattered around the floor, their rubber slashed, while metal shelving units were toppled—the car parts usually stacked in their cubbies not only flung across the concrete but bashed against the walls. The pieces lay battered next to black marks on the white paint. This wasn’t a random burglary; the desecration was vengeful.

We didn’t see any employees, but Sachie leapt a torched motorcycle carcass to check the closest car for employees while I took the stairs two at a time, brandishing the Glenfiddich bottle, my messenger bag thumping against my hips.

I burst into Rukhsana’s office, but at first glance, nothing was amiss. Her leopard-print wingback chairs and settee were intact, the chandelier shone with twinkly good cheer, and her laptop sat untouched on her desk.

The woman herself, however, was an entirely different story.

Slumped against a love seat, Rukhsana looked like she’d come out of a sandstorm, exhausted, battered, and utterly spent all but for a glimmer of that feral rebellious grit that had gotten her this far.

I placed the bottle and donut bag on the ground and moved to help her, but she grunted and pulled away. I winced at the blood pouring down over her shaved head, despite the bunched cloth she held to her brown skin. “Who did this to you?”

“Bah. It is nothing. Someone believed I meddled where I did not. I’ll handle it.” Her melodic French-accented voice was wavery. The woman’s skull was tattooed with a coiled snake, she had multiple piercings, had never met a car she couldn’t hotwire, and was plugged into social circles at every level in Vancouver. All this at twenty-six.

Rukhsana Gill didn’t do wavery.

I pulled out my phone to call an ambulance, but she grabbed my arm.

Her head shake made her sway slightly. “Non. It looks worse than it is.”

“You might have a concussion.”

Sachie’s footsteps clattered up the stairs.

I relaxed at her easy gait. She’d have run if there was a problem. I glanced at Rukhsana. A worse problem. “You must have a healer who won’t ask questions. Let me phone them.”

“She’s on her way.”

Sachie poked her head into the office. “Clear.”

“Where’s your crew?” I said. It was only mid-afternoon, but Rukhsana was never without protection.

“Unharmed and elsewhere.” Her reticence was frustrating, but at least her staff was safe. Though the fact she’d sent the guys away was baffling. She hadn’t met with someone one-on-one because she trusted them; the woman didn’t trust anyone outside her inner circle. So who did she think she could handle on her own?

Sachie nodded at Rukhsana. “You need to lie down with your head and shoulders elevated.”

Rukhsana allowed us to help her into that position though she refused to discuss what had happened. She was too busy berating me for bringing another Maccabee to her establishment, especially when I could have brought the Prime Playboy back for a follow-up visit. If I could have exposed Ezra’s status as an operative, I would have, just to see the look on her face.

“I’ll bring him when you’re in a better condition to drool over him,” I said. Or better yet, I’d hand over his number and she could text him directly, sparing me the flirtatious exchange.

She blinked up at me, her gaze still foggy. “Why are you here, chère? You brought donuts and top-shelf liquor. Out with it.”

“Did you ever cross paths with Simone La Clerc back in Lyon?”

Rukhsana readjusted the towel she used to apply pressure. “That old goat? Who’d she fleece now?”

“The Copper Hell,” Sachie said. She perched on a spindly chair with gold legs, shifting her weight every few seconds like she was ready to jump when it inevitably buckled under her. The seat had not been her choice; she’d been directed to sit there and not touch anything by Rukhsana.

“Their buffet is magnifique.”

“I didn’t get a chance to try it,” I said.

She slitted her eyes at me. “They let you in? How disappointing. As are your investigation abilities. You’re about eight years too late with your information. Simone was banned years ago.”

The sum total of my surprise that Rukhsana had visited the Copper Hell? Zero. I’d never managed to unearth what type of magic she possessed, but this confirmed she was Eishei Kodesh.

“Did La Clerc have any hard feelings over it?” I said.

“Bien sûr. She got over it pretty quickly, though, and capitalized on her notoriety by running high-stakes poker games for Trads.” Rukhsana shrugged. “Smart, since it was as close as any of them would get to the Copper Hell themselves. She did it for years, made a fortune.” She tucked one of the velvet pillows beneath her shoulders. “I heard she married some count and went straight, but who knows?”

I raised my eyebrows at Sachie, and she shook her head. I agreed. This didn’t sound like our perp. Three suspects whittled down to two.

“Can you tell us anything about José Ferreira or Quentin Baker?” Sachie said.

“Information on three people?” Rukhsana pressed a fingertip to her gash and winced. “You take advantage of me when I am weak. This will cost you more than a bottle of booze and some pastry.”

Those were goodwill gifts to keep her crew happy so they’d give me continued access to her. I compensated Rukhsana financially for intel, via a wire transfer to a shell company. It wasn’t much—Maccabees didn’t officially pay bribes and it came out of my pocket, but she was worth the cost. I nodded. “Deal.”

“I’ve never heard of Ferreira.” She traced her fingertip over the top of a scar poking out of the collar of her blouse. “Baker hasn’t been seen for a few months. Not here and not in Ottawa. If you find him, send him my way. We’ll call it even for this visit.” Her voice was casual; her expression was not.

“You had previous dealings with him. Did he trash your place today?” Sachie said, echoing the direction of my thoughts.

Rukhsana snorted. “That’s far too obvious for him. He’s merely unfinished business.”

I recognized the edge in her voice; it was the same one I had for a long time when Ezra was brought up. The lobbyist had charmed more than Canadian politicians.

I glanced at Rukhsana’s collarbone. At least my scars were on the inside.

“I have no clue of his whereabouts,” I said, careful to keep any sympathy out of my voice, “but if I find him, I’ll be keeping him.”

She pouted at me. “Cardoso, Baker, you get to have all the fun.”

“Rukhsana?” A petite blonde with bead bracelets halfway up her arm poked her head into the room.

“That’s our cue.” Sachie stood up.

The healer sat down next to her patient.

I slung my bag across my torso, and gestured at Rukhsana’s wound. “If you ever want my help with this, I’m here.”

“I won’t,” she said automatically.

I rattled the donut bag that was now on her desk. “Tell Jordy they didn’t have cinnamon old-fashioned, so I got him apple fritters.”

“I will.” She waved a hand at me. “À bientôt.”

Sachie and I were halfway down the stairs when a soft “Merci, Aviva” floated down.

My partner and I returned to her car in silence, but the second we were inside, Sachie texted Darsh that Baker was now our prime suspect. She dropped a pin in Baker’s address in case they came back from Babel early and wanted to join us, but we didn’t expect that to happen.

We weren’t worried that Darsh didn’t reply to her text. He and Ezra were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Then again, they weren’t tracking down the junior league of the criminal set. While not everyone who frequented the Copper Hell was automatically a criminal, they did have a certain status and cunning, and anyone on Calista’s shit list was immoral and ruthless.

I’d received my own text. It was from Dr. Malika Ayad, my friend and the Maccabee coroner, asking me if I’d heard Mason was taking medical leave until his retirement. I swore and showed Sachie the message. “If Baker is complicit, then I’m going to nail him. Mason deserved to go out on a high after his career, not a whimper.”

“Totally.” She started the engine.

Baker’s house was roughly forty minutes away in normal people drive time—more if there was an accident on the bridge to West Vancouver—but if we wrapped this up quickly, I’d make my date with Olivier.

Getting any information that he had on Sire’s Spark would be good, but more than that, I was looking forward to spending time with him. He was a genuinely nice guy. He wasn’t a pushover, and being a cop, he’d seen his share of dark shit, so he wasn’t naïve either. He was chill and solid and managed to keep an optimistic outlook on humanity that I found refreshing. Plus, he was incredibly sexy. There was every reason to look forward to this date and no reason to feel guilty for wanting to go out and enjoy myself with him.

I repeated that sentiment a few times.

Sachie noticed I was distracted and let me pick the music. She claimed it was so I didn’t remain a stressed-out bunny, but given we did the ride in a vertigo-inducing nineteen minutes, the playlist of hard rocking 1970s female singers also helped her drive faster.

Baker’s West Vancouver residential neighborhood was comprised of multimillion-dollar homes, where people were either admitted onto the individual gated properties or they drove on. Sach’s car would stick out like a sore thumb.

There wasn’t a commercial district within walking distance where we could unobtrusively park, so we pulled into the mostly empty lot at a primary school.

I staggered out of the car.

“Looking a little green there, Avi.” Sachie opened her trunk.

I shot her the finger, too busy gulping deep breaths of fresh air to verbally reply.

“You have no one to blame but yourself.” She stashed a couple of knives and a thin stake on her person. “If you hadn’t hounded me to play endless rounds of Mario Kart in grade six, I would never have discovered my talent for racing.”

“Sure, blame the victim.” I pocketed a lighter that was doctored to shoot flames but frowned at the small tool with a bulbed handle and steel spike that Sachie held out. “An ice pick?”

“An awl. It’s a woodworking tool.”

I stuffed it up my sleeve. “Your ability to find new stabby things is…”

“Inspiring? Impressive?”

I kicked off my pumps, tossed them in the trunk, and pulled out a pair of slip-on runners. “Terrifying.”

Sachie patted my head. At five-eight to my five-five, this was annoyingly easy for her. “Remember that the next time you pilfer my stash of ketchup chips.” She gave a wicked cackle, slammed her trunk, and headed for the street.

I hopped into my sneakers and hurried after her.

Our five-minute walk took us along quiet streets nestled in among huge trees. Most of the time we couldn’t see the properties—sorry, estates—for how wooded this neighborhood was. It was like being in the country; even the hum of nearby highway traffic was muted.

Baker’s address was stamped on the metal gate in a narrow driveway. Trees pressed in from both sides. On the left stood an unclimbable fir, but the one on our right was perfect.

Sachie shook a branch, discharging a gentle flurry of red and yellow leaves. “Conveniently sturdy.” She spun in a circle, assessing the other driveways on the street. “Most people have trimmed the lower branches along the perimeter of their property, but these haven’t been touched in a while.”

“Rukhsana did say he hadn’t been heard from in a few months.”

“True.” Sachie pressed the intercom a few times, but no one answered. She did one last check to ensure nobody was around, then used the branches to scramble over the fence, dropping stealthily to the ground inside Baker’s property.

Here’s to answers, I thought, and followed her.