Chapter 17

Chapter17

My determination to keep things positive propelled me through the taxi ride to the Jolly Hellhound. The cab smoothly navigated the streets while city lights flashed by in a dance of colors that resonated with my newfound optimism.

The buzz of lively conversation greeted me inside the pub. A few people played darts or shot pool, and a drunk couple danced next to their table, but most enjoyed their meals.

Olivier, tucked comfortably in a booth, shot me a friendly wave. It was a simple, yet heartfelt acknowledgment that banished any residual unease at returning here.

We made lighthearted small talk until my drink arrived, and I eagerly took the first sip of deliciously cold cider.

This was so much better than a Bitter Abyss. I sighed deeply in satisfaction.

Olivier chuckled. “That bad of a day, huh?”

“Big-time. But that was then, and this is now.” I clinked my glass to Olivier’s. “L’chaim. Third time’s the charm. Here’s to good company, good conversation, and no disasters.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said.

I smiled.

Then Ezra walked in, saw me with Olivier, and every happy feeling fled.

Of all the dive bars in all the towns, in all the world, he walks into mine?Get a grip, Fleischer. I wasn’t Humphrey Bogart, Ezra wasn’t Ingrid Bergman, and more to the point, I didn’t have—or need—a full bottle of gin to drown my sorrows in. Even if this was a date, which it wasn’t, well, not entirely, it was none of Ezra’s business.

I chugged back half my cider, returning my focus to Olivier.

His dark green sweater was rolled up, showing nicely muscled forearms. He was a great cop and a great guy, not just for his high clearance rate on cases, but because of the promise in his strong shoulders, his shrewd intelligence, and his kind, sunny smile. It took a certain strength of character to keep genuinely smiling and seeing the good in life when the world has shown you some pretty awful stuff.

I darted a sideways glance at my ex ordering a drink at the bar. Ezra was about as sunny as an existential crisis.

“Ready for one of those burgers?” Olivier said.

“They better live up to the hype.”

He made a “yikes” face. “Noted.” He looked around for a server.

A group of boisterous vampires cheered at the arrival of their pitcher of blood. Since it was night and any vamps who’d been Trads in life were now awake, I couldn’t tell if they’d had Eishei Kodesh abilities when alive. Not that it mattered; they all had the same magic now and most of the patrons didn’t look perturbed by their presence.

Olivier caught the eye of a waiter who was using his red flame magic to light tea candles on tables.

The man came over, and Olivier ordered two burgers, checking in with me on how I wanted it grilled and whether I’d have fries or salad.

I stared at him until he nodded.

“Right,” he said. “Dumb question. Fries.”

I didn’t think I’d have any appetite earlier, but after my chat with Sachie, it had come roaring back. My stomach rumbled now in punctuation of that fact, and the server smiled, promising it wouldn’t take long.

I asked Olivier about his last trip to Tofino on the west coast of Vancouver Island for his latest surfing adventure. He was partway through a crazy tale of surfing during one of the storms that Tofino was famous for when I heard my name.

“Small world running into you here,” said the worst disaster of my life. Ezra sauntered to our table with a bemused yet haughty smile. “When we last spoke, I figured you’d be tucked in for the night.”

“I had to work the adrenaline out of my system after a shitty work day.” I fished some of those yummy pretzels out of the small silver bowl on the table. “Ezra Cardoso, Detective Olivier Desmond. The man keeping me out past bedtime.”

Olivier extended a hand. “You didn’t mention you had famous friends, Aviva,” he teased. He leaned into me, an excited look on his face. “You wouldn’t know Astriid by any chance, would you?”

The raspy-voiced vampire singer with one name and two songs currently on the Billboard Top Ten reminded me of Blondie. I was a fan. Olivier had good taste.

I laughed. “Sorry, no.”

“I do.” Ezra hovered at our table like an old pal determined to catch up. “She’s a delight, just like my friend Aviva here.”

The pretzels turned to dust in my mouth. “Ezra and I have known each other for a while. He happened to be in town, and we ran into each other earlier.” Since his employment with the Maccabees was on the down-low, I kept his status as my team member under wraps. “But what a coincidence running into you now,” I said evenly.

Dealing with Michael and the cleanup at Quentin’s would have taken a while, so Ezra hadn’t followed me—that wasn’t his style. Then why was he here? Was he going back into the Copper Hell?

His phone buzzed repeatedly. He glanced at the screen, quickly typing something before feigning a look of regret at Olivier and me. “I’d love to catch up further, but I have plans to meet a friend. Nocturnal adventures of my own. You two enjoy your evening.”

Oh, really? Who was this little rendezvous with? I narrowed my eyes, clocking half the women in the pub, before I caught myself with a snort of disgust.

“Great meeting you, Olivier. Bye.” Ezra, having noticed me looking around, flashed me a smirk and left.

“I guess he was in Prime Playboy mode tonight,” Olivier mused, reaching for the pretzels. “But I can see how he’d terrify anyone he was hunting.”

Not if you were naked, Cherry chimed in silently. She provided a supporting argument of graphic memories in case I’d missed her point.

I finished my cider and signaled for another one.

“There was an interesting development on the gallery theft you asked about,” Olivier said.

Mercifully, the server deposited our burgers and fries, along with my second cider.

I thanked him and popped a fry into my mouth, salivating at the salty crispy pillowy perfection. Then I promptly shoveled in four more.

Olivier swallowed his food, wiped his hand on a napkin, and placed the thin beige file that had been on the seat next to him onto the table. “We got an anonymous tip on where to find all the artifacts. Well, all but one.”

I stilled, my burger halfway to my mouth. Excitement curled through me, mostly for this news, but I’m not going to lie, a fair bit was for the meat in my hand.

Cherry snorted at my phrasing, but I stood by the sentiment.

“Sire’s Spark?” I took my first bite. The burger did not disappoint.

Olivier touched his nose and pointed to me.

I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “You think the upstanding caller still has it or was it gone before they phoned in the anonymous tip?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

“Who stole them from the gallery in the first place? Did you catch that thief?” The burger and fries were both so outstanding that it was a shame to have to choose which to eat next. So I didn’t. I stuffed some fries under the top bun and took a bite. Oh, baby. Creative problem-solving for the win.

“Say now.” Olivier did the same with his fries. “How come I never thought of that?”

“I excel in outside-the-box thinking.”

He slitted his eyes. “Do you?”

I blushed and took another bite, tapping the folder with my free hand.

“I wouldn’t say they caught them exactly.” Olivier added more ketchup to his burger. “We got a partial match on a print on one of the exhibit cases in the gallery.”

“The thief didn’t wear gloves?” I tsked that rookie move.

“We suspect he did, but he couldn’t get this one clasp open with gloves on. To be fair, he wiped it off, but not well enough. We ran it through the system and got a match to a Trad called George Green.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar. Since I’d polished off half my burger, I stuffed fries into the other half. “What was on his rap sheet?”

“There was no B&E on his record, but he did have a previous conviction for carjacking.”

I choked on my fantastic burger. That George Green.

Olivier pressed a glass of water into my hand.

I sucked it back until the coughing fit had passed. “Sorry. Took too big a bite and it went down the wrong way.”

George had been rechristened Jordy, the French variation of his name, by his boss, Rukhsana, after he complained about how boring his name was. It had taken me three donut bribes to learn that.

I drank some more water to cover my confusion. I couldn’t see Jordy freelancing, yet I couldn’t see Rukhsana sending him in to steal the artifacts either. Or masterminding it in the first place. She had her chop shop and her network of spies and was happy with her net worth and her fingers in all the pies.

This had to be the incident she referred to when I found her after the attack. The one that someone mistakenly believed she was mixed up in.

“Is Green in custody?” I said.

“No.” Olivier pulled out another photo but hesitated before handing it over. “You might not want to see this. It’s pretty gruesome and we’re eating.”

I wiped my hands, a pit of dread opening in my gut. I’d seen some peak gruesome today. It couldn’t be worse than Quentin Baker, could it? “Gruesome how?”

“Officers went to Green’s house, but they were too late. He’d been murdered.”

I snatched the photo away from him.

Rukhsana had assured me that her guys were safe. Had she lied, did she not know, or had this murder occurred after I’d seen her? She loved her crew, and Jordy was a particular favorite. Of everyone’s.

I tried to see any trace of the donut-loving, good-natured man with the ZZ Top beard in this face with lifeless eyes and the blood pooled behind his head from his bashed-in skull. But I couldn’t.

Mainly because it wasn’t him. This man was clean-shaven, and Jordy didn’t have earrings. If he did get piercings, it’d be round ear plugs, not small gold hoops.

Did I have an obligation to the Trad police to report this mistaken identity? To Olivier? To this victim? To Rukhsana, my informant who was clearly up to her eyeballs in something shady—like homicide?

Jordy was a sweet if misguided young man. I didn’t like that he’d been fake murdered, or that there was a body count connected to the theft of Sire’s Spark. I had to untangle this.

“Explain something to me, Aviva.”

I jerked my head up. “Sure.”

“Why are you looking at the photo with relief?” Olivier dropped his napkin next to his half-eaten food. “Because I can only think of two reasons. Either George knew something about you that died with him, which doesn’t look good for you, or that’s not who we think it is. Which is it?”

As a lifelong surfer (they had them in Nova Scotia, go figure) there was a fluid elegance to Olivier’s movements like the smooth curl of a wave. Being around him usually gave me the same easy happiness as bobbing in the ocean on a beautiful summer’s day.

Facing him now, though, was like being caught in the whip of a stormy sea, all dangerous swells and an undertow you didn’t see coming until it was too late.

I crossed my arms. “That sounds suspiciously like the start of an interrogation, Olivier. Care to modify your tone?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Take your time.” I riffled through the report in the file. He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t apologize either. I had no idea whether the address was actually Jordy’s, but unlike the Trad cops who didn’t mention Rukhsana Gill anywhere in this file, I had someone to interrogate. “Thoughts on who has Sire’s Spark?”

“No.” It was hard to read whether he really didn’t have an answer or just didn’t want to share. He plucked the file away and placed it on the bench next to him.

That was a dismissal if I ever saw one. I grabbed my jacket and purse. “Thanks for all this. Dinner tonight is on me. If I’m free to go, of course.”

“I wouldn’t advise leaving the city, but sure. Knock yourself out.”

“See you around, Olivier.”

“Count on it.” He turned back to his meal, dismissing me.

Sighing, I headed to the bar to pay the bill. Excellent burger, too bad about the guy. No, that wasn’t fair either. Olivier was doing his job. Still, it was disappointing that we’d crashed and burned before we ever had a chance to get started.

Speaking of crashing and burning, there was no sign of Ezra, but I’d had eyes on the door. He hadn’t left.

Hopefully he was in the back portal room, because getting Rukhsana to spill about her involvement in this was going to take more than cold hard cash. I was going to pimp my ex out to charm Rukhsana for information, and I had zero qualms about doing so. Spruce up, pretty baby, because mama has a job for you.

I did a circuit of the bar to make sure I hadn’t missed him in some quiet corner, but Ezra was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t in the back room, and I doubted he’d gone out a staff entrance, which meant he’d gone into the Copper Hell. On Darsh’s orders? Was Darsh in trouble and that’s why Ezra had gotten a text?

I fired off messages to both of them, but by the time my Uber had arrived, I hadn’t heard back. I wasn’t going to Rukhsana without Ezra, so I phoned her, leaving a message when it went straight to voice mail.

“It’s Fleischer. I got the tragic news of Jordy’s death and I’d like to pay my condolences in person.” I dropped the faux sympathy from my voice. “It’s not optional. Call me back.”