The Nakamura File IV
Dungeons & Drag-Nets
“Probably just punk kids?” Banks was wound up tight.
“It was a little more sophisticated than that.” I agreed.
Can’t say that I ever got jealous of kids just for being young. I earned my aches and shitty knees and bad habits. If I didn’t want ‘em, I’d fix ‘em. What I miss, what I envy, is feeling right. Of feeling righteous. That’s an edge nobody can put back on.
New shirt, new drawers, new day. Tricks of the trade, like shit, shower, shave.
“What do you think, Shard?” Banks hadn’t learned the tricks yet.
I think the kid hadn’t slept.
“Back to square one?” She was fired up.
Might as well be, I thought. The footprint hadn’t changed, no clear leads. They weren’t gonna fall into our lap again. “Time to trawl.” I said, leading her towards the stairwell. “Nils in today?”
Triple City’s combined databases weren’t supposed to belong to any one department. On paper, they didn’t. Of course, sometimes, irresponsible people keep their login credentials on paper, too. Finders keepers.
Nils didn’t like it when we called it the Dungeon, that’s why the name stuck. Few basements are ever just basements, but you’d be hard-pressed to find another modern equivalent. It ticked all the boxes. Underground? Check. Dark and dank? Double check. Full of ancient garbage that nobody ought to ever remember or see again? Absolutely. If I was meaner and less honest, I’d say that our guy got tallied in with the rest of it. Lucky for Rose, he wasn’t. For the record, neither am I.
Little square adhesive notes covered the door in patches, a scatter-plot of requests by height. Hart’s chicken scratch made up a whole band, just below the knob.
“Weasel.” Sometimes the inside words make their way outside.
Beside the door, the stamped resin placard read:
Arcane & Digital Forensics.
Nils Bloodfist-Goretusk
I knocked. No answer.
“Should we call him?” She was already sliding through her contacts list.
“Nah.” I tried the knob. “Hate to be a bother.”
Mercy be, it was unlocked. He wasn’t in.
Orcs get a bad rap for revelling in discomfort. That’s a load of crap. Nicest thing in the office was this huge, green chair behind the desk. Still comfy, even with my feet dangling from daddy’s seat.
“Keep an eye out, alright?” I whispered over my shoulder and flipping over the keyboard.
I’d have laughed if we weren’t in such a hurry.
N.Bloodfist-Goretusk@TCPD.gov
5weetR0se#5weetR0se$5weetR0se%
“What the blazes are you doing?”
At least she stayed in the doorway.
“Shh.” I tapped in the password. “Looking for his stash of Nudies.”
“Shard!” She was hissing again.
“Nils’ got better access to Municipal databases, and a few others. Hospital records, Deeds, Criminal Networks.” None of it should have been in one place, but hey, those terrorists weren’t gonna catch themselves.
Banks was over my shoulder, now. “Thats…”
“Illegal.” The bass in his voice made my teeth shake. He’s got a way of sucking the color out of a room when he does that.
“Ahh, there he is!” I swung around, feet still dangling from the chair. “Nils, you know our Rookie, Banks.”
He ducked into the office and laid a glance on Banks. “Ma’am.” tumbled out like rocks falling.
She peeped like a baby bird or something squeaked shut. So much for my lookout.
“You’re in my seat, Braegar.”
“It’s a nice seat. Little big for me, might check out mama bear’s.” He didn’t budge. “How you been? How’s Rose?”
“What are you doing?”
Banks found her big girl voice. “We’re looking for a Necro.”
“Use the door.” He said, stabbing a thick finger towards the stuck-on carpet of notes. “Respect the process.”
“I do respect the process.” Mostly.
“Ogreshit.” He practically spat the word out from between his tusks.
“But this is very urgent.”
He might have had more appreciation for the argument if we hadn’t done it before.
“Please.” the Rookie slipped around him, “We think this has the makings of another Nakamura, and I’m really worried.”
You ever seen an Orc blush?
“Get out of my seat, Shard.”
He dropped into the chair and made with the clicking. Cross-checking the silver thief’s known associates, local medical cases and a radius around the precinct gave us a result. “Taryn Howe, 216 West Orchard Ave. Got picked up for unlicensed Arcana a few years back. I can see recurring treatment at Scalebane Memorial, no details though. Pretty consistent with Linger treatments.”
“That was …quick.” She was learning.
“Who needs wizards when we’ve got you?”
Hard to tell if he appreciates compliments. “That it?”
“Do you have anything else under that name?”
Clickity clack.
“Another property. Looks like a shophouse in Lower Westmarket. Some sort of sweets shop.”
“That’ll be him.” I would have danced, but I was already halfway out the door. He’d remember to be pissed before long. “Thanks, pal!”
There was a growl in my direction, but a gravelly “You’re very welcome, Miss Banks.” for the rookie. That’s Rose’s problem, not mine.
She called it in.
“Shard, you wrote down that address, right?”
“Oh come on.” I had my foot down, with three patrols cars following.
“Shit.” She hadn’t. “West, uh…”
“Orchard. Tsk. Unbelievable.” To be fair, I didn’t write it down, either. Too worried about grab and git.
“Got it, I got it.” Kid shoulda slept. “Two-two-six West Orchard.”
Wrong house.
The folks there checked out. Older couple, real sweet. Never heard of any Taryn Howe, or candy shops or nothin’.
“Hart’s gonna take the hair off your ass.” At least the sergeant was having fun with it.
“For what we were looking for?” I shrugged, “Worth it.”
He was munching on a handful of cookies the old lady gave us, bless her. “Your rookie said you went and dropped in on Chang.”
Scanned for the kid. She was on the phone, pacing. Figured I’d address that later.
“We did.”
He put on a real serious face. “Shame about his wife.”
“Miriam?” Here I am, wondering what could have possibly happened in the last few hours, and ask.
“Yeah. She died?” He says this like I knew. “Early last year.”
Somehow, the only thing I could only see were the crumbs in his moustache while I tried to wind the words around whatever gear they slipped in my head.
“You were partners, right?” He asked, stuffing another cookie into his gob. “How’d you not know that?”
“Shard.” Rookie had a bad look and the phone to her ear. “It’s Hart.”
Captain was pissed.
“Yes sir, Captain Hart.” I said. “No sir, Captain Hart.” I said. “The blazes you mean, there’s no file?”
Poor kid had to watch from the sidelines, wading through small-talk with the beat cops.
“Ain’t no file on a Taryn Howe.” Hart rattled static out from the phone. Big voice for his size. “Not at that candy shop, not at 216 West Orchard.”
I double checked the door. The plaque read 226. “Two sixteen?”
“Nils said Two sixteen. Two-one-six.” He ground out each number. I could practically hear his teeth snapping.
“Rook!” I yelled “Two Sixteen!”
She wheeled around, still dazed.
Five doors down, somebody ducked off the stoop and ran.
The Nakamura File is something fun I’ve put together mixing a gentle affinity for the ‘buddy cop’ and ‘noir’ genres in a modern high fantasy setting. Maybe something along the lines of Bright and Lethal Weapon.
It’s very important to eat right, exercise, and get a good night’s sleep.