The Omelet Affair
an FTPD: Homicide Story
by Lewayne L. White
part 1 of 2
Dagan and I sat at the bar in The Gingerbread House, watching the crowd and listening to the Bremen Town Blues Band rip through their set. Smoked drifted through the place, and some of it smelled a bit “herbal” for plain old cigarettes. But, Dagan and I usually work homicide, not vice.
Besides, we had the night off.
So, Purple Zombies in hand, we listened to a large farm animal wailing out blues like Etta James.
“You know, Ace,” Dagan said. “No matter how long I’ve been in Fairy Tale Land, I still can’t get used to animals that walk upright and talk.”
I nodded toward a pig on a barstool lighting a cigarette for a nearly naked pixie. “It’s not just the walking and talking that seems weird.”
“You know what’s even weirder? You wearing a skirt.”
Already self-conscious, I punched him in the shoulder.
“Shut up. I just figured that since you’re trying to impress this fairy chick, it wouldn’t do for your partner to wear wrinkled jeans and a T-shirt.”
He smiled. “Right. It has nothing to do with a certain retired baseball player.”
“I certainly hope so,” answered a voice behind me.
I spun around on the barstool. “Casey!”
Casey smiled through his luxuriant moustache, said “Hey, Ace,” and kissed my cheek. He nodded to Dagan, who nodded back.
Dagan grinned at me, then said, “How’s Mighty Casey this evening?”
“Embarrassed every time you say that,” I replied.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Casey said. “After all, you-”
I raised a finger. “Don’t. Not a word. No baseball metaphors, no comments about Louisville Sluggers, and definitely nothing about cups.”
Casey faked a pout, then looked toward Dagan. “She always like that?”
Dagan raised his hands. “I just work with her.”
“That’s good,” said a dainty voice behind Dagan.
His turn to be caught off-guard.
“Liv,” Dagan blurted. “Glad you could make it.”
The tiny sprite walked around Dagan, extended a hand to me, and said, “Olivia Hillendale. You must be Detective Lilly.”
We stood roughly equal in height and stature, but she somehow seemed tiny and delicate. I was almost afraid to take her hand and risk breaking her.
“Aislyn,” I replied. “You can call me Ace.”
She wrinkled a perky little nose, and said, “You can call me Liv.”
Then turning to Casey, she said, “You must be Casey.”
Casey tipped his Mudville cap.
“You still working for Big Bad Wolf?” Olivia added.
“Something like that.”
I felt a brief burst of anger jump between them. I glanced at Dagan and knew he’d caught it, too.
When I say I “felt a brief burst,” I’m not speaking figuratively.
Both Dagan and I wear FTPD badges which provide us with a handful of minor magical spells, including telepathy and empathy. Handy things to have when you’re humans in a world of magical creatures.
Off duty or not, we both wore the badges on chains around our necks. We also carried our sidearms, though Dagan could conceal his easier than I could. Stupid skirt.
Dagan said, “Liv’s with the Child Services Sprites.”
“So I’m familiar with some of Wolf’s work,” Olivia added.
Her pointed little ears started to redden which I understood to be a sign of anger among sprites.
“Well,” I said, before Casey could reply. “Now that we’ve all met, how about a drink before we head out for dinner?”
Casey shrugged. “Sure.”
He nodded to the bartender. “Got any Tidal Pool?”
The bartender, a catfish wearing a battered fedora, nodded. A split second later, mineral water in the trademark blue bottle slid to a stop in front of Casey.
Dagan asked, “How, about you, Liv?”
Liv shrugged. “Moon Glow, no ice.”
The catfish poured from a couple bottles, then handed Liv a glass that glowed a pale blue.
I watched the bartender closely, but I still couldn’t figure out how he did all that with only fins to work with. For that matter, I wasn’t sure how he could stand upright on his tail and breathe out of water.
Dagan looked over to me. “Just forget it. It’s Fairy Tale Land.”
I decided to follow his advice, and went back to watching the band. By the time they’d finished their set, we’d finished our drinks.
“Well,” Dagan said. “Dinner?”
We all agreed and headed out the door.
Cooperative weather encouraged a leisurely stroll to the Jabber Wok, so we headed up the street.
One of many odd things about Fairy Tale Land is the landscape. One block you’re walking past brick and neon familiar to any urban dweller. Then you cross the street, which could be made of asphalt, gravel, or cobblestone. Next block might be a forest that extends for several blocks, or it might be rocky terrain suitable for billy goats.
We actually passed three blocks of city before hitting our first evergreens.
As we reached the tree line, a wolf howled from the interior.
“Your boss paging you?” Liv asked Casey.
He ignored her, and said “Hey, Ace, how’d that thing with the egg come out?”
“Humpty Dumpty?”
He nodded.
“Ruled a suicide. His company did accounting for Eggron and got busted cooking the books. They’ve also been implicated in the whole retirement fund business. Hen Laid, the CEO, used Dumpty’s rigged books to reinforce the notion that Eggron was infinitely more successful than it was. So, Laid kept encouraging the employees to load up on company stock.”
“While the CEO and the board were dumping theirs,” Casey finished.
I nodded. “Dumpty left a note that said, “They broke me in every possible way but this one.” He signed it, called his wife, and told her he was sorry, then rang off, and jumped. We got several witnesses.”
“I thought there was suspicion of foul play,” Liv said.
“We couldn’t find anything,” Dagan replied. “I mean, the company may as well have stuck a gun to his head, but...”
“You can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs,” Casey said.
Liv reddened. “What an insensitive-”
“It’s a quote from the CEO, Hen Laid,” I said. “The only thing he’s said about the entire scandal other than ‘No comment’.”
“I’m sure this will make Liv even angrier,” Casey began. “But, why can’t you guys do more about rotten eggs like Laid? I mean, you focus on guys like Big Bad Wolf and Puss In Boots, but at least Wolf provides a service to the community.”
Liv erupted. “A service to the community! He deals in succubi, pixie dust-”
“That grown adults choose to indulge in,” Casey said. “At least the succubi clients want to get scr-”
“Maybe we ought to change the subject,” Dagan said.
“No,” Casey said. “We may as well get this out in the open before we get to the restaurant. At least here by the forest, not so many people will hear the screaming.”
“I can’t believe you can defend someone like Big Bad Wolf,” Liv yelled. “Are you blind? You just ignore the pain caused by-”
Casey held up his mangled right hand. “I don’t want to get into ‘pain’ with you. You’re immortal and, with rare exception, invulnerable. I wasn’t.”
Before Liv could interrupt, Casey added, “I know what can happen with pixie dust or any of the other stuff you’re angry about. But, no one put a gun to my head. I made my decisions and I accepted the consequences.”
“There are people who suffer consequences without the luxury of decisions,” Liv snapped. “You know how many children I’ve had to save from addicted parents?”
Casey’s face reddened. He was still angry with the Child Services Sprites for passing his nephew off to foster care rather than to him.
“And how many of those parents were addicted to legal product? How many guys kicked around their kids after popping by a bar and having one Moon Glow too ma-”
The sound of several rapid gunshots interrupted Casey.
Birds flew from the trees, and all four of us hit the ground.
I wrestled to get my pistol out,
Stupid, stupid skirt
while Dagan extracted his pistol with one hand and his phone with the other.
As he dialed, we all scooted for cover behind some nearby rocks.
“Central, Detective Michael. We have shots fired in the woods near Fifth and Drury Lane. Request backup.”
He looked at me, and I nodded.
“Alert officers that Detectives Michael and Lilly are at the scene in off-duty clothes. We don’t want to be victims of friendly fire. Also, one male human, one female sprite on scene. They are unarmed, innocent bystanders.”
Central dispatch acknowledged, assured us that we wouldn’t get shot at, and that our dates would be escorted safely away.
“Okay,” I said. “Dagan and I are going in. You two wait for backup. They’ll get you out of here.”
Before either Casey or Liv could argue, Dagan and I rolled over the rocks that provided our cover and disappeared into the tree line.
Maintaining a link via our badges, we moved carefully through the trees, searching for the source of the shots. The woods darkened as we advanced, and I thought we might have to go back out to find flashlights.
Then I reached a clearing and saw the body.
To maintain silent contact, I sent a mind burst and concentrated on my location.
I got the DB.
A moment later, Dagan appeared and whispered, “Whatta we got?”
We both stood at the edge of the clearing to avoid contaminating the scene. He kept an eye out for the shooter while I eyeballed the site.
“Looks like a chick, multiple gunshots wounds. Age uncertain. No signs of life.”
Sirens announced the arrival of our backup.
As we heard cops moving through the woods, Dagan called dispatch to request Crime Scene Witches and an ambulance.
The next hour was a flurry of activity as a flood of cops washed through woods looking for a shooter while trying not to trample evidence.
Meanwhile, Dagan and I examined the scene.
We had a dead bird, identified as Chicken Little.
Organized Crime called with a notice of CI status.
“She’s a confidential informant,” Dagan announced. “We’re probably looking at a hit.”
I kicked at the ground, scuffing my one pair of dressy heels. “Great. Now our suspects are only limited to a few dozen crime families and their minions.”
Dagan sighed. “It gets better. The bullets are standard low-ball double deuce. Nothing magic, nothing weird.”
“Nothing to tie this to any other particular hit,” I said. “We got a next of kin?”
Dagan nodded.
I kicked the ground again. A glint of metal caught the moonlight.
Dagan’s eyes widened. “Is that-”
I reached down with a gloved hand and lifted a shell casing. “Plain Jane twenty-two.”
I dropped the shell into a plastic evidence bag, then motioned for one of the CSW’s.
A grumpy looking warlock wandered over. “What?”
“Got a baggie for you to process.”
“Just drop it in your pocket.”
I spun around, showing off my skirt and blouse. “Look like I’m wearing my work clothes? I can find a pocket to drop it in, but it won’t teleport to the lab.”
The warlock sighed, had me sign a chain of evidence sheet, and walked away.
I sighed. “Ready to notify next of kin?”
Dagan nodded, and we threw. I got rock. He got paper.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “You’re better at that sensitive stuff.”
Dagan shrugged. “Let’s go see Mrs. Little.”
We got a lift back to the Gingerbread House and picked up my car to make the trip.
Chicken Little lived with her mom in a small ranch on the East side of the city. Traffic was light that time of night, and we made it in no time.
I’d sort of hoped it would take a while.
The house had a fenced-in yard with no grass. A few seeds scattered around suggested a limited attempt to grow a lawn.
As we approached, Dagan whispered, “Nice place.”
Maybe thirty years ago.
Like most of the houses on the block, the Little house looked worn out. New paint and some actual curtains instead of blankets might have helped. But, even with major renovation, this place wasn’t going to be featured in any decorating magazine.
Before we reached the sagging stoop, the door opened and a ragged looking old hen wailed, “Chickie, is that you?”
“No, ma’am,” I said, trying on a soothing voice. It didn’t fit.
“Who you two?”
Our badges already hung in plain sight, but I lifted mine further into the yellowing glow of the porch light.
“I’m Detective Lilly. This is Detective Michael.”
Dagan nodded, and tipped an imaginary hat.
“Oh, cluck,” rasped the hen. “It’s Chickie, isn’t it? What happened to my Chickie?”
“Are you Chicken Little’s mother.”
“Cluck, yes. What happened? Where’s my Chickie?”
Before I could choke out my feeble explanation, Dagan said, “Mrs. Little, we responded to gunshots near Drury Lane. When we went into the woods to investigate, we found her.”
Mrs. Little made several unintelligible clucking noises then started to faint.
We caught her, and lowered her to a sitting position.
“My baby! My baby! My precious little Chickie.”
“I know this is hard for you, ma’am,” Dagan said. “But, we need you to confirm the identification. We also need to talk to you about your daughter. Can you come with us?”
The hen just bobbed her head several times, while wailing and clucking. We decided that constituted an affirmative, and escorted her to the morgue.
Mrs. Little looked through the magic mirror, confirmed identification and began crying again.
We got her some coffee and a packet of sunflower seeds, and settled her enough to talk.
“It was those rotten eggs at the company,” Mrs. Little snapped.
I said, “Which eggs? Which company?”
“Eggron. It was Laid, or whichever one of them she was involved with.”
“Hen Laid?”
Mrs. Little said, “One of them did it.”
“Why?”
“She must’ve heard something. I bet there was pillow talk. Chickie must have learned something and was going to go public.”
Dagan looked at me, then at Mrs. Little. “Any idea what?”
The hen shrugged. “Maybe something about that egg that jumped. Dumpty.”
“What about Dumpty?” I asked.
Mrs. Little shrugged again. “I heard her on the phone telling somebody, “Don’t do it. It’s what they want.” Maybe that’s what it was?”
“But, you don’t know for sure?” Dagan asked.
Mrs. Little agreed that she didn’t, then told us great heaping piles deal of other unsubstantiated stuff.
I got a nod from one of the Intelligence dwarves, so I excused myself.
“Whatcha got?”
A cold apparently. He sneezed twice before answering, “Bad newds. We scrabbed Chicken Liddle’s CI status.”
“Why?”
He sneezed a few more times, then said. “Unreliable. She’d come to us wid all kinds of wild stories. Drug deals, contract killers. Crazy stuff that nebber panned out.”
The dwarf sneezed again, honked into a handkerchief and continued. “We cut her loose when she came in a while back yelling, “The sky is falling. The sky is falling.” Turns out an acorn fell on her head.”
“That would have tipped me off that she was a nut.”
After a sneeze, the dwarf nodded. “She also kept going on about ‘all their eggs in one basket’, and ‘we’re gonna get laid’. Crazy stuff.”
He sneezed, then honked into the handkerchief again.
“Laid? Like Hen Laid?”
The dwarf shrugged.
“When did she come in with that bit about the basket and eggs?”
Copyright © 2006 by Lewayne L. White
