Even if that thing was a class-five demon that ate hearts and souls.
After being reamed out for letting the NYPD get the jump on them in discovering a new supernatural drug on the streets, SPI’s narcotics team was left scrambling to get information for our Dragon Lady and get themselves out of the doghouse.
Ian and I had sources of our own that were more well-rounded in their knowledge gathering. If they could make a living selling or trading information about one segment of New York’s criminal society, they figured that they could bring in even more if they broadened their base. Snitches, like investments, were more profitable when they diversified.
Ord Larcwyde had a financial goal and a life goal. Make enough money to retire well. Live long enough to enjoy both.
He was an entrepreneur and a veritable information clearinghouse.
And out of all of SPI’s agents, he would only talk to me.
While I’d like to be able to say it was due to my street savvy, I knew it was my accent.
Twenty years ago, Ord had transplanted from Atlanta. Business was too good in New York to ever consider going back home, but talking to me helped ease his homesickness for all things Southern.
Ian was a barbaric Yankee who he tolerated only on my account.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a wee smidgen of pride at being able to be one up on Ian, even if it was only with a single snitch. My partner was nearly legendary in the agency, so I took what I could get.
Ord Larcwyde did business out of a small organic greengrocer one block south of the Meatpacking District on Horatio Street in the West Village. He had many information-related businesses, but only one interested me today. If you were on an extremely selective pre-approved list, you came in, bought a hundred dollar lottery ticket, and you got to talk to Ord. How long he’d chat with you depended on the questions you were asking—and how much he enjoyed your company.
Profits from sales of New York’s lottery tickets went to the public schools.
Ord Larcwyde was very civic-minded.
Plus, you might actually win. So there was something for everyone.
Because I was Southern and he liked me, I got to talk to Ord for free. But today I laid a twenty on the counter to let Ord know I was thinking of the children, and that this wasn’t just a social call. Plus, it was good manners.
While the elven store owner was letting Ord know we were there, I scratched off the numbers.
To win back the money I’d just spent wasn’t my objective, though it would’ve been nice. My reward would be information on Brimstone, the murder motive, the identities of the killers, or I’d love the jackpot of getting all three.
Dang. The tickets were losers.
Hopefully Ord would be the source of my payout.
* * *
Ord Larcwyde kind of reminded me of Colonel Sanders. That is if the Colonel was a three-foot-tall gnome who wore a blue velour tracksuit and gold chains instead of a white suit and black string tie.
Ord stood, came around his desk, and treated my hand to a most-proficient kiss. Ian was on the receiving end of a terse nod.
“Makenna, you are a sight for sore eyes. Please, sit and make yourself comfortable.”
Ord had two chairs in his office: one for him and one for a guest.
Ian the Barbaric Yankee leaned against the open door.
Ord would close it for truly private conversations, but he knew I didn’t like being closed inside what was essentially a vault.
The back room was spacious as far as Manhattan grocery stores went, but Ord’s reason for choosing this particular location for his office was an oversized fixture left behind by the previous grocer tenant.
An old walk-in freezer. It was the Fort Knox of offices.
The present store owner had a newer model that he used, and the old one was too big and expensive to move. Ord offered to make it worth his while to keep it. It was big for a freezer, but small for an office. Ord was a gnome; he didn’t need space, just security. It didn’t get more secure than what was essentially a big steel box. Ord got his office. The grocery store owner got rent to compensate for the storage space he lost by having the thing in his back room, as well as additional store and lottery customers from those, like us, who came in to meet with Ord.
Once again, everyone was a winner.
Ord had the freezer part disconnected, and had a handle and lock installed on the inside as well. He’d also had an opening installed for air to get in, though he’d never told anyone where it was. Since Ord was small, I imagined the air opening was, too. If someone ever wanted to kill Ord for running his mouth, they’d have better luck trying to off him after office hours. Either that, or bring the world’s biggest can opener.
Ord had a step stool behind his desk that let him get in his office chair without any undignified hopping or climbing.
The gnome settled himself in the leather chair. “I’d ask what do I owe this pleasure, but I’ve already heard. A human who can’t hold his powder sets fire to a restaurant, and an elf who’s responsible for the deaths of at least hundreds finally meets Death for himself. You’ve had a busy day.”
Sounded like Jesin Nadisu, the building manager at the Murwood, wasn’t as discreet as he’d claimed. Then again, goblins were known for having a different take on promises and agreements. He’d seemed like such a nice kid.
It must have shown on my face.
“Three representatives of Sarkowski Plumbing went in the back entrance of the Murwood, and they were seen wheeling out a black bag that could never be mistaken for a defective toilet.”