Bad Cop, Worse Cop

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbwFurV0lr4

Bad Cop, Worse Cop

Part I

The city of Discord collectively held its breath the week Kei went on vacation. For those who had been around the first time Bacchae ran the city, the memory of the utter chaos that would ensue without Kei’s somewhat tempering presence was incredibly potent.

Bacchae and Jack, on the other hand, were ecstatic to be left alone without adult supervision, and were greatly looking forward to dropping some dumb shit right into the laps of a largely suspecting city. Unfortunately for them, their brief reign of terror would not come to fruition. Because something else came up that distracted them first.

Kei should hypothetically be gone for about a week Discord time, assuming that Tommy managed to not fuck it up, that is. So Bacchae and Jack spent the first night bar-hopping and coming up with plans. Evil plans. Some just wouldn’t be feasible; Labyrinth Open House was dropped pretty quickly. But they hadn’t ruled out the city-wide paintball fight yet. They were planning on mulling it over and deciding in the morning.

Except that it was that very next morning that Bacchae received a phone call. He kept his phone in the kitchen, mounted to the wall, and very few people actually knew what his number was. So if someone was calling, it was probably important.

Bacchae stumbled up the last couple of stairs from where he and Jack had passed out in the living room a few hours before with a couple of chicks. His hair was more in his face than out of it, and he tried to blow chunks of it away as he sagged into the wall, putting the receiver to his ear. That’s when he remembered that he actually had to speak into the other end to get a result.

“Yello?” he said simply, and without hesitation someone started babbling directly into his ear drum. If he was honest, Bacchae barely registered anything being said to him. He was busy staring at one particular spot on the far wall. Was that spicy mayo or chimichurri sauce? He couldn’t for the life of him tell.

“Damn thieves,” the voice sighed. He caught that part. “It’s a real mystery how they got away with it…”

Hmm, that registered. A couple of stray braincells ping-ponged around in Bacchae’s largely empty skull. Mystery… mystery…

“Jack! I know what the plan is!”

The aforementioned jerked awake as Bacchae half-stumbled, half-fell down the stairs. Most of his lower face was covered in something red that Bacchae hoped was wine. Hoped, didn’t believe.

It took him a good few seconds to ponder what Bacchae had even said. “Oh, did you decide on the gin swimming pool, after all?”

“Nope! Entirely new plan, came up with it… exclusively by myself.”

“Well spit it out, mate.”

“Okay… Have you ever heard of the movie ‘Hot Fuzz’?”

~ o ~

Jack had not, in fact, heard of “Hot Fuzz,” and was frankly a little confused about where Bacchae had. But once he explained the situation, Jack knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Alright, I’m not gonna lie. I did not listen to most of what he said, so when we get there, we’re just gonna act like we know what he’s talking about.”

“Right. So exactly what we usually do, then.”

“You got it, good buddy. But from what I did catch, it sounds like Rudy—er, sorry, ‘Mr. Debonair,’” Bacchae put that name in massive air-quotes, “had a pretty rough break-in last night.”

“Why’re we getting involved, then? Shite like that happens all the bloody time.”

“Cuz I owe him a favor still from back in the day. And he’s a big shot in the Merchants’ Guild now, remember? They’re the guys that supply the booze, so it’s probably good not to piss them off.”

“I think you just want to play detective.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe a little. Kei stole all my thunder with the whole Akuma-cho thing. So maybe I want a turn, goddammit.”

“Suits me just fine, mate. I hope the thieves run.”

Bacchae elected not to think too hard about what was rolling around in Jack’s screwy little brain just then. They’d arrived at their destination, anyway.

Debonair’s actual distillery was further down the hill still, but he’d bought himself a nice little office just on the outskirts of the Soul Market, to handle both his own and guild business. The Merchants’ Guild didn’t have one distinct president, instead opting to make decisions largely democratically. But someone had to handle the Guild’s capital, and as that man, Debonair had more pull than he would ever admit out loud. If something had been stolen from his office, it was probably a pretty serious affair.

As soon as he saw them, Debonair hurriedly let them in through the surprisingly humble facade. There were any number of reasons the Tea Party could be meeting with him of course, but rumors spread quickly, and timing could easily be noted.

“Oh, it’s just dreadful, Bacchae, old chum. I appreciate you taking care of it.” Debonair was all aflutter as soon as he closed the door behind them. The buttons on his vest were done up wrong, and his mustache drooped from the lack of wax.

It was also incredibly easy to tell that his office had been gone through. The tasteful velvet curtains had been torn, papers were strewn about everywhere, a very nice standing ashtray had been knocked over, covering the whole thing in dust and the scent of tobacco.

“Jeez Louise, this place looks like a goddamn war zone.” Bacchae ran a hand through his hair. He’d thought this was going to be an in and out sort of affair, look around the crime scene, nod a few times, then lay out exactly who the culprit was, but this… well, this really was going to turn into a buddy cop movie. It was going to be… a little more work than he’d anticipated.

Jack sniffed the air. “And did he find what he was lookin’ for?”

Debonair nodded gravely, and gestured them to a small back room.

This was the space where he actually got work done. Several filing cabinets lined the walls, surrounding a much less ostentatious desk than the one out front. At first glance, this room seemed largely untouched, until they looked into the corner and saw the safe. Its heavy door was wide open, and the inside was quite empty.

“Yup,” Bacchae sighed. “I’ll say he did. What’d you have in there, Rudy?”

He was so flustered that he didn’t even comment on the use of his old nickname. “All of the guild’s bones,” he muttered. “Guild dues, fundraisers, hush money. All of it here, all of it gone. Plus, I’d been keeping many of our contracts in here.”

“And those were taken too…” Bacchae frowned, trying to rub his recently sobered brain cells together.

“They could have spent half the bones by now,” Debonair moaned.

“I doubt it was for the bones,” Bacchae shook his head. “If it were me, and I was just after the money, I’d just grab it and haul ass. Why bother with the contracts. Probably the whole thing was snatched to cover up the actual target.”

“Aye,” Jack had been pretty quiet most of this time. But while Bacchae and Debonair had been talking, he’d started sniffing around. “Do you keep the safe code in the front room?”

Debonair blinked. “Why yes, I do.”

“Front room’s a mess,” Jack answered his questioning stare, “but this one’s untouched, safe is undamaged too. So clearly, he found what he was looking for, came right back to the safe, popped her open, and bob’s your uncle.”

“Odds are, we’re not just looking for any old penny pincher,” Bacchae nodded sagely, as if this all hadn’t been news to him. “Hey, Rudy. Know anyone who’d want you on your ass?”

The daemon scoffed, sending his mustache fluttering. “I know fewer people who wouldn’t.”

“Ain’t that how it be when it do,” Bacchae shook his head in commiseration, but as he did so, something caught his eye. Down on the wood floor, half-concealed under a filing cabinet, was something small and rectangular. He reached down for it, yanked it out, then stared at him. “Hey, you recognize this?” he asked, showing Debonair what it was: a business card.

He squinted for a moment in concentration, before his eyes widened. “Why yes, I do, but it can’t be mine. I haven’t needed one in years.”

On the card, in rather pink text, was a number and address for some place called “The Bottom Dollar.”

“Ain’t this that crazy lounge that’s over in that old warehouse?”

As usual, Jack was amazed at Bacchae’s near encyclopedic knowledge of every joint in town.

Debonair nodded. “That’s the one. We’ve had steady business for years. I’ve committed the number to memory. I haven’t had one of their cards since I bought this office.”

“So it can’t be yours,” Bacchae seemed to have an idea.

Jack picked up on it immediately. “And I don’t suppose you ever let anyone back here.”

“Never.”

“So that means the only person who could have dropped this has to be our thief,” Bacchae beamed. “Well, Jack, looks like we’ve got ourselves a little lead.”

The aforementioned sighed. “This is gonna involve a lot of talking, isn’t it?”

~ o ~

After a quick pit stop for some donuts and coffee—couldn’t play cop without the necessary accouterments—Bacchae and Jack mosied on down to the lower end of the Distillery District, the part that actually still contained facilities for the purposes of its namesake. None of them were their destination, of course.

Instead, they found themselves under a long, red awning, above which, in glowy pink letters was written the name of the lounge. If they were honest, the outside looked a bit dingy, but it was a certified Discord Classic, on all the “Must Visit Night-Spots” lists. This was for one primary reason: its stage acts.

Despite the place not being open they still strolled on in, and the first thing their eyes were drawn to was the sizable stage in the back, complete with big red curtains, and all those little light bulbs screwed into the front. The Bottom Dollar was the place if you were an up-and-coming performer, and many would—and had—killed for a spot on the bill.

It was also a pretty wild place. A couple of cleaners wandered around the oddly empty room, scooping up beer cans and cigarettes from the night before. One poor woman was attempting in vain to scrape something sticky off of one of the tables.

For a startlingly long time, no one clocked their presence. Then someone finally looked up from where he was sweeping and did a double-take when Bacchae waved at him.

“Hi!” he said, in that overly-friendly way of his that somehow wrapped back around into being menacing. “We’re looking for your boss.”

The man ran off, only to return just a second later. Behind him trailed a woman whose presence was much larger than her size. She strutted over to them, stilettos clicking against the concrete, feather boa flowing behind her. If he had to guess, Bacchae would place her somewhere in her mid-thirties, but appearances meant nothing in Discord.

“I’m Dallas Sinclair, the owner of this establishment,” her lips pursed slightly as she spoke. “And I don’t suppose you’re here to plan a party.”

“You know, I really wish we were. I’ve heard some crazy things about this joint. I don’t know how those heels haven’t made more holes in the tables,” Bacchae grinned at her. Alas, his usual charm wasn’t quite working on her. She only gave him a small, pert smile in exchange.

“Someone very important got his shit stolen,” unlike Bacchae, Jack had no time for games, “and your card was found at the scene of the crime.”

Finally understanding their angle, she almost seemed more at ease. Bacchae had been trying to prevent that, but it was too late now. “Why the hell would I have my own business card on me if I was going to rob someone? In fact, said business is doing wonders for my wallet, so why would I want to steal from anyone?”

“There’s a lot of reasons to want something that don’t belong to you…” Jack’s insinuation was rather pointed.

But Bacchae swooped in. “We’re more concerned about the folks you’ve given that card to recently, pinky promise.” He grinned. “We just wanna ask you a few questions.”

Sinclair sniffed, seemed unimpressed. But she turned and gestured for them to follow her.

“You know,” Bacchae muttered to Jack, his eyes aglow, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“Could’ve just said it any old time you wanted, mate.”

“Aw, but it’d be lacking the context and—ah, never mind, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Prolly not.”

Bacchae liked Jack; he would consider him one of his closest confidants. But the man had no sense for the dramatic.

Sinclair’s office was more like a parlor. Sure, she had a desk in the corner, but a series of old, worn-in chairs arranged around a coffee table took up a majority of the somewhat kitsch, floral wallpapered room. It was here that she led the interlopers, and gestured for them to sit. “Tea? Snacks?” she asked. Jack accepted the tea—glory to the great British enterprise and all that—but Bacchae as a rule didn’t fuck with caffeine. It was the one substance that he couldn’t stand. Made him too twitchy.

“So, you wanna tell me some specifics?” she asked.

Bacchae didn’t want to, but something in her expression told him she wouldn’t be giving him bupkis without the deets. Avoiding Debonair’s name, at the very least, he did what he could, trying to throw in big important words like “alibi” and “motive,” and only used the former wrong once.

Sinclair, though a little skeptical, listened quietly. And when he finished, nodded slightly. “So you really think that whoever did this nabbed one of my cards recently?”

“That’s the prevailing theory, at least,” Bacchae nodded, then cleared his throat. “We’re gonna need to see a list of all your recent exchanges.”

“I’m not gonna waste time doing that. I’ve only given out my business card three times in the last month. I’m pretty well established, as you can see.”

Bacchae looked nearly disappointed, and Jack patted his arm. “You was hoping she’d ask for a warrant, eh?”

“Just a little.”

“Do you wanna hear em, or not?” Sinclair seemed to be growing tired of this bullshit. After receiving cowed nods, she continued. “First was Amelia Harkness. She’s an alcohol importer, bit of a hardass, but she does good business. Then there was Marcus Pierson…”

“Wait, I know him,” Bacchae interrupted. “He’s that agent guy, right?”

“Yeah, little slimeball was trying to break a contract we had. And then last week I met with Ekaterina, you know, the violinist? Pretty big get for our little establishment.”

It seemed like Jack wanted to finish his tea, but they didn’t have time for that. Because now they had suspects, and having suspects was exciting.

They bid a hasty farewell to Ms. Sinclair and trekked back out onto the street. It was probably around noon now, but the day was just getting started for most Discordians. Bacchae wasn’t actually used to being out this early. It was almost eerie how… quiet it was, and how bright. Discord didn’t really have a sun, but still, the clouds kind of brightened during the daytime, and it was weird.

“So we’ve got three whole suspects, eh?” Jack stretched. “This is going to be a long fucking day.”

“Five.”

“Pardon?”

“We’ve got five suspects.”

“You’re not still fucked up from last night, are ya? Cuz it sounds like you’ve just hallucinated two whole blokes.”

“Think about it this way:” Bacchae turned and started walking backwards, “all we know is that a card for the Bottom Dollar was left at the scene. That leaves the three people who received one this month…”

“Right, like she said.”

“But if doesn’t just mean them. There’s plenty of other possibilities.”

“Like?”

“Like, for instance, if Dallas left her own card there. She probably always has a couple on her.”

“Ahh, so you’re saying she left her own card, because that would be too obvious of a move for her.”

“5D chess, if you will.”

“Okay, what about the fifth?”

For the first time, Bacchae looked almost a little… well, Jack didn’t quite know how to describe it. Muted? “Well, Rudy could be lying. He said he doesn’t have her card anymore, but he easily could’ve placed it there himself.”

“So you’re saying he stole his own shit?”

“Not his own shit, remember? The Guild’s.”

Jack nodded slowly. “A rather extreme form of embezzlement.”

“That’s why I don’t think it was him. I know that bastard, and if there’s one thing he hates, it’s making a scene.” Bacchae only looked like he was trying to convince himself a little. “There’s so many safer ways to steal from the guild, especially since he handles all their money himself.”

“But you can’t discount the possibility.”

“Exactly. Eh, we can’t really make a call until we’ve talked to everyone else, right?”

“Cor, mate. This whole thing’s making me head hurt something terrible. When do we get to the part where I get to stab someone?”

Bacchae blew out a puff of air. “Hopefully sooner rather than later. But hey, it’ll all be worth it in the end.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I mean, just imagine getting to tell Kei that we sleuthed our way through a crime entirely without her.”

Jack thought about that for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You’re right about that. Look on her face will be priceless.”