Mr. Sable

"Hold still!" Ivy ordered as she tightened down the bandage on my arm. Rocky hadn't stopped apologizing for half an hour. It was a scratch, really, the bullet just grazed me, but it certainly hurt.

"Ethan, please, please, please forgive me!" He was on his knees begging now. Mitzi stood there just shaking her head. "I guess that's why no one gives the boy a gun." True, shooting at the shiniest, hardest rock in the whole cave was a stupid move, but the biggest idiot was the one getting his arm operated on by a teenager.

"Hey, guys! It could certainly have been— ouch!"

"Sorry…" Ivy said, "I just don't want the bandage to come loose." I tried to grin and bear it. "Feels tight enough for me, Ivy, thank you." She then made the final knot and backed off while I knocked back a shot of our fresh "embalming fluid."

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, now I remember. Rocky, quit begging and get up. It's not like you killed anyone. Besides, I should have gotten the hint from everyone else."

Rocky got up, relieved, hugging me. I hadn't expected that reaction from him. For the briefest of moments, I thought back to when my brothers would hug me after getting in trouble. I couldn't hate them, and I knew Rocky meant well so I wasn't about to hold a grudge. However, we weren't exactly family. "Hey, Rocky, personal space please."

"I'm sorry, just so happy that I'm around people who will tolerate me. You will still tolerate me, right Ethan?" He then gave me a hopeful look. Jeez, "tolerate"? He's got low standards even for himself. But my lack of an answer quickly worried him.

"Yes Rocky, I'll still tolerate you. But perhaps its best if you do what you're apparently good at, drumming up sources of the good stuff. Just leave the violence to Freckle and me."

"Oh thank you! I'll start tonight! Just you wait, this… slightly damaged head can come up with all kinds of incredible—"

"Not so fast, buster, before you go running off again, we ought to clean that head wound." Ivy ordered, to which Rocky sat down in a chair and behaved like a good boy while Miss Pepper had a look at the stitches.

"Do I even want to know how you got such a bad cut on the head?" Mitzi asked. Ivy was quick to offer an answer before Rocky could jump out of his seat with some convoluted explanation. "He got hit by a hearse, Miss M. The Arbogasts thought we were trying to steal their stash."

"Of course…" Mitzi said, shaking her head. "I'm glad you're still with us, hon, but try not to hurt what's left of your brain. I don't suppose we'd be able to get another load out of Bobbi and Abelard next week, would we?" She asked her crew.

I sighed, "I don't think so, ma'am. They made it clear that this was very much a onetime deal."

"Sorry Miss M. Rocky's head here is the only reason they even agreed to sell to us a load under the table. If they knew what kind of condition Viktor is in, I wouldn't have convinced them." Ivy explained.

"Then in a couple of weeks we will be back to square one…" Mitzi surmised, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Well, not quite. We will have some money, at least, right?" I asked. "Surely there's someone else you can buy from in this town."

"Yes, I suppose. But I'll need to start paying back—Mr. Sable!" Mitzi exclaimed, rising to her feet as our seemingly only regular customer came in for his evening refreshments.

"Miss May, Rocky, Ivy, Calvin, and uh… my apologies, I don't think I caught the names of you two."

I got up to shake the man's hand, bringing Riley with me. "Ethan Kelly, sir, at your service."

"And who might this darling girl be?"

"This is my little sister, Riley." I said, gesturing to her as she hid behind my tail. "Apologies sir, she's usually not so shy."

"Oh, Ethan, Riley, where are my manners. This is Mr. Sable, our most loyal patron, customer and perhaps a financer." Mitzi said, introducing us formally.

Sable was quick to offer a correction, however. "Customer suits me just fine, Miss M, though I'd certainly like to speak with you later about certain… dealings."

I took the cat's hand as he extended it to me whilst taking off his hat. "Mr. Sable, pleasure to meet you. You must be the owner of that limestone quarry out of town."

"Very astute, Ethan." Wick then crouched lower and extended a hand out for Riley. "and please don't be afraid, Riley. I promise I don't bite."

I stepped to the side and gave Riley a gentle nudge toward him, and only then did she shake her hand. "You're much nicer than the mine owners back home!"

"Well, I do pride myself on providing good jobs for the working man, my dear. Perhaps your brother would like to come work in the quarry?"

So this was Mr. Wick Sable. Extending an offer of a job no less. "That's certainly a tempting offer sir, but I think I'd like to try my hand at a different trade for a while. Mining has gotten… stale for me as of late."

"Fair enough, Mr. Kelly. But if you change your mind, you are always welcome to stop by the office. Miss May told me you were a miner?"

"Yes sir. Butte, Montana."

"Chasing copper! I'd like to see it one day, everyone out here calls it "the richest hill on Earth." Is it really that grand?"

"Let me put it to you this way, Mr. Sable. I lived a mile high and worked a mile deep. The whole town takes out over one hundred thousand tons of copper every year."

Mitzi then threw an arm around Mr. Sable, looking between both of us. "Well, Mr. Sable, it appears we finally found someone with as much enthusiasm for mining and rocks as you."

"Quite so, Miss M." Wick confirmed, though he gently removed Mitzi's arm from his shoulder. "And I'd love to trade more stories with your newest employee over a glass of your newest stock."

"Of course. Ethan, do you know how to make cocktails?"

"Uh, I guess? Normally I drink the stuff straight."

"Well, until poor Viktor gets better, I'm going to need someone who can make drinks on the busier nights. It won't be much until we start getting new customers in, but every bit helps, right?"

"Cook, handyman, rifleman, and now bartender. Sounds like I'm starting to wear a lot of hats..."

"And it's all according to plan, killer." Rocky said, butting in. "Perhaps we can brainstorm whilst Mr. Sable warms up with a sampling of our finest, top shelf selection."

"Sounds like a plan to me, Rocky. Mind if we have a team meeting at the bar, Miss M?"

"We'll have to have one sooner or later. Perhaps Mr. Sable would like to hear how we're putting our meager resources to use?"

"Well, seeing as you've been trying so hard to make me a financer then perhaps, I should see where my money would be going."

The Lackadaisy Crew

As everyone gathered at the bar, I took a moment to see the whole crew as I pulled out glasses. There was our dauntless leader, Miss May; our strategist, Rocky; rum runner, Ivy; enforcer, Freckle; a possible financer, my little sister, and myself. Not counting my kid and Freckle, who declined partaking, that left us with five glasses. "Okay, crew, let's see how we did." I then pulled out the cork from a fresh bottle and gave it a pour into each glass. Taking one each, we eyed each other before knocking the liquid back one at a time.

My face grimaced "Damn, that's strong."

Everyone else had a similar opinion, except Mr. Sable who tossed and swirled it in his mouth before finally consuming it. "Hmm, it's not a bad aftertaste. I'm detecting hints of chestnut."

"Ethan, can I have some?" my sister asked as she climbed into a bar stool.

"Not a chance, Riley. Trust me, you wouldn't like it anyway."

"aww…"

"I'll get you something less poisonous." Looking underneath and in the ice box, I found orange juice for mixing. "Ah, perfect! Here ya go Riley, now you can feel like part of the crew."

As the evening wore on, people came and went from the speakeasy. It was easy to keep up, though Mr. Sable was able to down whiskey like an Irishman. Something was missing though. It was… too quiet.

"Hey, Miss M. Shouldn't we be hearing music from the band?"

Mitzi stopped and looked over. She counted out everyone that she saw hanging out around the stage. "One, two, three, four… five… someone's missing. Where's Zib?"

"Zib's missing?" Rocky asked, just noticing for the first time too.

Mitzi called out to the band. "Boys, where's Zib? He should be down here getting warmed up for the night."

"Sorry Mitzi," Mozzi replied, "we haven't seen him since the other night."

Wick tried to offer a theory. "Maybe he found some hole in a back alley to take a load off and ponder the mysteries of life? Read up on his eastern philosophies?"

"No, it's not like him to be gone this long. For all his faults, Zib does show up to work… eventually." Mitzi explained, concern growing on her face.

"I guess we should figure out who last saw him." I suggested. We were already one man down with Viktor recovering at home. The band leader wasn't quite as critical, but if Mitzi was saying he not being here was odd, then Zib might be in trouble or need our help.

Mitzi then asked us. "Did anyone see Zib since the other night?" All we gave her was head shaking and contemplation which drew up blanks.

"Oh no, then he's probably still in the bad part of town…" Miss M realized.

"What was he doing on the north end?" Rocky asked, also growing concern for his mentor and band leader.

"How bad is the 'north end' of St. Louis?" I asked, genuinely curious about how a town can have a 'good' and 'bad' side.

"Oh, it's just a terrible place to be stuck in. Everyone comes out of the shadows, all friendly-like. You think, 'yay, some new people to meet maybe they'll like my poetry and violin! Or, even better, maybe they'll have pancakes!' But before you know it—" Rocky then motioned getting stabbed, beaten, and shot. I had no comment on the pancakes.

"He was… keeping me company while I did business up there the other night." Mitzi said. "Boys, I've got a task for you tomorrow."

A Mystery Afoot

Mordecai didn't take much pleasure in being out in the country, but Moreau needed a ride out to where their agents had been murdered. As usual, the Savoy siblings were in the front. He noticed Serafine shooting him glances now and then. Truth be told, she was a hard one to read. She could say something while meaning something else entirely… assuming you understood her to begin with. Nico was far more relaxed, but crossing either of them was a bad idea. Even worse for Mordecai would be tipping his hand too early. The interrogations the other night had been fruitful, but had he been ten seconds too slow then any chance of finding Atlas' killer would have gone down the drain. He was chasing apparitions, but at least he now knew that the phantom killer existed. He was connected to a "Drago."

"Stop the car here Nico, this looks like the right bend." Adam directed, pointed to a sign by the side of the road that said, "steep hill." As all four stepped out of the car, Moreau wasted no time. "Okay, we'll need to comb the crash site for any clues the cops might have missed."

"Remind me again why we are out here?" Mordecai asked, swatting away a mosquito. "This hardly seems like a good use of our time."

"Clues, Mordecai. Clues that will lead us to the phantom killers who are trying to snuff out their competition. If we don't catch them soon, they could go on to kill enough agents to hamper Mr. Sweet. And I'm certain that, as his shadow, you'd prefer to stay employed." Mordecai's ear twitch was his only reply. Moreau was right, but it hardly made the task less annoying.

Nico then popped his head out of the bushes. "Minou, found somthin' yer gonna wanna see."

Mordecai stood at the edge of the road while Moreau went into the ditch, coming back with a prize of sorts. "Collect any brass you see on the way up, Nico. We'll find out what kind of guns were being used."

"And how would you possibly ascertain such information from a handful of spent shells, a license plate, and…" Nico then came out of the bushes with Serafine dragging a bigger piece of debris.

"That would be the footboard, Mordecai. Specifically, the right-hand footboard of your agents' car. I suppose the cops couldn't be bothered to look a little deeper in the brush."

Mordecai backed up as the siblings dropped the piece on the side of the road. Moreau pulled out a measuring tape and handed one end to Mordecai. "You can tell a lot about an event by what's left behind. Take this and put it on that side of the footboard, right where the damage stops. I want to measure the length of the dents on this footboard."

Mordecai did as he was asked, looking up at the older agent. "Seventy-eight inches, now isn't that interesting?"

"That makin' no sense, cher!" Serafine finally spoke.

"It makes perfect sense, ma'am. You see, seventy-eight inches is about the width of a truck bumper. And now look around us at the remnants of the tire tracks. You see those big gouges in the gravel? Tires were sliding sideways. And above us a few feet you can see tracks consistent with wider tires, such as those found on a truck. That car didn't go into the ravine on it's own, it tumbled in from the side. If I had to guess, a truck rammed the car from the side."

"We already know that this was no accident, so how does it possibly help us?"

"I don't know yet, Mordecai, but I'll be making note of it anyway. Now let's look at the brass casings Nico found." Nico then tossed a casing over to the detective. Mordecai watched as he examined the case. "Ha, there's another interesting clue."

"What would that be?"

"There's a pinch point around the case. It's very slight, but only one style of magazine makes such a mark on the brass, and it happens to be consistent with the caliber of the cartridge. Here, you take a look…" Moreau then tossed the casing to Mordecai, who reluctantly caught it after the brass hull bounced off his chest. Adjusting his glasses, Mordecai looked the casing over, the little marks becoming visible in the cross-section.

"So what gun do you propose these casings were fired out of?"

"A Thompson sub machine gun. I'm certain of it."

"That tells us nothing about who—"

"Oh, but it does. You see, St. Louis has about eight-hundred thousand people in it. But how many Thompsons are there? A hundred? Maybe two hundred? Most of them are owned by Marigold or the mafia. Green Ones, Russos, Santino's outfit... No one out here in the sticks can even afford such a weapon, and neither of your agents had a Tommy gun with them the other night. So, that means whoever was shooting had enough resources in their operation to keep a Thompson in their arsenal. That narrows things down considerably, wouldn't you say?"

Mordecai was impressed, Moreau was either very good at making stuff up, or he really did know how to do detective work. "So what about the license plate?"

"835-920. Was that the license plate of the car?"

"No, it wasn't. So that must mean—"

"That this plate came off the other vehicle. And if you look here…" Moreau then held the plate up to the footboard, the dents in the plate matching perfectly with the debris. "Perfect match. Now, you seem like a smart man. Put that all together, and what do you get?"

"We're looking for someone who owns a larger vehicle, probably a truck, with the plate number '835-920' who also happens to have access to a Thompson sub-machine gun."

"Precisely. But I think that's all the clues we will get out of this wreck. There's another vehicle we need to track down one road to the North of here. That's where the other pair of agents went missing."

Nico was as impressed as Mordecai. "Chee, minou, now that was somethin! Like trackin a pirogue through da bayou."

"Indeed my southern friend. A canoe leaves no tracks or trace that would be immediately evident, but if you look at how the algae and mud is disturbed by the paddle, you can follow the path. Now how do you people say it? Oh yes, allons!" Back in the car with some shell casings and a license plate, the Marigolds were off to find another possible battle in the bottomlands of the Missouri River.

Where in the World is Zib Zibowski?

"Right here is as good a place as any, don't ya think?" Rocky asked me as we drove slowly through the backstreets of North St. Louis. "Miss M said the store was around here somewhere…" As he said it, I saw the sign above an old brick store. "That one there, Rocky. That must be it. Pull over."

As I got out of the car, I couldn't help but notice how run-down this section of town was. It must have been something in its prime, but that was decades ago now, right when the west was closing up. People in the shadows were already eyeing the car. Rocky was reluctant to get out and looked quite nervous. Perhaps he had a history with them? "Hey Rocky, you can stay in the car if you like, this shouldn't take long. Besides, it would be nice to still have all four tires when we leave." Rocky nodded, pulling his hat down and shrinking into the seat. Leaving him felt like leaving a chicken in a fox den.

The door jingled a bell as I walked in. There was a rather rotund clerk at the desk with an expression that didn't exactly instill confidence in his intellectual prowess. Still, two functioning eyes would be good enough for me.

"Good morning, sir! I was wondering, did you happen to see anyone in the last couple of days come through here?"

"Uhh… what did theys look like?"

"Well, do you remember a fancier-dressed cat come through here late at night two nights ago?"

"Oh yeah. She was pretty…"

"That's probably the one. Did she happen to have someone with her? Tall, wearing a vest, probably smoking a cigarette?"

"Yeah, but he stood outside. Then there was a fight an he sat there with another cat."

So far it was all making sense according to how Mitzi explained it. Apparently, there was a bit of an accident involving her pearl dress, then some homeless guy came out of the shadows and tried to get cash and pearls out of them. It was someone Zib was acquainted with.

"That sounds like my man. Did you happen to see which way he went?"

"He, uh, got taken by the cops. Miss Porter upstairs called them over after hearing a fight."

Cops… great. "Well, I thank you kindly, sir. You have a good day."

The guy didn't say anything back, which on one level was good because it really sounded like he was stretching his mental capacities just recollecting two-day-old events. But it was also very uncomfortable. Not as uncomfortable as the pinch Rocky seemed to be in when I exited the shop. One guy had a knife at Rocky's throat, demanding money, while another rifled through the car. For a split-second, I recalled a time in Butte when my little brother was also getting mugged. He had fallen behind when a group of us teens were going up the street to watch a movie in a makeshift theater. Liam got caught by the kids in a rival neighborhood. My fists could still recall the beating they delivered once I rescued him from those thugs. But this was no time for reminiscing. I snapped out of it in an instant, reminding myself to focus. If they had any idea who I was they'd already be running.

"Hey! What's the idea here?"

The cat then pointed the knife at me. "I'll say the same to you as I said to this guy over here. Give me all the money you've got or I'll—" He couldn't finish the sentence because the barrel of my 38 special was jammed inside it quicker than this half-drunk cat could think.

"Or you'll what? How about this, buddy, drop the knife and I don't pull the trigger."

He immediately complied, dropping the knife and raising his hands. I allowed him to back up so that he couldn't reach for the gun, or swing at either Rocky or myself. "Good. Now tell the other one to get his stinking paws off our property."

"Hank, get out of the car! These guys aren't as weak as we thought."

"Aww… but look at this violin! It must be worth a fortune!"

I could see the worry in Rocky's eyes. Not so much for his own life, but rather for what may be his most prized possession. I swung the pistol around right at Hank. "Put the fiddle back in the car, gently, or you'll be dead before you hit the ground."

"Y-yes sir."

"And be sure to close the door like a gentleman."

Once Hank did as he was told, I gave my next command. "Alright Rocky, get the car started. You two idiots, go stand over on the sidewalk. Nice and easy now, my finger gets twitchy when I'm short on patience and neither of you want that." Again, they did as they were told, and soon enough I was standing on the passenger side of the car, door open, Rocky ready to bounce.

"Very good, boys. Now, stay out of trouble. And remember, if you see this car again, it's off limits. Understood?"

Both of them nodded in understanding. "Excellent, consider this a warning. Don't mess with us, and the Lackadaisy Crew won't kill you for target practice."

We were then on the road, though I noticed Rocky was shaking. "You okay, Rocky?"

"Mmhmm" is all he said, nodding his head. Then a moment later, Rocky lunged across the car at me. "Oh thank you, Ethan! No one's ever stood up for me before! How can I ever repay you for saving my violin?"

"You can start by grabbing the wheel before we run off the road!" I yelled, pointing ahead at the sidewalk which was quickly approaching us in the windshield.

"Oh, yeah, heh…" And the tabby regained control of his vehicle before we could hit somebody.

"I'm starting to see why giving you a gun is a bad idea. You just act, don't ya?"

At least now Rocky was back to his more confident self. "It's all about, presentation! Confidence! And—"

"I don't know, got nothing for ya, Rocky. But we should get back to finding Zib…"

"Oh yes, right. Can't forget about my musical mentor! But that was impressive. Where did you learn to intimidate people like that? Was it in the war?"

"No. That I learned in Butte. Maybe one day I'll tell the story. Funnily enough, it involved a place that's not too different from Lackadaisy."

"Woah, you were a rum runner before this?"

"What? No, I was a miner, like I said. But that doesn't mean mining was all I did. A friend got into trouble with the wrong people once, and the criminally brutish only understand one language."

"Can't wait to hear it." Rocky said, focusing on the road for once. "Now, looks like we've got a phantom to catch. The cops took Zib in, meaning that he's down at the police station by now.

"We should probably let Mitzi know before we go downtown. We will need bail money to bust him out."