What About Rocky?

While the streetcar brought us close to police headquarters, Rocky was occupying himself with the romanticism of gliding along twin ribbons of steel. One second, he was leaning out the window, the next he was admiring the wooden craftsmanship of the carriage. I was in my regular work clothes from the kitchen with the small addition of a hat and Rocky had traded in his usual blue suit for a more drab, common appearance. Considering where we were headed, walking in wearing a bullet-riddled suit and flashy clothing would have been a terrible idea. But even the most unassuming outfit could only help so much when your partner is being as inconspicuous as a magpie among sparrows. I could feel the eyes on us, and it wasn't a fun thing to feel.

"You really can't sit still, can you?" I remarked, hoping he'd get the hint.

"And miss out on all this fun? I think not! Tell me, Mr. Kelly, would you rather go about your day as one of the common, dull masses, or would you seize the opportunity to take in all the magic this world has to offer?"

"Since we're trying to not draw attention to ourselves, yes, I'd say being one of the 'masses' would be a good strategy right now. Look, I'm not saying that you can't enjoy the magic, but you should enjoy it by sitting in one spot."

"Fine… if you insist." He said, defeated, slumping down in his chair. I tried to shrug off the disappointment, but it was clear that sooner or later Rocky would be overcome with manic energy again. Maybe small talk would keep him occupied for the final few blocks?

"Hey Rocky, I forgot to ask before. How does your head feel? You know, after we cut back on your medication dosage?"

"Well, it still hurts, if that's what you wanted to know. Sometimes I can't see straight either."

"Wait a second, that's pretty series Rocky! Just how hard did you hit your head?"

"I didn't hit anything, that hearse hit me. All I remember is seeing my reflection in the chrome bumper and then—" Rocky closed his eyes and imitated being asleep before coming around again. "Next thing I can recall is Miss Pepper driving me back to town."

"So you got ran over. Ivy did mention a hearse, but I didn't think it was that bad. The nurse must have patched you up pretty good."

"That stuff she gave Ivy, which you've been rationing out to me, helps a lot. It's almost like my space coffee. So many stars, holy truths of nature, voices…"

"Yeah… I'm going to assume that's not good. You know, once we get Zib, you should take a load off for a few days. You know, rest up, recuperate, let the voices you hear quiet down, the usual stuff."

"But we're going to need another run next week? If Viktor is out of ideas on where we can get more stock, I'm going to have to put in a lot of legwork to find another supplier."

"Why don't you let me, and Freckle handle this next week? Surely there's a supplier out there you've gone to before that will get us some fresh stock?"

"There is. Captain Kehoe. But that booze is no good." Rocky them performed a dramatic self-strangulation after pretending to ingest some of the sub-par liquor.

"I mean, if it's cheap, we could mix some of the better stuff in to improve the taste. More importantly, we need to get some stuff without wasting ammunition; breaking one of the cars, which includes your own, by the way; and without serious injury. Plus, I'm sure your cousin would appreciate something simpler this time around. He looked like he had shell shock after the latest run."

Before Rocky could give an answer, our stop arrived. Hoping off as the streetcar slowed to a crawl, we quickly made our way to the sidewalk and then down half a block to the police headquarters.

"Now remember, Ethan, we need to stay inconspicuous so as to not raise any suspicion of our nightly escapades."

"You should try taking your own advice first, but you're right. You know Zib's full name, right? Because I met the guy twice and he wasn't much of a talker."

"Dorian Zibowski. If they ask, he's just a street musician and I'm an old bandmate who heard through the grapevine that my dear old friend had a run-in with the law."

"Good enough cover story, I guess. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Inquiry

I opened the door for my associate, and we walked into the brick building, one behind the other. It lacked any artistic expression and was strictly a utilitarian-designed office building, though it still held an aura of intimidation. The thought occurred to me that we might not be able to get Zib out as it was the Friday before Decoration Day. Still, we would at least know his arraignment time and date. Rocky was already ten steps ahead though, literally.

"Excuse me, ma'am, we're here to inquire on the whereabouts or status of a friend of ours."

The secretary didn't even bother to look up, instead giving a sigh. "Name?"

"Oh, it's Dorian Zibowski."

She finally looked up, staring at us both from above her spectacles. "I can send a note back to the jailer, but you two will have to wait on the bench over there in the meantime."

"Aces, thank you ma'am."

The secretary didn't seem to care much one way or the other, but she did do her job. While waiting, I took in the building that surrounded us. Brick and tiles stretched from floor to ceiling. Electric lights illuminated the room from large, white, glass balloons. It was somewhat nerve-wracking to be so close to so many police though, considering we're a couple of rumrunners and are responsible for the deaths of four people just a couple days ago. Still, at least Rocky was doing his best not to draw attention to us, like licking the furniture or start reciting poetry. The result of this noble effort is that no one seemed to pay us any mind, which was relieving.

"Zibowski!" The secretary called out to the bench of people waiting. "Guess that's us, Rocky. Let's figure out where Zib is."

"Here ma'am." Rocky said as he waved his hand, getting up to go to the window.

"I'm sorry boys, but your friend is going to be in a cell over the weekend. His arraignment is at 9:30 am on Tuesday."

While I was satisfied with the answer and resigned myself to let Zib enjoy a weekend in the slammer, Rocky tried to speed the process up in any way he knew how. "Ma'am, surely there's a judge that could see him earlier?"

"Not gonna happen sweetheart. The court is overflowing with people like your friend. Most are in here for liquor possession. But you'll be able to get him out next week. His bail might be a tad high though."

"High? But Zib is an upstanding citizen!"

The secretary almost laughed at Rocky's assertion. But she looked down and read off the rap sheet. "Your upstanding citizen missed a previous court date. He has a warrant, charged with disorderly conduct, loitering, and public urination. Guess you can add public drunkenness, and distribution of alcohol to the list as well. The good news is he won't be spending much more time in jail, bad news is you better find him a lawyer if you want to keep the bail low."

"Come on, Rocky, best thing we can do for Zib now is find some legal counsel and dig up some bail money. Whatever Miss M gave him probably won't cover it all."

"Well, now this is a surprise." A smooth voice said from behind us. Rocky and I turned around to see a tall, grey cat with subdued stripes looking at us through emerald eyes and an expression that gave off an aura of relaxed confidence. I knew him all too well.

"Drago..."

"Wait, you two know each other?" Rocky asked as he pointed a finger between both of us.

The cat gave us a Texas grin. "It has been a long time, but I never forget a face. Did your family decide to find different work after the riots, Ethan?"

At once, the memories flooded back from 1914. I was merely a teenager, but the night it happened would stay with me until the day I died. The night the union hall burned, an event that had an architect, though of course the smart criminals rarely get caught, and others ended up being blamed for the death and destruction. But that was then, and this was now. A lot had changed, yet the devil before me would always remain dangerous.

"Yeah, a really cushy job," I replied. "They're still under the earth in Butte, but no one expects much from the dead."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. But I suppose that makes you Mr. Kelly now, doesn't it? And who's your friend here?"

"Rocky, this… gentleman… is Dominic Drago. You might say he was a detective years ago—"

"—and these days, a prohibition agent in the Treasury Department. And what line of work are you two boys in these days?"

Rocky's face grew pale and couldn't utter a word. He knew better than to start rambling, rhyming, or spilling any of the beans in any way. Seeing him freeze, I took the lead.

"He plays the violin, I'm just a cook at a local eatery."

"Humble work, but that certainly suits an Irish immigrant, now, doesn't it? And I suppose the violinist here is the one who knows Zibowski?"

"Y-yeah. Rocky and Zib have known each other for years, even ran in the same band. But, uh…"

As if on cue, Rocky finally was able to blurt out a lie with just enough truth to be believable. "Zib, you see, has been in and out of trouble. It's hard to be a traveling musician you know! Well, apparently, he got into a scuffle with one of the local street cats and we were hoping to arrange bail for him."

I hoped and prayed the man wouldn't ask any further questions. "Well, it is a stroke of bad luck being that it's a holiday weekend. But I'm sure you two will be able to get him out next week."

"Yeah, a judge will see him on Tuesday morning, I guess. Hopefully a long weekend will convince poor Zib to stay off the streets at night."

"Funny enough, I talked to Zib the other night. He seemed content to get three squares and a warm bed for a few days. I'll make sure he gets his paycheck back, wouldn't want him to have to fight another bum for a quarter. Anyway, while this has been a fun meeting of an old acquaintance, I've got some research to attend to." And just as quickly as he appeared, Drago melted away into the sea of officers and civilians inside the lobby of the police station.

"You know someone from the Treasury?!" Rocky asked, no doubt alarmed at the thought he might have accidentally brought an undercover federal agent into a speakeasy.

"He was a completely different kind of agent when I last saw him, but if he's working for the feds then we need to be really careful." One kind of worry was replaced with another in Rocky's head. I sighed. "Look, let's just get out of here before we have some other fateful encounter. I'll explain on the way back."

We quickly made our exit, walked the half block back from where we had come twenty minutes ago, and flagged down a northbound streetcar. Paying the fare, we quickly made our way to the quiet section in the back. Rocky was far less excited on the way back, sitting quietly with a concerned expression on his face.

"What, exactly, was the nature of your relationship to that guy?" He finally asked, grabbing my arm and looking at me with pleading eyes. "Please don't tell me you're a fed too!"

I shook my head, partially to say no but also in disbelief of how he could come to such a conclusion. "No Rocky, I'm not a fed."

"Ah, but that is just what a fed would say now, wouldn't he?" Rocky said, pointing a finger at me.

"Rocky, if I were a fed I wouldn't have—" I gestured slitting my throat, "given a couple of gangsters some steel and lead. Dominic Drago was in Butte when I was a few years younger than Freckle."

"So how does he know you?" Rocky asked, clearly wanting the full story.

"Alright, you probably wouldn't have known about this, but back before the war there were two competing unions in Butte. That was certainly an opportunity the mine bosses weren't going to pass up, so they brought in some help. Two men infiltrated one of the unions and caused discord. I don't know the total number of spies and infiltrators, but I can pretty much guarantee there was more. Anyway, their actions brought both unions to blows."

"So he was a saboteur?"

"Exactly, though they were called detectives. Pinkertons, to be precise. Drago and this other guy named Moreau managed to smuggle dynamite into a crowd of striking miners. Soon, the union hall blew up. The papers didn't mention it, but my cousin got caught in the blast and died there on the steps of the union hall."

"How does he know you then, Ethan? Or your family for that matter?"

"Well, you see, in a fit of rage my uncle chased after the two detectives. He tracked them down an alley and was going for the kill, but when the dust was settled there was my Uncle Michael laying in a pool of his blood. Moreau would have killed me then too but they decided to flee the scene before anyone else could show up."

"He shot your uncle? Well, that certainly won't do! Perhaps we should take him by surprise, teach him a lesson…"

"No, don't be ridiculous Rocky. He's too smart for us to get the jump on him, and he's not a threat... yet. Make no mistake Rocky, getting that man's attention would only lead to bad things. He could easily destroy what is left of Lackadaisy and get us all in prison or dead. We should just be thankful that Moreau isn't after us. Drago is smart, but Adam is relentless. Working together, they could probably take down Marigold. We wouldn't stand a chance."

Muddy Waters

Mordecai was becoming increasingly impressed, and intimidated, by Moreau. He seemed to notice every detail, and his hypotheses were more often correct than not. But it was far too early to tell how far he could truly trust the cat. He wanted to stay in the car, but the agent insisted on Mordecai searching the riverbank for any possible clue. Serafine didn't seem to mind the insects buzzing around her, but it was certainly getting to Mordecai. Spending an afternoon on country roads and in the bottomlands of the Missouri was certainly not his idea of fun… or work for that matter.

Nico had stripped down to just his fur before diving in to search the muddy waters. After each dive, he'd take a rest at the surface, letting the slow current move him a few feet further downstream, before diving down again. A bayou boy through and through, he wasn't bothered by the critters of the river. In fact, absent the alligators, Nico was the apex predator in this ecosystem. Going below once more, he felt around the silty bottom for anything solid. So far, he had only come across a couple of rocks and a stick, but this time, his hand caught something far larger, and with a straight shape to it. Rising again, Nico found he could stand on the object while only being submerged up to his chest.

"Minou, found something!" He shouted to Moreau, who was analyzing the tire track and making some guesses about where the current would have taken the car. Apparently, it hadn't gone far.

"Is it the car, Nico?" He asked. Serafine looked up from her resting spot, cigarette still dangling from her mouth. Mordecai popped his head out from the bushes a few yards downstream of the cat.

"Yes sir!" He said, jumping up and down on the roof whilst submerged in water.

Moreau was quite happy with the discovery. "Very good then! Perhaps our missing agents are in there?" The thought sent a shiver down Nico's spine. No doubt if there was a couple of corpses the river would not be kind to them, even if it had only been a couple of days. But an order was an order, and he had done more disgusting things before. Diving down, he found the driver's side. Feeling around, it was unoccupied. He then moved around to the passenger side, and it too was empty. Sensing what was going to come next, Nico felt around in the back, and it was then that he felt fur and flesh. The next part wasn't going to be fun…

Five minutes later, two bodies were lying on the bank of the river. Waterlogged, one bloated, the other somewhat normal looking except for the large hole in him. Moreau was going through the men's wallets, finding spare cash, a couple photos of loved ones, and identification. Mordecai felt like he was going to throw up and was sure to keep his distance. Even Serafine and Nico didn't want to be around the bodies.

"That man's going to get sick if he stays near them." Serafine commented, a look of disgust on her face. Nico nodded his head, before going back to vigorously washing his fur to get rid of any remnants of stain or odor from his grisly discovery.

"You may want to wash yourself upstream, Nico. Those bodies almost certainly polluted the water you're sitting in right now." Mordecai commented, handkerchief covering his nose and mouth. Nico, realizing what Mordecai was saying, immediately jumped out of the water and quickly made his way upstream, giving the bodies a wide berth. Of course, Mordecai wasn't impressed with having to witness more of Nico than he wanted but given the circumstances it was understandable. He most certainly never would have gone into the river in the first place.

Finishing his notes and pocketing the two wallets. Moreau joined up with Serafine and Mordecai, who were both repulsed by the second-hand odor. Adam pulled the bandana off of his face and stuffed it into a different pocket. "Yeah, those two are certainly ripe, aren't they? We should give them a proper burial before the creatures of the night seek them out as a convenient feast. Or worse yet, a couple of kids fishing discover them and the police get in the way.

"I certainly hope you found something useful after subjecting us, and especially Nico, to such a disgusting distraction from our usual work." Mordecai remarked, showing a rare hint of compassion toward the two agents he was assigned with. He wouldn't wish such a situation on even his worst enemy.

"Indeed I have. One man has a bullet hole clean through him, no doubt from a rifle. The other has a wound channel that goes all the way through his chest."

"Are you saying one was shot and the other stabbed?"

"Yes, I believe so. But no typical knife can leave such a wound on a man. This was the handywork of a bayonet, and that narrows our weapon options down significantly."

"Bayonet?" Serafine asked, puzzled.

"Your confusion is warranted. Few people would use such a thing in our line of work. Which means either the killer had limited options, or he was well versed in the use of a battle rifle. Or both. The fact that he used a 30-06 cartridge narrows that down to only a handful of weapons, all of which are in use by the army."

Immediately, Mordecai remembered leaving a particular weapon in the Lackadaisy armory. It was Viktor's, even though he had never seen the man use it. He would have felt some guilt in taking the Slav's prized possession, especially after kneecapping him. It would be next to useless in the streets of St. Louis, but out in the countryside it was as deadly as any hunting rifle, shooting a bullet just as powerful as those used by the Browning automatic. He decided not to let the others in on that information, at least not until he could give the Lackadaisy a visit.

Asa, enveloped in cigar smoke, hung up the phone just as his agents came through the door. Without so much as a word, Moreau produced two wallets and laid them on the table. Asa leaned back and took a long draw from his fat cigar, before slowly exhaling the smoke into the already cloudy room. Leaning forward, he picked up the two wallets and opened them, revealing the I.D.'s of the men he had sent to Defiance only a few days before.

"So, I take it your field day was successful?" He said, smoke rolling out of his nostrils.

"Quite successful, but there's a lot for me to review. I need some time to make sense of everything we found out there."

"Of course. I'll see to it that you have one of the best suites in the hotel. And I trust that my agents were helpful?"

"They were. Nico did everything asked of him, and Mordecai lent me some of his intellect to bounce ideas off of. I'm confident I can get a shortlist of suspects in a couple of days."

Asa smiled, letting the smoke out from the sides of his mouth and his nostrils. "Excellent. Now you all should take a shower; you're stinking up the room.