5. Griff #2
When the barkeep’s back was turned, he casually removed his glasses so he could use his aura-sight to better watch for any magical traps or hidden ambushers. Cal snuck a curious glance at him but remained silent.
Griff had to hand it to Cal: the arrogant thief was good at playing the cowed captive. Griff might’ve even believed it himself if not for their conversation above.
He couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at Cal’s aura now that his glasses were off.
He was half-convinced what he’d seen in the apartment had been an odd fluke, but he found the aura largely unchanged.
The kaleidoscopic swirl of colors still shone, calling out to him in a way that was difficult to ignore.
It left him more confused than ever. How the Void could a thief like Blackjack have an aura like that? It didn’t make any sense. Over the years, Griff had grown used to trusting his instincts, and that aura made him want to put his faith in Cal: a foolish proposition if he’d ever heard one.
They emerged from the stairs into a hidden cove lined with docks. Forcing his eyes away, he spotted a young boy no older than ten out along one of the many scattered piers. The boy stood hunched over, an older grizzled man scolding him for having done something wrong.
Griff winced when the dockmaster smacked the boy in the side of the head hard enough to knock him off his feet.
Griff tightened his grip on his pistol but resisted the urge to step in.
He couldn’t risk their mission by getting involved.
The best way to help the boy and others like him would be to gather enough evidence that no amount of bribed city officials could stop Bald Locke from ending up behind bars.
Shock rippled through him when Cal tore free from his grip. “Hey, leave him alone!” Cal shouted, striding toward the dockmaster. They were close enough that the pacifier cuff should remain in range so long as Griff didn’t move.
The dockmaster glanced toward Cal with a throaty, wheezing laugh. “What nonsense is this? Who are you to be telling me how to run my dock? Keep walking and mind your own business.”
Cal inserted himself between the dockmaster and the boy, his fists raised. “This is my business.”
The dockmaster’s face twisted in a scowl. Griff tensed when he saw the dockmaster ready a swing. His fingers trailed toward his revolver in case things got out of hand.
But Cal must’ve seen the same telegraph as Griff because he easily bobbed to the side around the dockmaster’s wild strike.
Grabbing the man’s arm, he used his momentum to tug him down and ram a knee into his crotch.
The dockmaster cried out, doubling over.
A final elbow to the back of his neck sent him crumpling to the wooden planks.
It was a brutal show of force, the kind Griff would never have opted for himself. Still, he couldn’t help admiring Cal’s efficiency. He’d known the thief could fight after that brawl earlier, but he hadn’t seen how Cal had taken down those two Brotherhood thugs.
Now he could make a pretty good guess. Cal’s movements looked too rough to be trained, but he’d clearly picked up a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat. And judging by that knee to the crotch, he also wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.
While the dockmaster rolled and moaned on the wooden planks, Cal knelt beside the boy.
Griff couldn’t hear what he said, but whatever it was seemed to ease the boy’s coiled tension.
Griff caught the glint of silver as Cal passed the boy a handful of sestas—a small fortune for someone working in a place like this.
Coins in hand, the boy cast one last fearful glance toward the fallen dockmaster, then scampered off.
The barkeep had watched all of that unfold with a look of mild disinterest. “Hurry up,” he snapped as Cal rejoined them. “The boss is waiting.”
Acting the part of an annoyed inspector, Griff yanked on Cal’s arm to forcibly tug him along. “You heard him, thief. Pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll make you regret it.”
They resumed their winding course through the makeshift docks. Once Griff was certain the bartender wasn’t listening, he leaned close to Cal and whispered, “Why did you help that boy?”
At first, he thought Cal wouldn’t reply. Then, his voice tight with restrained emotion, Cal said, “Because someone should.”
Surprise ricocheted through Griff. He stared at the back of Cal’s head as Cal quickened his pace. That wasn’t the sort of answer he’d expected from Blackjack. Noting the roiling emotion in Cal’s aura, blotchy red mixed with deep streaks of sorrowful blue, he let it go.
Perhaps there was more to the thief than simple greed after all.
At last, the barkeep stopped before an unmarked door deep in the heart of the complex. Steeling himself, Griff mentally ran through the plan he and Cal had come up with before entering.
Bald Locke sat inside behind a surprisingly elegant desk. The smuggler lord grinned menacingly as he rose and proffered a hand to Griff, which he reluctantly shook.
“Inspector. So good to see you again!” Bald Locke’s smile sharpened when he glanced at Cal. “And it looks like this time you’ve brought me a gift. I’m flattered.”
“After your men jumped me, I thought it prudent to try and sort this out,” Griff replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
Bald Locke adopted an apologetic wince. “Sorry for the mix-up, Inspector.” His gaze flicked to Cal.
“It seems we were both interested in the same prize. How about this? Hand Blackjack over to me along with what he stole. In exchange, I’ll make this nasty business between us go away—wipe the slate clean.
You can even have Blackjack to turn in…or at least, what’s left of him once I’m done making an example of him for stealing from the Brotherhood. ”
“Technically,” Cal chimed in from beside Griff, “I stole from that protector, not from the Brotherhood. You’d already made the exchange.”
Griff watched Bald Locke closely for his reaction.
His stomach sank when neither Bald Locke’s face nor his aura registered any confusion or surprise.
He’d been holding out hope, but Bald Locke’s lack of denial all but confirmed Cal’s assertion correct: at least one protector was involved with the orb.
Locke shrugged, narrowing his eyes on Cal. “True. But it’s the principle of the thing. Can’t have word getting around and others afraid to do business with us.” He turned back to Griff. “Now, do we have a deal, Inspector?”
Griff glanced at Cal. He pretended to consider the offer for a moment before shaking his head.
“I have a counterproposal. How about you give me all the information you have on whoever hired you to procure that void relic, and I don’t arrest you for smuggling such an incredibly illicit object or sending your henchmen to attack an officer of the law. ”
Appearing amused rather than impressed by Griff’s threat, Bald Locke leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers on his desk. “Come now, Inspector. We both know any charges you brought against me would never stick.”
“Maybe not,” Griff admitted. “But I can’t imagine all that extra scrutiny would be much good for business either. Especially once word got out about what tipped us off.”
Locke’s smiled vanished, replaced by a glare.
Throughout their exchange, Griff had kept a close eye on his aura.
Like most criminals Griff had encountered—minus the rather large and perplexing exception of Cal—his aura was a tattered mess, its colors dark and splotchy, evoking a sense of something torn beyond repair.
Still that scrutiny saved his life. Locke’s aura flaring crimson was the only warning Griff got as he raised the Vantoric shotgun hidden behind his desk and pulled the trigger.