Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) (3 page)

I stroked my chin. “I see. How high a stakes are we talking about?”

“Twenty thousand crown buy in,” said Steck.

I tried to whistle and failed. I’m a horrible whistler.

Steele took up my slack. “Wow.”

“Exactly,” said Detective Munn. “Not only is this tournament going to be a huge money maker for the ship’s owners, but they hope the publicity it generates will attract other high rollers, both domestic and international, to its tables. So you can imagine they haven’t been particularly receptive to our suggestion they shut the tournament down until we can get a bead on the con we’ve heard rumors about.”

“The ship’s top brass won’t less us shutter it unless we come to them with definitive evidence showing who’s going to commit the fraud and how it’s going to be committed,” said Steck. “Unfortunately, we don’t have that yet, and given the ship departs
tonight,
it’s simply not going to happen.”

“I could see how that’s problematic,” said Steele.

“The good thing,” said Steck, “is the ship’s owners
are
concerned about publicity, and they realize how detrimental news of a botched poker tournament would be to their public perception. So they’ve agreed to—nay,
demanded
—a police presence onboard. They want officers with eyes on the table at all times. But they don’t want square-shouldered thugs loitering around, intimidating their patrons and stinking up the joint. Neither would we. If the parties involved found out we knew what they were up to, they surely wouldn’t try anything, or they’d drop out entirely. So, in conjunction with the ship’s management, we’ve come up with a solution we think fits everyone’s best interests.”

“You’re putting someone in the poker game?” I said. “Sorry. Sorry. Foot in mouth, again. You tell us.”

“Not someone,” said Steck. “Two someones.”

Suddenly, I knew why the Captain had called on us. “Hold on. You want to insert me and Detective Steele into a high stakes poker tournament on a swanky luxury boat?”

“Oh, we don’t
want
to,” said Munn. “We’d rather send in Detectives Hawthorne and Reeves who’ve been training to go undercover on this mission for the past week. But two days ago they started to feel unwell, and last night they both broke out in a full body rash. The doctor says they’ve come down with a case of the goblin pox. It won’t do any lasting harm, but it’s highly contagious, and the two of them need to be quarantined for at least ten days.”

“And the Captain somehow thought Steele and I would be good at this?” I said. “I’m not sure how much he knows about my private life, but what Quinto, Rodgers, and I used to do on the weekends over beers was purely for fun. We bet pocket change.”

“It’s not that simple,” said Steck. “You don’t know them because they hail from Grant Street, but Detectives Hawthorne and Reeves are a husband and wife pair.”

I glanced at Steele. “Uh…where are you going with this?”

“We built a profile for them,” said Munn. “A young power couple made rich off commodities trading, Thomas and Samantha Waters, who now play fast and loose with their money in search of adventure and excitement. They hail from up the coast in Littleneck Harbor, to keep their identities mysterious. By now all the other players will have heard the rumors. They’ll be eager to learn more about their new competitors, and while I doubt they’ll bat an eye if your temperaments don’t fully match expectations, if nothing else, they
will
be expecting a couple. And unfortunately for me, no two other people on my fraud team fit that bill. Heck, nobody in the whole Grant Street Precinct does.”

“When we came to him with the problem, the Captain suggested you,” said Steck. “For one, he thought Detective Steele’s unique abilities might come in handy, and for another, he assured us you had a very close working relationship.”

The first part didn’t faze me. Steele was known as the precinct’s resident spell-slinger due to her psychic ability—something only I, Quinto, Rodgers, and Cairny knew to be a total load of hogwash. I carried as much psychic power around in my big toe as Shay did in her whole body. But the second part? Was it my imagination, or had Steck had gone out of his way to emphasize the ‘working’ in working relationship? Did that mean the Captain knew? Steele and I had tried to keep our feelings for one another hidden, but we’d engaged in that one spat in the interrogation room, and Steele had kissed me outside the precinct not less than a week ago. Rumors had a way of travelling.

Steele took it all in better than I did. “So let me make sure I understand this correctly. You need a pair of detectives, one male and one female, who can pose as a couple. A pair with a strong relationship who know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, not only because they’ll be working together to unearth some as yet unknown gambling fraud, but because they’ll need that strong connection to get them through the tournament. And I’m guessing you’re also looking for a pair with all the qualities you’d otherwise want in undercover detectives: quick wits, good eyes, and the ability to play a role.”

“Don’t forget gambling experience,” said Munn. “But that might be asking too much.”

“Well, I dabbled with card games in college,” said Steele. “And I’m quick on the uptake. What do you think, Daggers? We’ve got this, right?”

No hesitation. I liked that about Steele. She was strong and confident and wasn’t prone to false modesty, but there was a lot more to this assignment than wits and gambling prowess. The part where we were supposed to pose as a couple, specifically. And she hadn’t hesitated.

“I don’t know, Steele,” I said. “It’s one thing to play a few hands of cards with buddies over brews, but the dynamics change when you raise the stakes. I mean, twenty thousand crowns?
Apiece?
Even accounting for the fact that we’re not playing with our own money, we can throw betting and bluffing psychology out the window. Speaking of which, is the department really putting up
forty thousand crowns
on this endeavor?”

“We get it back if either of you win,” said Steck. “Or if we catch any of the other competitors in a con. So, uh…no pressure.”

“The good news,” said Munn, “is the ocean liner’s managing corporation is so desperate for positive press from this tournament that even if we lose—and there’s no fraud committed—they’ll refund us half the buy in. So even the worst case scenario won’t be a total loss. But if we go in and fail to uncover anything, you can bet the accountants will never authorize anything of this magnitude again. So, yeah. No pressure.”

I glanced at Steele. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“If it makes any difference,” said Steck, “I’ll be on board the whole time posing as a porter, and I’ll be working with the staff behind the scenes, which means even though the two of you will be limited in your authority due to your cover, I’ll be able to poke and prod and hopefully give us an advantage over the competition.”

I took a deep breath and let it out through my nose.

“Did I mention the trip is all-expenses-paid?” said Steck.

“Oh.
Well in that case, count me in,” I said.

“Please, Detective Daggers,” said Munn. “This is serious.”

“I know. I’m kidding.” I sort of was. “But Detective Steele is right. You can count on us. We’ll get the job done.”

Steck breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. Munn, get the files on Preiss, Wyvernjaw, and Skeez. And the dossiers we put together for Hawthorne and Reeves. We’re severely short on time, so you two are going to have to cram. And speaking of time—how are you two on formal attire? Ball gowns and cocktail dresses for you, Steele. And Daggers, you have a tuxedo, I hope?”

I blinked. “Say what now?”

Steck passed his hand over his short hair. “Wonderful. Okay, come with me. We can go over the files while the two of you get fitted. Hopefully the tailors won’t charge us an arm and a leg for same day service.”

Steck stood to go, but I was still a few paces behind the lead.
Tuxedo?
By the gods, what had I gotten myself into?

4

I stood on a fitting platform in front of a tri-paneled mirror while some old dude in a three-piece suit prodded my junk with a tape measure. It wasn’t how I’d envisioned my day going.

I felt a light touch against my goods.

“Thirty-four inch inseam,” said the tailor.

“You, uh…leaving enough space for the boys?”

He stood and looped the tape measure around my midsection. “Thirty-six inch waist.”

“You sure about that?” I said. “I think I’m a thirty-four. Maybe you should remeasure.”

The tailor stepped back and twirled a corner of his handlebar moustache. “Do you know how long I’ve been crafting suits,
sir?”

The emphasis he placed on
sir
didn’t pass me by, and while I could admit to being less than helpful, it seemed uncalled for. “Don’t take it personally. I’m like this to everyone. But I have lost weight recently. Can you tell?”

The tailor responded by clearing his throat and getting back to work. He pressed the tape measure against the length of my arm.

The door chimes sounded, and I turned my head. Steele entered through the shop’s front door, still clad in the shearling jacket and pleated brown pants from before. Her arms were empty.

“No luck?” I said.

“On the contrary,” she said. “I found a number of gorgeous gowns. Far too many, actually. It’s a shame the cruise isn’t longer.”

“So where are they?” I asked.

“The seamstress is making alterations to make sure they fit me properly. With luck, they’ll be ready in time. How are things going here?”

“Beats me,” I said. “Ask the bespoke one.”

The tailor stretched his tape measure across my shoulders. “Nineteen inches. Well, Mr. Daggers, it would appear you’re fairly normally proportioned for your size. I should have some stock that fits you, with minor modifications of course, at least for the suits. The key will be picking a proper tuxedo. Tell me, do you prefer single-breasted or double-breasted?”

“Suits or partners?”

“Pardon, sir?”

My wit was wasted. I furrowed my brow. “Uh…double-breasted is where you have two sets of buttons in front?”

The tailor sighed, but Steele stepped forth before he was forced to explain. “Let’s try Daggers in a single-breasted, two-button suit. One with a notched lapel, neither too long nor too short. To about here.” Steele gestured to a point on her own sternum.

The tailor was only too happy not to deal with me anymore. “Certainly, miss. Necktie, bowtie, or ascot?”

“Bowtie.”

The tailor disappeared behind a curtain leading into the back of his shop. I stepped off the platform and joined Steele by the seating area: a cluster of four leather-upholstered sofa chairs set around a polished oaken coffee table. Mannequins clad in fancy duds dotted the room, displaying the tailor’s wares, while cabinets set high in the walls overflowed with bolts of colorful, expensive fabrics, everything from linen to silk to cashmere. Spools of thread packed the space closer to the floor, enough to patch and darn ten thousand holes. The only thing missing was the sewing tables, but I assumed those were kept in back out of the view of discerning eyes.

Steele crossed to one of the sofa chairs and picked up my leather jacket, which I’d draped over the back prior to having my measurements taken. She sniffed.
“Fine leather…”

I crossed my arms. “Don’t for a minute think I’m retiring that. As soon as we finish our stint on the
Prodigious,
I’ll be slipping right back into Darla’s arms.”

“Darla?
You gave your jacket a name, too?”

“It’s the first thing that came to mind,” I said. “But since we’re on the subject of Daisy, that’s another point in favor of my leather coverall. Where in the world am I going to store my nightstick in a dinner jacket? Even if Jerrold McThimblefingers in back did have time to sew a secret compartment into my suit jackets, I’m pretty sure Daisy’s steely frame would poke through.”

Shay set the jacket back down on the chair. “You’re not really planning on bringing your truncheon with you on the cruise, are you?”

“Are you suggesting I travel without her? Might as well ask me to go naked.”

Shay gave me a double eyebrow raise. “Why are you being so difficult? You act as if being forced to acquire a new wardrobe is torture. I might understand if it were coming out of your pocket, but the department’s footing the bill. And since they’re tailored suits, you’ll get to keep them.”

“Well, I’ll have to store them, at the very least,” I said.

“I’ve been to your apartment. Your closet’s not that small.”

I snorted.

“Really,” said Steele. “What’s bugging you? Is it the comfort angle? Or are you afraid you’ll like the way you look and won’t want to go back to your old style?”

“Pshtt. I am
not
afraid of that.”

I was much more afraid
Shay
would like the way I looked.

Shay brushed off my shoulders and straightened my shirt. “Well, whatever it is, let’s get your mind off it. Tell me about the prime suspects in the gambling case.”

“You want to test me?” I said. “Okay. I’m game. Johann Preiss. Sixty-three years of age. Owns a half-dozen textile mills. Runs a fairly clean business, but has been accused of unfair labor practices in the past. When his employees went on strike in protest of sub-standard wages, he brought in scabs to take their places, and when the scabs started defecting he sicced his pinks on the lot of them. Roughed a lot of people up. Kept his wages low for years, which meant more earnings for Preiss, but it didn’t make him many friends. To this day, he keeps his skullcrackers near him at all times for fear of retribution.

“Orrin Wyvernjaw, thirty-three, dwarven, is your more traditional thug. Has been indicted multiple times on money laundering and racketeering charges, but somehow none of them have ever stuck. According to Steck, he’s a major player in the underground poker circuit, and he wins more often than he loses. Nobody’s ever caught him cheating, but given his day job, nobody would put it past him either. Not sure if anyone would call him out on it if they
did
notice. He has a reputation for short-temperedness and violence.”