“Alright, just sit back and let me do the talking,” muttered Winder as we followed Gonzo down the dim hallway. “We shouldn’t be in any danger, but still. Linda can work up a nasty temper.”
We turned one last corner, and an elaborately decorated door greeted us. Gold and silver chains hung like ornaments from the frame, and emblazoned on the center of the door was the Chain’s gang symbol. Two armed men stood on either side, their suspicious eyes staring at us from the shadows. Scowling at us one last time, Gonzo ushered us through and slammed the door.
In a word, the room that greeted us could be described as “exotic.” The heavy smell of incense clogged my nose, so strong that I couldn’t help but take a step back. Winder, seemingly unfazed, noticed my hesitation and pulled me forward by the arm. “The smell is meant to disorient you. Don’t lose your focus.” I nodded and did my best to ignore the mesmerizing scent.
The interior itself was richly decorated, elaborate carpets and patterns spread across the floors and walls, all of foreign make. Silken cushions lay scattered about next to woven mats, reminding me of the higher-end opium dens I’d seen from investigations in the past. And across the room through the slight haze, I saw a slender figure sitting on one such mat, calmly observing us through steady brown eyes.
“You haven’t visited me in over six months, Winder.” Linda’s voice, high and girlish, belied the dangerous and violent reputation that she had built over the years. It was every other week that us officers would find the leader of another upstart gang murdered, having attempted to exploit the Chain’s leader under the impression that a little flattery or showing off would be enough to earn her favor.
“I told you I wouldn’t come back here unless I absolutely had to, sis,” Winder responded, coming up to her and cheerfully mussing her hair. “You know the higher-ups hate it when officers start asking gangs for assistance. That is, unless they’re doing it themselves.”
“Oh, stop it,” Linda snapped, jerking her head back from her brother’s hand. “Unlike you, Winder, I actually have an image to protect, and having a man pat my head like a dog does not improve it in the slightest.”
“If your ‘image’ is acting like a seven-year-old with a candy deficit, then I don’t think this’ll change much,” retorted Winder. “This is Newt, by the way. My new apprentice, so to speak.” Too overwhelmed by the scene before me, I could only nod.
Linda paused and glanced at Winder. “Newt? Interesting… name. I guess my brother gave it to you? Well, I hope he’s treating you well. He never could treat a lady well. Now,” Linda continued, her voice turning serious, “what are you two here for?”
Winder let out a dry chuckle. “What do you think?”
Linda remained still, but she suddenly seemed uneasy. “Proceed.”
“Carl Sand,” the detective began. “Blond hair, pale skin. Two earrings on the left ear. Well-known street musician. Plays the—”
“—guitar, performed at the Crowley Square renovation festival last night. Found dead at around 4:12 this morning. No witnesses,” interrupted Linda. She spoke quietly and factually, and Winder stared at her in surprise.
“You seem to know as much about the case as I do,” he said slowly. His eyes narrowed. “Or maybe even more.”
“Brother,” said Linda, “this murder isn’t the first of its kind. There have been five just like this in the past several months, each one aimed at the Chain. I covered it up as much as I could, kept it quiet from the public. It’s only been a decade since we made that peace treaty with the government, but people are already raring to start another conflict. I can’t let that happen.” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m only surprised you didn’t discover the truth earlier.”
“Then what happened this time?” demanded Winder. “Why’d the force find the body instead of you?”
“The killer learned.” Linda grasped the mat angrily. “Sand was supposed to be picked up by another Chain escort, but the escort got piss drunk and passed out just outside the square. When he finally woke up, the officers were already arriving.”
A distant rumble caught our attention. Linda frowned and snapped her fingers, and a guard came out of the shadows. “Find out what’s going on.”
Winder stood there, deep in thought. “So someone is deliberately aiming to sabotage you. But that doesn’t help; it could be from one of a dozen groups. Do you have any idea of who this could be?”
Linda hesitated. “Whoever it is hides his tracks very well,” she said. “But he seems to want something. Not from me, but… from you, Winder.”
Winder tensed. “What do you mean, Linda?”
Without a word, the Chain leader held out her hand. Cupped in her palm was a small, speckled blue figure with a key protruding from its side: a plastic wind-up bird, its small beak open as if frozen in song.
I glanced at Winder. His face was expressionless, but his body was as still as the toy, his eyes locked on to the bird.
The explosion roared through the door behind us, knocking all of us to the soft ground. Several Chain guards leaped from the shadows, bristling with weapons, before a hail of bullets flying from the new hole in the wall took them by surprise. For a full minute, gunfire and shouts surrounded us as Linda dragged me and Winder behind an overturned table.
A silence fell upon us with the last gunshot. Then heavy footsteps approached, crunching over scattered debris before stopping a few feet before us. “Drop your weapons and stand up, now,” a deep voice commanded. I obliged, dropping my revolver on the ground and rising to meet the stare of a man dressed in a brown overcoat, who brandished his open weapon in our direction. Behind him approached four armored officers, stepping over the still bodies of Linda’s guards.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” demanded Linda furiously, standing beside me with her hands up. “The rest of the Chain won’t stand for this. Ten years of peace will be ruined—”
The man fired. Linda made a coughing noise and fell to the ground, a dark stain rapidly forming in her abdomen. Winder flinched as he heard her collapse, the color draining from his face, but his expression was one of outright loathing as he stared before him. “Detective Krig,” he growled.
The man smiled. “Detective Winder,” he announced with obvious pleasure, “you are under arrest for the murder of Carl Sand.”