Luck of the Dragon: Liar's Poker

(Inspector Stagg and Sergeant Brush courtesy of EO Costello.  Thanks!)

        “So, this was all that was left?” Ni Hei asked the next day as he looked over the items recovered from Fat Leon’s establishment.  Some of the items, like the surviving bits of Allworthy’s silver, were still wet from the rain squalls that still pelted the island in the wake of the typhoon, while other things had been carefully kept dry.  It had all been placed in the family warehouse and surrounded by armed furs.

        Leon and Susie had not been minor players in the society of the island, nor had they been members of the elite clique.  As a result, their sudden disappearance was causing a scramble among all the levels of island society.  The sporadic gunfights that still echoed throughout Fort Bob signaled that the two wolves’ passing was allowing others to jockey for new positions, and there was a possibility that any number of corpses would be dumped offshore or over Traitor’s Ridge before order was restored.  The Nis had lost three of their employees in defending Susie’s establishment and had even had to retreat from it briefly during the night, but they held it firmly now.

        “Yes, Father, this is all we could get,” Hao replied as they surveyed the items.  In addition to the two safes, a large quantity of money in several currencies had been discovered hidden in the walls, along with intricately-engraved certificates that Hei recognized as bearer bonds.  The number of companies interested him, and he was more determined than ever to have the safes opened without damaging anything within.
 
        The sound of a truck pulling up outside caused everyone to tense, weapons at the ready.  Hei’s personal bodyguard opened the door, spoke with someone outside, and said, “Someone from up the hill to see you, sir.”

        “Thank you, Marco,” the red panda told the ferret, and stepped out, straightening his cuffs.  As soon as he saw the fur step out of the truck he bowed.  “Sir, you honor me with your presence,” he said respectfully in Chinese.

        The fur, a wolf named Shen Jintao, smiled.  “Permit me to honor you, Ni Hei.  You have done very well, and I and the others have noted it.  However, you realize that with greater influence come greater obligations,” he said in a gracious tone.

        Hei nodded.  He had anticipated that his financial obligations to the higher-ups would increase.  How much was another matter.  “I have sustained losses in the recent days,” he admitted (as if the fur hadn’t already known it).  “I hope that the obligations shall not be too great.”

        “We shall see,” the wolf said as he got back into the truck.  “You will be asked to come for dinner, and we will discuss it.”  As Hei bowed, the truck drove off.
 
        He straightened, one paw curling into a fist.  One day, he swore …  He turned as his youngest son walked up to him.  “What do you want done with the stuff, Father?” Hao asked.

        Hei replied, “Have the usual people assay and melt down the metals.  The silver might fetch a good price, but I will have to wait for the radio aerial to be repaired before getting a good quote.  We’ll use the money to pay for repairs and materials.”  He glanced at the two-story bulk of the Lucky Dragon, missing a small part of the peak of its roof and several windows from the storm.  Other buildings had not fared as well, with two warehouses by the airstrip reduced to kindling and twisted tin sheeting.  “Keep the safes and those bonds secure.”

        “Yes, Father.  What about opening the safes?”

        The older red panda shoved his paws into his trouser pockets as he thought, then said, “I will have to send a few telegrams.”


        The rain squalls that had accompanied the typhoon had caused virtually no damage to the Spontoon Islands.  However, the climate within the second-floor office at the Spontoon Islands Constabulary headquarters was rapidly deteriorating.

        “Cicely!” Chief Constable Pickering roared.  “Tell Stagg and his shadow to get their tails up here, now!”  The office door slammed shut as his secretary, a trim rabbit, winced and headed downstairs.

        It had not been a good few days for the Chief.  At first, the fox had had reason to smile happily as his entire Detective Bureau (both of them) had vanished, quite inexplicably.  What had caused things to go downhill, and fairly quickly, was that they didn’t go alone.  Several constables and the senior Magistrate had disappeared as well, only to reappear several days later.
 
        What had been the last straw had come a few days after that, in the form of a short phone call from the Interior Minister and the morning edition of the Daily Elele.  The news reported the deaths of two criminals in the Gilbert and Sullivan Islands, while the Interior Minister’s call touched on the exact same subject.
 
        Cicely knocked on the office door and opened it to find Sergeant Brush sipping coffee as he leaned back in his chair, while Inspector Stagg pored over the previous nights’ reports.  “Excuse me,” she said, “but Chief Pickering wants both of you in his office.”

        “I gathered as much,” Inspector Stagg said in his dry quiet voice, “from the plaster falling from the ceiling.”  He stood up and grasped his cane.  “Come along, Sergeant.”

        “About time you two showed up,” Pickering grated as the pair entered his office a few minutes later.  He didn’t offer Stagg a chair; this was not supposed to be a pleasant interview.  “What the hell were you two doing outside of your jurisdiction, swanning about and arresting people?  And what’s this about a reward already being distributed?”

        Stagg waited until the pause indicated that a reply was needed, then said, “We had a ruling that the islands were within Rain Island’s – “

        Pickering cut him off with an irritated gesture.  “I’m sick of your petty picking your way in and out and around the law, Stagg!  What in God’s name possessed you to distribute a cash reward that should go to the Finance and Interior Ministers?”

        “I wish to point out, sir, that the distribution was overseen by Magistrate Poynter and myself.  The constables – all of whom were on vacation, I may add – and the Naval Syndicate accounted for the bulk of the money.  Neither Magistrate Poynter nor I accepted any of it,” Stagg remarked.

        “Well, the Interior Minister wants the money back,” Pickering said irritably, “and I have authority to dock the pay of every constable who went off on your little ‘fishing trip.’”

        Stagg’s paw tightened on his cane.  “Sir, I feel I must protest.  Many of those constables have families.  Sergeant Brush, for example, has growing cubs.”

        “You should have thought of that before playing fast and loose with regulations and with the Althing’s money,” Pickering shot back.  “And you,” he said, fixing Brush with a glare, “you’ll keep your muzzle shut when your superiors are talking.  I’ve had about enough of you – “

        “Same here,” Brush growled.

        “SHUT UP!” Pickering shouted, his tail fluffing out.  At that moment the phone rang and the lean fox snatched at the pawset.  “What?  Who?  I see,” he said, his eyes narrowing at the two detectives.  “Send them in.”  He hung up the phone and said, “The Finance and Foreign Ministers are outside.  When they’re through with you two, you’ll be lucky to find work mucking out those compost generators.”  He took a deep breath and straightened his uniform as the door opened again.

        The two ministers were both canines, and as the door closed behind them they headed straight for Stagg.  “Inspector?” the taller of the two, a lean collie, asked.  “I’m Hoanui, the Finance Minister, and this is Mr. Teiva,” and he indicated the shorter spaniel, “the Foreign Minister.  We both wanted to meet you, Inspector Stagg, and shake your paw.”  As the two shook paws with the buck, Pickering did a creditable impression of a gaffed fish.  So good an impression, in fact, that Brush had to look away to keep from laughing.
 
        Teiva brought a chair for the buck and as Stagg sat said, “I’ve received a visit from the British Consul, Inspector, and His Excellency gave me this letter on behalf of his government.”  He flourished an envelope that he pulled from his coat pocket.  “The British Government are quite pleased with the service you’ve done for them and for the Spontoons, sir, and they want to thank you on behalf of His Majesty for bringing these two to justice.”

        Stagg looked embarrassed and said diffidently, “Please, Minister, I did not do this for any reason other than justice.”

        “Of course, of course,” the Minister enthused, “and in the best traditions of the Constabulary, may I add.  Chief Constable, have you spoken to these men about the reward for the Allworthys?”

        “Yes, Minister,” Pickering said.  “I assure you that I will collect all of it to give to Minister Hoanui – “

        “Good God, Pickering, whatever for?” the Finance Minister asked jocularly.  “Inspector Stagg saved me a great deal of trouble and paperwork, after all.  And, even after paying the Naval Syndicate for their trouble and paying the constables involved in this brave action, there is still quite a bit left over to add to the government’s accounts.”

        Pickering just stood there blinking for a moment before stammering, “B-but Minister, th-the Interior Minister – “

        “You let us handle him, Chief Constable,” Teiva soothed, “and just thank your lucky stars that you have people like this under your command.”  He turned and smiled at the two detectives.  “Gentlemen, I’d like to treat you both to some lunch, say at the Grand?”  He assisted Stagg to his feet and the group walked out.

        As the door closed, Pickering suddenly bent and grabbed the edges of the desk, wishing he could throw it out the window, smash it into splinters, anything.  He relaxed slightly and sat, grinding his teeth as he tugged his uniform collar open.  He picked up the phone suddenly.  “Cicely?  Take a lunch break now – a long lunch break, please,” he said.  “I want time to think.”  He hung up then, waited a short while, then picked up the pawset and dialed a certain number.

        “Hello, darling,” he said when the phone answered, “it’s me … yes, it’s a beautiful day … hmm … what are you wearing?  Ah, good … would it be all right if I came over, say, five minutes?  Great,” and he hung up the phone, then let himself out the back door of his office.


        It was still fairly warm, even for the first week of October, and the sky seemed swept clean after the typhoon had gone by.  Crowds of furs were hard at work around Fort Bob and down at the Beach, repairing those houses that were damaged by the storm.  The buildings that had been destroyed were being either rebuilt or picked apart for salvage.

        Part of the roof of the Ni and Sons building had to have new shingles put on it, and the sounds of hammering and strange voices up on the roof had not settled Ni Hei’s nerves.  He studied his tie in the bedroom mirror and untied it with an exasperated sound.
 
        Ni Peng glanced over at him.  “What is the problem, my husband?” she asked.  She got up and walked over to him as he fussed with his tie, gently placed his paws at his sides and tied the offending accessory for him.  “There,” she said, “now tell me what the problem is.”

        “I’m not sure how much more we’ll have to pay the people on the hill,” he admitted.  “We’re already paying fifteen thousand a year; how much more can they ask of us?”  The Ni’s annual tribute to the ruling faction had increased from ten thousand dollars to fifteen after their agreement with Don Carpanini became common knowledge.  It created a slight strain on the family’s finances, but ways had been found to compensate.  Krupmark’s rulers had learned over the years that it never paid to mulct the others too harshly.

        Peng smiled and kissed his cheek.  “I know you will strike an appropriate deal, my love,” she said.  “You always have before.  Besides, I have an idea about that house we’ve acquired on the Beach.”  She told him, and he smiled and kissed her.



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