Dim Sum Asylum(26)

“I’m not going to let you take the fall for this. No pun intended.” Trent yanked up the rolling gate to the ancient lift connecting the station’s two upper floors and its lower levels, grumbling at me when I limped into the car. “We were both on the job. Sure, you’re senior, but I should have known—”

“You didn’t know enough to bring your own tea leaves and salt,” I reminded him. “There’s going to be a learning curve. He knows that. Trust me, Trent. Right now, that’s a raft you want to climb onto and cling to, because what we’re heading into right now will be a tsunami of a shitstorm.”

By all rights, my godfather should have been home eating dinner or passed out on the couch after a beer and some ice cream. It was that late, but that wasn’t his style. No, as soon as he’d gotten word we’d fucked up the investigation, he’d probably unpacked his briefcase and ordered in a kettle of wonton soup.

The smell of chicken broth permeated the hallway before I even got close to his office door.

I was going to stick my head in first, but Trent barreled forward in typical military fashion. His ass clenched and his back stiffened as he knocked on the doorframe. The spiderweb scars on his face paled on his skin, and I worried he’d pass out from holding himself as tightly as he was.

“Breathe,” I cautioned. “You’re too big for me to catch if you pass out.”

“Is everything a joke to you?” he hissed back.

“No, just the things I can’t control.” I knocked harder, then stuck my head through the open door. “You wanted to see us?”

His desk was covered with reports, maps, and a huge see-through takeout container with about a cup of soup left in it. Gaines looked at me through his gold-rimmed glasses, scowling so furiously it made his eyebrows look like they were engaged in a battle to the death. His heavy silver-streaked walrus mustache was damp, and I suspected he’d been slurping straight from the soup container rather than using a spoon.

“Did you eat?” he barked, pointedly ignoring Trent.

“I figured we’d catch something later.” I kept my partner behind me, more out of preserving our working relationship than anything else. Gaines was angry, but it was a personal anger, and for all his level-headedness, I wasn’t sure if he was going to lash out at Trent because I’d been stupid enough to follow a cursed statue out onto a rickety bridge. “After we finish up our paperwork on the case. I’ve got Forensics going over the—”

“Get in here and close the door. Both of you. I want to yell at you and not have to worry about anyone hearing me call you a stupid buttwipe.” Gaines put the lid on his soup and moved it to a cluttered table behind him. “Sit. Those chairs should be filled with your asses right now so we can talk about the fuckup you two had today.”

The chair squeaked under me when I sat, but Trent remained standing. Gaines pointed at the other chair, and he edged closer to it. I didn’t know my partner well enough to guess what he’d do in most situations, but from what little we’d shared and the Youth Scout attitude he’d thrown at me all day, it was a pretty good bet he intended to throw himself on the proverbial sword.

Inspector Trent Leonard did not fail me.

After clearing his throat, Trent pulled his shoulders straight and snapped, “This afternoon was my fault, sir. I was ill-prepared for what happened and—”

“Sit down, Leonard. You haven’t been here long enough to take any of MacCormick’s blame. So get your ass in that seat and let Roku tell me what happened.” Gaines didn’t wait for Trent. Instead he jabbed the air at me with a pen. “You, talk. Leonard, I’ll tell you when I want to hear from you.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Trent cut in softly before I could begin my tale of woe. “While MacCormick’s my partner and outranks me, I’m still an Inspector. I was assigned to this division to be a cop, not sit quietly and knit while my partner takes the blame or the credit for anything we’ve done.”

Gaines studied Trent for a long moment, probably wondering how he could walk with the balls he was carrying between his legs. Then my godfather looked at me. I shrugged, then stretched my legs out, waiting for someone to make the first move. Gaines eventually grunted, “Fair enough. How about if Roku digs the hole, and you can jump right in next to him when it gets deep enough?”

It must have been enough for Trent, because he sat down and waited for me to slit my own throat.

With the exception of the rampant hard-core dick awakening I got from Trent, I told Gaines everything, including the part about the old assassin’s threats and how his wings nearly dragged on the floor from the weight of the red stars he’d punched into them. It took me about fifteen minutes in all to document the debacle, with the occasional murmur from Trent about points I’d missed.

“Forensics says there’s not much they can do with what they scraped off of the sidewalk, but they’ll do their best.” I shrugged, then regretted it when a twinge inched along my shoulder blades. “That thing moved, Captain. Most cursed things lurch and stumble, but this full-on galloped. I don’t know what kind of magic kept that spell going, but whatever it was, it cost the caster a lot. That kind of magic drains. How the Hell is the caster even still alive?”

“I thought once the magic is in something, it’s there to stay. Not with animation spells?” I shook my head no, and Trent leaned forward in his chair, his face as serious as Gaines’s. “So wait, the person who created the statue we chased is what? Dead? Drained?”