Nightlife

So did the running.

So what if we saw one Grendel? It had been years since the last time they had caught up with us. As a matter of fact, that had been the event that had propelled our asses to the big city. We'd been lucky that time. No fire, no melting trailer, no mother going up like a Roman candle, just swords, knives, and the purple blood of monsters. But that had been nearly three years ago. At some point the Grendels had to give up, didn't they? At some point didn't they have to cut their losses and chalk me up as the one that got away? I had no idea what those bastards wanted with me, but whatever it was, there had to be a time when enough was enough. Even for the Grendels. Had to be.

Rolling out of bed, I shook off the thoughts and headed to the bathroom. As my hand went to the light switch, I hesitated and then left the bathroom in darkness. I wasn't still jumpy over the mirror incident at the Waldorf; I just didn't need the light. And if I avoided my shadowy reflection in the mirror, it was purely by accident. I didn't need to see myself to brush my teeth. Some things are best done unseen anyway.

Lying to yourself is one of them.

The next day didn't improve my mood any. And there was one big obnoxious reason for that. Robin friggin' Goodfellow. The guy was like a hangover without the actual alcohol. Too loud. Too bright. Too everything.

I'd spent the day grabbing an early shift at the bar while Niko did the same at the dojo. Then we had eaten a quick dinner before making our way to the meeting at the car lot. I was tired, sweaty from the unexpected October heat wave that had descended that day, and in no mood to hear this guy run his mouth. But I guess that was tough shit for me because run it he did. Continuously. Nonstop. Ad infinitum and any other fancy words for "would not shut the hell up."

There he sat in a position already becoming familiar, his feet crossed casually at the ankles and propped on his desk, while he ate noodles out of a cardboard box with chopsticks. "You sure you guys aren't hungry?" He waved a chopstick at the numerous boxes littering the office. "I got Moo Goo Gai Pan. Fried rice. Sweet-and-sour pork."

Niko shook his head. "No, thank you. We've already eaten." He cast a dubious eye at all the food. "You must have quite the appetite for Chinese."

Robin flashed an insatiable grin. "I've a lot of appetites, compadre, and not just for Chinese. Did I tell you about the time… ?"

Here we go, I thought with a groan. We'd learned fast yesterday that once those words came out of his mouth he'd be heading at a rapid gallop down memory lane. And most of his memories were as off-color as month-old bologna. "Save it for later, Sir Raunch-a-lot," I rapped. "We're here about the Auphe. 'Robin Does Rome' can wait until later."

He contemplated me for a moment, measuring me with eyes an intense, serious green. Then he pointed a chopstick at me and announced, "Kid, you need to get laid in the worst way."

Niko coughed abruptly, throat spasming over what I strongly suspected was swallowed laughter. The bastard. "Yeah?" I gritted between clenched teeth. "You wanna talk laid? How 'bout I lay you out like a rug? Then I kick your ass for the annoying son of a bitch you are?"

"Cranky. Cranky." Unperturbed, he took another bite of his noodles. "Just like an Auphe. No sense of humor."

I was coming up out of my chair with a growl when Niko snagged the back of my shirt and pulled me back down. "As entertaining as all this is, gentlemen," he said mildly, "we are here for a purpose. Let's pursue it, shall we?" He added as Robin put down the carton and swung his feet to the floor, "Also, Goodfellow, I would prefer that you not compare my brother to the Auphe again. Ever. Are we crystal clear regarding that particular subject?"

Robin cocked a sardonic eyebrow at me. "You feed him dictionaries for breakfast or what?"

I twisted my lips in reluctant acknowledgment. "Yeah, he's a regular alphabet soup dispenser." Leaning back in the chair, I stretched out my legs and inwardly accepted there was no rushing a puck. You might as well sit back, enjoy the ride, and pray your Dramamine kicked in. "So fill us in, Loman. You find out anything?"

The cocky expression melted off Robin's face as he speared the chopsticks into the box and dropped it onto the desk. "Not exactly," he hedged grimly. "But I was able to track down someone who might be able to help. A troll."

"A troll?" Niko echoed. "Are they especially knowledgeable about the Auphe?"

Robin's mouth thinned contemptuously. "Trolls are knowledgeable about quite a few things, all of them unpleasant. Whether or not it'll care to tell us anything is a different story." Then his expression lightened and he said slyly, "But you pups seem like you might be good at getting people to open up. Look what you did for me. Must be those friendly, honest faces."

"Yes, it must be." Niko's smile was like a sliver of ice in the heart.

"We're just sharing the love." I stood and slapped a hand on my leg. "So just where is this troll? Under the Brooklyn Bridge?"

Robin grinned like the Cheshire cat. "He shoots; he scores."

"Damn, really?" I guessed it wasn't such a wild supposition. The fairy tales couldn't all be wrong.

The fairy tales, however, hadn't said anything about the smell. In the shadow of the bridge with the river at my feet, I bent over, resting my hands on my knees, and concentrated on not hurling dinner all over my sneakers. The rank scent of troll was everywhere and choking in its intensity. Thick as molasses, it saturated every molecule with the putrid stench. "Jesus, how can you not smell that?" I gasped.

Niko's steadying hand rested on my back. "I don't smell anything except the East River, although that is fairly unpleasant in and of itself."

"The Auphe do have sensitive…" Robin let the words trail away as Niko's withering gaze hit him. Clearing his throat, he crouched in front of me. "You going to make it, kid?"

I glared at him through watering eyes. "I'll make it." Coughing twice, I pulled in air through my mouth instead of my nose. It didn't help much. Straightening, I rubbed a hand across my face. Breathing… who needed it? "Okay, let's do it."

Robin followed suit. Crossing his arms, he made a face as water lapped near his immaculate loafers. "Filthy river."

In black pants, shiny black shoes, and a forest green shirt I'd bet my last buck was 100 percent silk, Robin wasn't exactly dressed for roughing it. He was in stark contrast with Niko, wearing a long black coat despite the heat, and me in a navy blue T-shirt and worn charcoal gray sweatpants. "Don't you think you could've gone a little more casual?" I asked caustically.

Robin threw me a disbelieving look. "What are you talking about? These are my casual clothes."

"Why am I not surprised?" I made my way past him, the mud sucking at my shoes. "So where's your pal, huh? Where's the bane of Billy Goat Gruff?"

"He's most certainly not my friend. Don't for a minute go into this thinking that. He's not necessarily my enemy, but that's the best interpretation you can put on it. Trolls are like storms. They're a force of nature, deadly and completely without conscience. Forget that and you could be killed in a heartbeat." Goodfellow's voice was as serious as I'd ever heard it.

"That's if the smell doesn't get me first," I grunted, slogging on. The sun had long since disappeared, but the light from the bridge was more than enough to see by. Not that there was much to see besides muddy water and bleak concrete. "Where is he?" I repeated. "This is one damn big bridge to be hiding under."

"An accurate assessment, to say the least." Niko had moved up silently beside me, seemingly skating along the mud that was miring me down. "The troll could be anywhere."