Chapter 7
I took a run to the deli to pick up some dinner. When I got back to my apartment, a little mote of light spiraled above the futon. Judging by how dim and fading it was, the glow bee probably had been chasing me down all day. When I approached it, it put a burst of speed toward me and tapped my forehead, vanishing.
Midnight. Yggy’s. The low energy of the glow bee made Joe’s voice sound faint. You don’t understand a glow bee like a sending; you actually hear it. People impress messages on them with their own essences. When it lands on you, the essence releases the message. It’s quick, though. Try and put too much information into a glow bee, and it takes a while to sort out. On the other hand, too cryptic a message, and you find yourself scratching your head anyway. Joe and I had been exchanging them since I was a kid, before I was able to do a true sending. Now that I can’t do decent sendings anymore, we’re back to glow bees.
Yggy’s. Interesting location. About the midpoint of the Avenue just beyond what passes for retail shops but before the commercial warehouses begin. Not the worst place in the Weird, but starting to venture into that territory. It was a crossroads bar, one of those places where an elf can sit down with a fairy and either have a civil conversation or end up rolling around on the floor. I had almost forgotten Joe was setting up a meeting with his gang connection, and Yggy’s would be the perfect place for it. The bar’s one rule was no essence fighting.
Murdock didn’t pick up when I tried his cell. He hadn’t checked in at all, which was unusual, so I was relieved when he called me from his car just before midnight. Yggy’s would be a good place for him to check out, learn more about how the fey can sit down and have a drink without all the race drama.
I was happy when Murdock called me from downstairs. It was getting chilly at night, and I didn’t want to have to walk in the cold down to the bar. I tossed some newspapers from the passenger seat of his car into the back, where they landed, not accidentally, on a romance novel. Murdock has a secret passion for them. You might call it a secret, searing passion of towering desire. With flowing hair, ripped abs, and corsets. I tease him about it. He doesn’t read the good kind. Every once in a while, I find a paperback lying around my apartment that he’s left in a subtle effort to get me interested. I have read a couple, well researched, well written, but in the end, not so much my thing. Murdock thinks I’m single because I don’t get romance. I point out he never goes out with someone more than twice.
“Okay, gang fight. Two nights ago. What happened and when were you going to tell me?” I said, as he pulled an illegal U-turn and drove the wrong way up Sleeper Street to the Avenue.
He threw me a look that was at once surprised and annoyed. “What’s with the attitude? I was just going to bring it up.”
“I heard about it from Keeva, who took much joy in my lack of knowledge, thank you. Why didn’t you mention it the other day?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I must have been distracted by the fire. Nothing much to tell. A face-off between the TruKnights and the Tunnel Rats.”
I grabbed the dash as he took the corner a little too fast. “Okay. TruKnights I know are elf and fairy kids. That makes the Tunnel Rats our dwarf boys?”
He nodded. “Don’t know much about the dwarves. Keep to themselves mostly. You saw the colors: black hoodies and yellow bandanas. They claim a small area south of where the Farnsworth kid was found.”
“Still leaving the question of why a human kid was wearing the colors of a dwarf gang,” I said.
He nodded. “Except for the dead kid, all the members are dwarves as far as we know. The report didn’t have much detail about why the fight happened. The TruKnights claim turf just east, so based on what you picked up from the Tunnel Rats you met, it was probably turf related. Two elves ended up in the hospital pretty cut up.”
Dead kid. Murdock can do that, just refer to him as a dead kid. He’s much better at emotional detachment than I am, at least when he’s working. It’s a cop thing, to an extent. He’s seen more murders than I have, so he’s got an extra layer of protection against the horror of it. Not jaded so much as resigned.
We left the working lights of the Avenue behind and entered a more desolate stretch of road that led to the warehouse district. Murdock pulled the car to the mostly empty curb. It wasn’t an area where you left an unattended car parked for long. We got out and walked toward the harbor.
“I’m still convinced the blood on the kid’s shoe was Kruge’s,” I said.
Murdock gave me a lopsided smile. “Of course you are.”
Joe chose that moment to appear. Murdock is getting better at not being startled by a flit popping into view without warning, but you can still see the surprise on his face when it happens. He has to work on that if he ever wants to do undercover work with the fey.
Joe swirled around us, clearly pleased. “Right on time, guys. I just checked and our guy’s inside. Let’s go, let’s go.”
“What’s the rush, Joe?” I asked.
I didn’t get an answer, or, rather, I didn’t get an answer from Joe. Yggy’s is on the dead-end side of Congress Street north of the Avenue. A few people milled around the black-stained door with a “Y” painted in the middle. No one reputable. We were eyed with wary curiosity, but no one bothered us. The door slammed outward, followed by an airborne body that landed firmly in the gutter. Murdock and I exchanged glances.
Stinkwort laughed nervously. “I guess he decided to meet us outside!”
At that same moment, we were close enough for me to sense the guy’s essence. I stopped short and glared at Joe. I didn’t need an introduction, and I didn’t need the guy to roll faceup for me to recognize him. Murdock paused a step ahead of me, turning back with a questioning look on his face.
Stinkwort zoomed ahead. “Cal! How are you doing, bud?”
Cal opened one eye and smiled. “Hey, Joe, what do you know?”
Joe crossed his arms, sat down on Cal’s chest, and looked up with a self-satisfied, I-dare-you-to-get-mad-at-me smile.
“Hi, Cal,” I said.
When he realized it was me, he opened his other eye in surprise. “Well, well, what do you know, little bro?”
I didn’t hide the displeasure I felt. “Leo Murdock, meet Callin Grey. My brother.”
Naturally, Murdock was surprised as hell. “You have a brother?”
Cal reached up a big, meaty hand. “Pleased to meet you, Leo.”
Murdock shook and found himself pulling Cal off the ground while Joe fluttered up. “Same to you. And it’s Murdock.”
Cal stood a good five inches taller than either of us. We look nothing alike. He takes after our father—broad shouldered, barrel-chested, rough-cut facial features—but has our mother’s coloring—ash-blond hair, light brown eyes that can appear yellow. He has an infectious smile that belies an unpredictable temper. Which is how he ends up in gutters a lot.
Joe clapped his hands. “Drinks are on me!”
“My favorite words,” said Cal. He reached for the door handle to Yggy’s.
“Didn’t you just get thrown out?” I said.
He gave a sheepish smile. “Nah, not really. Just a prelim.” He sauntered inside with Joe on his shoulder.
“You don’t look happy,” said Murdock.
“More ambivalent. Let’s see where this goes,” I said.
I opened the door, and Murdock passed inside. No one really stood as bouncer at Yggy’s. It was the kind of the place that if you needed to rely on a bouncer to get you out of trouble, you didn’t belong there in the first place. When the management wanted someone removed, the bartender usually asked one of the meaner, drunker customers to take care of it for a free round. There were always takers.