Immediately inside the door stood a coat check that no one ever used, but the coat-check girls, usually elves, always got tipped for their outfits, or suggestions thereof. After a short hallway, a large square bar area filled the front of the place. Stools surrounded it on all sides and could easily seat a few dozen people. Beyond that was a dance floor that was primarily an excuse to place wooden barrels to lean on when the bar was full. And beyond that was a pool table. For the right price, pool wasn’t the only action the felt saw.
Cal waved to a sallow-looking fairy with shaggy black hair sprouting from various points on his skin. Not all the Celtic fairies are from the pretty Dananns clans. The fairy frowned and gave him the finger.
“My table’s back here,” Cal said over the low din. Yggy’s is bar-loud, not club-loud. You can carry on a decent conversation without having to raise your voice too much over competing conversations and the new-wave-retro harp and fiddle classics on the sound system. Not far from the pool table, we slid around a battle-scarred table with four chairs in the style every New Englander knows as colonial. Joe flipped over the empty black plastic ashtray and used that as a seat. Cal waved four fingers at a waitress, who nodded and disappeared toward the bar.
Cal smiled down at Joe. “Someone said he had someone I needed to meet. Someone implied it was a date.”
Joe put on an innocent look. “I never said date. Why does everyone think I want to set them up on dates?”
“Maybe because strange women end up with our phone numbers?” I said.
“Not true!” he said. He winked at Murdock. “It’s not always women.”
Murdock shot me a sly glance. Joe thinks I don’t date enough and believes if he throws enough variety at me, someone will stick. Murdock can’t understand how anyone can be without the company of women for more than a week. Since I don’t rise to their baiting, they keep wondering if my interests lie outside the assumed. Of course, not rising to their baiting also means they keep baiting. I think we all enjoy it.
“How ya been, bro?” Cal asked. I hated the “bro.” Even though Cal always used it, it felt like an affectation. The constant reminder of our relationship was a constant reminder that we were hardly buddies. When I lost my abilities two years back, Cal managed to show up at Avalon Memorial a week later, mildly sober, with enough contrition for the delay to indicate he meant it. It still irked me that he took so long. Our parents called the day I woke up, and they were in Ireland.
“Okay. Not much change. You?”
The waitress returned and dropped three tumblers of whiskey in front of us and a smaller one for Joe. We tapped glasses. While the three of us sipped, Murdock placed his back on the table. He wasn’t on duty, but I could tell by the way his eyes kept shifting to the crowd, it was not the kind of place he liked to drink in.
“I’m okay,” Cal said. “Been doing a little of this, a little of that.”
We always started this way. Wary. Not going too deep.
“Heard from Mom and Dad?” I asked. Safe, yet unsafe, territory.
He shook his head. “You know them. They’ll remember us eventually.”
I didn’t respond. Like all siblings, Cal and I have very different relationships with our parents. Cal sees their lack of contact as indifference. I see it as two people who get incredibly caught up in each other and their own lives. They care. Cal never realizes they call him more than me. But then, they worry about him more. If and when they return from meddling in Celtic politics, Cal will complain they won’t leave him alone, and I will pretend I don’t like their attention.
No one spoke for a long minute, while Joe hummed to himself watching us. I’ve got to give it to the little guy. He never quite gives up on getting the two of us back together.
“So, Joe’s led me to believe you travel in interesting circles these days,” I said.
Cal sipped his drink again, eyeing Joe. “Does he, now? Perhaps Joe might be more careful what he says where.”
Joe barked like a dog at Cal. It’s one of his nervous tics when someone throws a dig at him that lands. “I didn’t say anything about your buried treasure, secret harem, or wine cellar. I just told him you might know about gang stuff down by the Tangle.”
From the look on Cal’s face, I think he would have preferred Joe told us about women or money. I already knew about the booze. Cal downed his whiskey and nodded at the waitress. Not a good sign.
“Why would I talk about something I know nothing about with a cop?” asked Cal.
Murdock’s mouth went to a tight, straight line. Murdock hated being made as the law. Of course, Cal wasn’t stupid. Wearing a trench coat and tie in Yggy’s and not drinking a free shot were dead giveaways. I felt Murdock’s essence spike, and I could tell Cal felt it, too. He gave me a look that told me he found it odd. The waitress dropped him another drink on her way by.
“We’re just looking for background, Cal,” I said.
“Still don’t know why you’re talking to me.”
I sighed. Every time Cal and I encounter each other, the animosity starts. It goes back a long way. We’re never at outright war with each other, but there are too many issues between us for outright peace. “Look, Joe brought us to you. If you can’t help, fine. I’m not looking to cause you trouble.”
“Calm down, Con.” He nodded at Murdock. “You trust him?”
“With my life. I can’t say the same for him. I almost got him killed on our last case together.”
Murdock chuckled. His essence settled down, more human normal.
Cal leaned forward, not looking me in the eye. “What do you want to know?”
“What about the Tunnel Rats?” Murdock asked.
Cal shrugged. “Enforcers mostly. T-Rats don’t usually start something, but they’ve been known to end things pretty quick.”
Murdock leaned forward, too. “My info is they’re all dwarves, but we’ve got a dead human kid wearing their colors. Would they have killed him for wearing their colors?”
Cal shook his head, examining the swirling amber liquid in his glass. “No, they’re not that sick-petty. They might rough someone up for it, but it’d be odd for them to go that far.” He paused. “Oh, wait—did the kid have knots in his bandana?”
We both nodded. “That’s why. The kid had something he didn’t want his gang identified with, but the T-Rats wanted done. So, they let him wear their colors. Knots in a bandana are a heads-up that the kid isn’t a T-Rat but has their protection.”
“Sounds dangerous. If someone wanted to kill a Tunnel Rat, why would they care if someone was pretending to be one?”
Cal smiled. “’Cause they don’t know if they’re bringing double hell down on themselves. Someone might not be afraid of the T-Rats but scared spitless of an associate. Kill the associate, get the T-Rats and the associate’s gang in on your fight uninvited.”
“What can you tell us about this dwarf named Moke who runs the gang?” I asked.
Caught mid-drink, Cal almost choked on his laugh. “Moke’s no dwarf. He’s a nasty-ass troll straight from the Kingland. The only thing the T-Rats are afraid of is their own boss eating them.” He laughed and shook his head. “Moke a dwarf. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.”
I tried not to feel the heat in my face. Cal likes to know better than his little brother. Even after all these years, he could take something I was naturally ignorant of and make me feel stupid ignorant. “Why would dwarves answer to a troll?”
“’Cause he pays good money. Like I said, the T-Rats are hired fists. You run enough drugs down here, you need some strong-arm behind you. They are easy to buy.”