Last Call

by Lloyd Behm II

“Now you’re just being mean,” Tatsuo replied, blinking rapidly. “Why can’t I enlarge my eyes?”

  “That’s the straps,” Fred said. “Sorry, one of the rules is you aren’t allowed to transform, so we used control straps.”

  Tatsuo looked at him and shrieked. “Um, like ok, I’m going to talk, fer shur, okay? I like, totally can’t stand pain, you know? I mean, I mean, like sure, um, just thinking about it is strangely arousing, and all of you looking at me is only making things totally tubular, but, but, but I’m like totally going to tell you everything I know without you having to hurt me…”

  Sola sighed and waved a hand. A large leather gag appeared, covering Tatsuo’s face from nose to chin. Her eyes widened to their fullest, natural extent.

  “Are you sure we need to do things this way?” Sola asked me.

  “I do not want anyone saying we failed to follow the proper protocols in the interrogation of my retainer,” I said. “However, in the interest of fairness, I think we can say that the witness is properly cowed and will give true testimony.”

  Tatsuo frantically nodded, her eyes flowing with tears.

  “To ensure her compliance, however, I think the Chief Torturer should place the Boot of Destruction on her foot, that she be reminded of what horror awaits her should she lie or fail to be fully forthcoming in her testimony.”

  Fred’s grin was horrific. Tatsuo’s head whiplashed furiously between giving me beseeching looks and trying to see the Boot of Destruction the dwarfs were attaching to her foot.

  When the Boot was in place, Sola waved away the gag.

  “Are you the dragon known to all those present as Tatsuo?” Sola asked. A quill lifted from the desk and began recording.

  “Yes,” Tatsuo answered, tears streaming down her face.

  “Why did you attack those who now hold your parole?”

  She sniffed, fighting to regain her composure. “I was hired to do so.”

  “Do you know who hired you?”

  “No…I mean yes…I mean not at first…no, please don’t crush my foot, I’m answering!”

  “Explain your answer,” Sola said.

  “I was contacted through the internet, you know? Someone had a job for me. It involved some breakage, but in return I’d get some really bitchin’ jewels, you know? A girl has to think of her horde, and I’d had to sell the best pieces when I moved to Austin. Um, could I get a drink?”

  Fred motioned, and Andre brought over a sponge, wetting the prisoner’s lips.

  “Like, gag me with a spoon! Is that vinegar?” She worked her jaw. “And hyssop? Why are you giving me vinegar and hyssop on a sponge? Gross!”

  “You’re the one who insisted things had to be ‘traditional,’” Fred stage-whispered to her. “There is nothing more traditional than giving a torture victim vinegar and hyssop on a sponge.”

  “It’s still gross! Like, grody to the max gross,” Tatsuo said.

  I waved a finger, and Fred shifted his foot.

  “No!”

  “Then continue your explanation,” I said.

  “Yes, Foreman. They contacted me through the internet—I make some money as a cam model, you know?”

  “What is a ‘cam model?’” I asked.

  “I…have a link to cameras around my house on my website—they film my day to day activities, and people pay to watch that. It’s a good thing I’ve got a lot of back footage on the server, or this would cost me a lot of money.”

  “The only thing worse than a greedy dragon is the fact that humans will find anything sexy,” Ozzie said.

  “Nothing like that! You should see some of the requests I get…”—she shuddered— “but I just take footage of me doing everyday things like vacuuming or making breakfast, or for the VIP club members, they can watch me on my horde. I got this nice piece that way—a large, uncut opal set in platinum—and it’s easy work. However, they offered me the ‘Heart of Texas’ in exchange for going to that sleazy night club and disrupting your meeting.”

  Dalma started laughing.

  “What’s funny about a girl looking out for her horde?”

  “It’s not that, Tatsuo,” Dalma said. “What did they tell you the ‘Heart of Texas’ was?”

  “They said it was a large ruby that was recovered from an archeological dig near Waco,” Tatsuo replied, avarice in her eyes. “The one in the Strecker Museum on Baylor is a copy they slipped into the collection years ago.”

  “You poor, gullible dragon,” Dalma said. “There is no ‘Heart of Texas’ in the Strecker Museum collection. Waco bills itself as ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas,’ and I doubt they were going to give you the entire city in exchange for whatever you were supposed to do.”

  “The…the ruby they showed me wasn’t real?”

  “Oh, it was probably a real ruby, unless there’s a member of the Unseelie Court involved,” Fred said, touching her arm gently. “It probably isn’t called ‘The Heart of Texas,’ though, and I’d be willing to bet they were going to kill you rather than pay you.”

  “That stinking stagman!”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “That stagman. You know, the one the dead sexy werewolf killed? He’s the one who hired me. That werewolf killed him too quickly, I think.”

  “Ryan hired you?” I asked.

  Sola’s quill flew across the page.

  “Yes. I didn’t know it was him at first—when we met after he contacted me through my page, he showed me the jewel and, like, told me what he wanted me to do. I smelled him, you know? It’s not like I have any control over it.”

  Fred signaled Andre again. This time the dwarf brought over a tin cup, and Tatsuo eagerly drank from it.

  “Grody! What was that? It tastes like…cough syrup mixed with corn syrup…and a lot of rubbing alcohol for effect.”

  Fred signaled Andre, and he brought over a bottle, presenting it to Tatsuo like a sommelier presenting the finest vintage in the wine cellar.

  “Night Train? You just gave me Night Train? Are you trying to destroy my palate? I’ll get you for this, runt.”

  “Tradition again,” Fred said with a small smile. “You cooperated, so we gave you something better than vinegar.”

  “Besides, anything he is doing is at my order,” I said.

  “Yes, Foreman,” Tatsuo said, wilting back into the chair.

  I smiled at her. “The sooner you finish your story, the sooner we can end the torture.”

  “Yes, Foreman. So I smelled him, and committed that smell to memory. It’s a feature, not a bug of being a dragon, you know? That way if we run across some bloody little lucky number burglar who steals part of our horde, we’re like totally justified in killing him.” She tried to shrug in place, but the straps prevented it. “Could, like, y’all loosen the straps or something?”

  Fred loosened the shoulder straps with great ceremony.

  “Thank you. I’ll eat you last,” she quipped.

  “As if.”

  “You were saying how you knew Ryan had hired you?” Sola said.

  “Yes, Magistrate. I didn’t recognize him at first, but when I picked him up, I could taste him, even through that spell he cast.”

  “Did he say why he wanted you to disrupt the meeting he’d called?”

  “No, Magistrate. He did give me a necklace as a retainer, though. It has some good work on the settings, even if the stones are a bit plebian. Quartz, mostly.”

  I looked at Sola, and he nodded. Fred caught the nod before I could signal him, and he released Tatsuo—first from the “Boot of Destruction,” and then from the chair itself.

  “Are we done, Foreman?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Know I will have my vengeance on you and yours, runt,” she hissed, turning on Fred.

  Fred stood there grinning, a truly wicked-looking footman’s hammer held lightly in one hand.

  “Know this, Wyrm,” he said, giving her the ancient name, “payback is a motherfucker. My mine brothers will avenge me against an
ything you do.”

  The loud CLACK of a bolt going home broke the silence.

  “If y’all want to dance, dance,” Dalma said. She was standing behind Alfie, who was on one knee, the barrel of a Solothurn S-18 anti-tank rifle over one shoulder. “But I will bring vengeance for my brothers, lizard breath.”

  The air shimmered as Sola threw up a shield.

  Tatsuo looked down the muzzle of the rifle.

  “Is that an anti-tank gun?” she asked, somewhat meekly.

  “Yes. I wasn’t quite sure what would hurt a dragon, so it’s loaded with depleted uranium penetrators and hollow-points lined with mistletoe.”

  “That…like, that would totally do the job, you know?” Tatsuo said, offering Fred her hand.

  They embraced, Tatsuo licking the dwarf on the forehead.

  “Why in the name of the Thunderer did you do that?” Fred asked, wiping his head with a hand.

  “Payback is a bitch,” Tatsuo replied, smiling sweetly. “Besides, I totally had to get the grody taste of that Night Train shit out of my mouth, you know? Even a smelly runt like you tastes better than that.”

  Tatsuo turned to Dalma.

  “Lizard breath? The only way I would get lizard breath would be if I were eating lizards. And that is, like…gag me with an iguana!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 21 – Jesse

  “You know where we are?” Billy asked, seeing my reaction.

  “Yeah. We’re in the Shadow Lands,” I answered.

  Something small started running down the hall toward us—I snapped my pistol up and fired.

  Missed.

  It continued charging. I fired again.

  Missed.

  Billy turned around and shot it, two rounds, center mass.

  “I never was worth a shit left-handed,” I said.

  “The fact you’re all beat up probably doesn’t help, either,” Billy said. “If we can get out of here, I can get us back to Limbo.”

  “Right,” I said, walking into one of the treatment rooms.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, following me.

  I came up with a first aid kit and a triangle bandage. “I need to sling this, and those asshats trashed my first aid kit.”

  My splint had gone opaque, which meant either the magic was working overtime to heal my arm, or it was working overtime to prevent an infection from spreading into the rest of my body. I didn’t know how long I’d been sleeping under the gentle touch of a daemon and a devil, but something told me the odds favored option two, not option one.

  “What’s an asshat?” Billy asked, making a sling from the bandage.

  “Think about it,” I said. “Someone wearing their ass…”

  “For a hat. Future humor is weird.”

  “Look, kid, I’ve seen what y’all thought was rip-roaringly funny in the 1950s. I’ll take Blazing Saddles over Road to Bali any day of the week.”

  “What’s a Blazing Saddles?”

  “Tell you what—get me out of here, and I’ll explain it, ok?”

  We left the room and made our way to the first door marked, “Exit.”

  “Power’s still on; that’s a good sign,” I said as we went outside.

  “At least the parking lot isn’t full of, what did you say that thing I shot was called?”

  “I didn’t, but it’s called an imp. Very low-level type of daemon.”

  “Well, tell it goodbye,” Billy said, touching my broken arm and doing the hand jive.

  Nothing happened.

  He tried a second time. Same result.

  “Billy? You got a problem with your mojo?”

  “It’s…it’s not working. I’ve never had a problem like that…”

  “Too much iron, you think?” I asked.

  “I’ve done this wearing Iulius’ armor, and carrying his gladius and pugio. I’m not sure exactly what this space gun you’re carrying is made of, but it can’t contain more iron than that,” Billy replied, trying again.

  Things started flickering at the edge of the parking lot.

  “Billy,” I said.

  “I see them,” he answered. “I can do this.”

  Gesture. Nothing. The things on the edge of the lot were slowly, teasingly, closing the distance.

  I broke contact with him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, reaching for me.

  “Look, your job is to protect ‘he who must make a choice,’” I said, dancing out of range. “Obviously that isn’t me. Get the hell out of here so you can do your job.”

  “I can save you,” Billy said. “I didn’t leave Stan, and I’m not leaving you!”

  “Go back to Limbo and get some help, then. Make sure Mel is gone, if nothing else. If she isn’t…”

  “If she isn’t?”

  “If she isn’t gone, tell her I know it would have been great,” I said, stepping into him and giving him a push.

  He disappeared.

  “Well, looks like I don’t know my own strength,” I said, looking at the daemons around me.

  They were leaving a path open.

  “Gauntlet. Right. I always hated that movie,” I said, running down the open path.

  The daemons closed in from behind—always staying just out of reach. They forced me out onto Comanche, and I followed it toward the funeral home. QMG had an observation team in place.

  Seeing the ruins shook me to my soul. They were still smoldering.

  “They got complacent,” Abzu said, materializing down the street from me. “You…you were a worthy opponent. Those fools, however, were not.”

  “I’m not going to make a choice for you, Abzu,” I said.

  He threw back his head in laughter. “You actually think you are ‘he who must choose?’ I knew you were vain, but that…what is the expression? That takes the cake.”

  “Never figured I was,” I said. “I wouldn’t have sent Billy away if I were, you know?”

  “That one,” Abzu said. “He has been trouble.”

  I could see Abzu’s minions gathering behind me.

  “I take it you’ve got a plan for me. Well, other than pissing on my soul from a great height for all eternity because I killed your wife.”

  “Oh, you’re necessary,” Abzu said. “I’m even going to keep you alive, for now.”

  He raised a finger, and his minions leapt.

  “That doesn’t mean it won’t hurt,” Abzu said as I passed out under the tide of daemons.

  * * *

  “Good, you’re finally awake,” someone said.

  “Why do I feel like someone’s been tapdancing on my skull?” I groaned, sitting up. “Oh, hey Warren, how’s things?”

  “Pretty shitty, honestly,” Warren said. “Surprised Group let you come back here.”

  Warren was one of the leads monitoring the Shadow Lands. He and his team were doing long-term research into the plane to see if there were signs and portents of it moving or grabbing humans from the mortal realm.

  “‘Let’ is a pretty strong word for what happened to me,” I said. “It’s more like I’m ‘involuntarily AWOL.’”

  “Only a fucking Jarhead would say something like ‘involuntarily AWOL,’” Warren said, laughing. “Shit, I needed that.”

  “Glad to be of service.” I tried a seated bow, which caused the room to sway. “Ok, so that was a mistake.”

  “The daemons that brought you in here weren’t that gentle,” Warren said, gently grasping my head to steady it before looking into my eyes. “I don’t think you’ve got a concussion, but they did a number on that rock on top of your shoulders before they brought you here.”

  “Where is here?”

  “Sorry, we’re residents of the Hays County Jail,” Warren said. “Townsend, get over here!”

  Townsend was Warren’s medic.

  “I see he woke up. Damn, Jesse, I didn’t think it was possible for you to get uglier. Guess I was wrong.”

  “Fuck you, too, Townsend…ouch!”

  “S
orry about that,” he said. “I had to swap out the splint on your arm—they tore it up when they beat the crap out of you.”

  I read the look on his face.

  “That bad?”

  “Oh, if I could get you out of here, they might be able to save it at the Trauma Center in Dallas,” he replied. “Otherwise…”

  “Figures,” I said. “Of course, the way Abzu was talking, none of us are going to last long enough to worry about me dying of gangrene.”

  “That fucking Clepstone!” Warren said, slapping the wall.

  “What happened?”

  “Two,” he checked his watch, “no, three days ago, we hear a hammering on the doors at the funeral home. I go up on the roof, and we’re being overrun by imps.”

  “That sucks.”

  “That isn’t the worst part—there were a couple of the larger daemons in the horde, and the first thing they did was grab me. I look around, and they’re dragging Townsend here out as well.”

  “What about Butler?” I asked, standing. The room swayed a bit, like being on an amphibious assault ship in any sea state but smooth. “Gonna take a minute to get my land legs back.”

  “He’s the only who managed to get off a shot. Fuckers beat him worse than you,” Warren said.

  “Speaking of which,” Townsend said.

  Warren waved him off.

  “That bad?” I asked, slipping my broken arm into the sling still hanging from my neck.

  “Townsend’s kept him going, but if we don’t get him out of here soon…”

  “I can do Last Rites.” I felt my pocket. “Well, if I can get some bread and wine. They took my tabernacle.”

  “MRE bread do?” Warren asked. “They drug all the emergency supplies over here with us. No weapons, nothing consecrated, but we’ve got all the food—for a given value of food—and medical supplies we need.”

  “You said something about Clepstone?” I asked.

  Warren hawked and then thought better about spitting. “That fucker. I’ll show you what he did.”

  I trailed Warren over to a table, where he’d set up a laptop.

  “They let us keep one of the monitoring computers,” Warren said. “Before you ask, no, there’s no connection to the World on this one—Abzu or one of his minions made sure of that. I think they did it to break our spirits.”