Arms Dealers

by Erik Henry Vick

  “Relax, big guy. You know me.”

  He gave the werewolf equivalent of a scoff then held out his hand, snapping his fingers.

  “Don’t you two talk to each other? You forgot your hat in the car.”

  He growled and narrowed his eyes.

  “For Abaddon’s sake!” Dru gathered his pants and turned toward the door. “Go after Einar! I’ll get your damn hat and catch up.”

  3

  Leery took the back way out into the hall behind the Starbucks. He followed it to the alley without crossing paths with anyone, then lifted his snout to the sky and sniffed.

  Einar’s scent trail was about as obvious as a Greyhound bus in a demolition derby—three feet wide and strong enough to make his eyes water. The troll had run toward the river on the sidewalk, but Leery wanted to keep in the shadows of the alley for as long as possible. He turned away from the sidewalk and sprinted toward the intersection of the alley he was in and one that paralleled the street.

  He felt the tingle of a ward settling on him like a tallit and snorted. Come on. She might be Lillith-spawn, but she knows her business, Leery thought at his wolf-brain. If you’d give her a chance, you’d like her. The stick up her ass is almost as big as the one you carry. Amusement colored the thoughts of his wolf-side, mixed with the primitive instinct to chase whatever had the temerity to run from him.

  4

  Dru sprinted out the door of the Starbucks, ignoring the stares of the people on the street. The door banged behind her. “Free coffee inside, but you’ll have to help yourselves,” she called as she turned toward the corner, carrying Leery’s clothing balled up in front of her.

  She turned onto 60th in time to see Einar’s retreating back a few blocks on and sprinted diagonally to the flow of traffic. She tucked the clothes under her arm and sketched a rune set of protection in the air as she muttered the activating word of power. She glanced at the people turning to watch the troll run and the others staring at her.

  She sketched another rune set in the air, and murmured an invocation of illusion, then flung it into the air, relying on its intrinsic magic to guide it to Leery.

  Leaning into the turn, she rounded the corner into the alley where they’d parked and skidded to a halt behind the car. She popped the trunk open and tossed Leery’s clothes inside, then grabbed his silly black hat and ran.

  5

  Leery trotted to the end of the alley on York Avenue and slowed to a stop. Keeping to the shadows, he peered around the corner, looking both directions. The late morning sun baked the street, providing nary a shadow, and people were everywhere, enjoying the warmth.

  Can’t pursue him out there. Wouldn’t be prudent in this day of cell phone cameras and instant internet access. A growl rumbled in his throat. I know, I know. The troll’s getting away and all that, but what’s our real choice?

  Another spell embraced him, making his hackles rise and his skin tingle. His head tilted down, and his gaze scanned up his body from his shoes to his belt. Illusion… See? I told you she was good.

  With a puppy-like yip, he burst out of the alley and sprinted toward 60th, the scent trail there blazing like a neon god shining in the darkness. He ignored Twenty-Four Sycamores Park and trucked into the shadow of the bridge.

  At the 60th Street intersection, he crossed diagonally and leaped over the chain-link fence without touching it. He landed on the roof of a trailer and stopped to sniff the air again. Einar had also climbed the fence and had then sprinted toward the building squatting in the shadow of the bridge at the riverbank. Leery threw back his head and howled.

  “I’m right here, big guy,” panted Dru from the sidewalk. “Here.” She frisbeed his black hat up to him.

  He caught it with a grunt and spun it atop his head. He pointed at the building.

  “Yeah, fine. You go ahead, and I’ll find a way in.”

  Leery glanced at the fence, then at her fashionable shoes and barked a laugh. He leaped to the sidewalk next to her, swept her up, and leaped the fence again, this time eschewing the trailer and landing amidst Einar’s scent trail.

  “Uh, thanks,” said Dru. “Next time warn a girl.”

  He set her on her feet and spun away, charging through the decrepit double doors, parting the chain that held them as if its links were made from curls of paper and shattering the old wood into splinters. Einar’s trail led him to a stairwell that curled downward into the darkness.

  Taking the steps four at a time, Leery followed him down into the service tunnels. He sprinted, reaching his top speed in a few long strides, and raced to catch the troll, no more discomforted by the darkness as he was by moonlight.

  Einar leaned against the wall in a large square room three hundred feet from the stairs, panting like a dog. Running silently as only a werewolf could, Leery came out of the darkness at him, catching him by surprise. Even so, the troll uttered a word in old Norse and swelled up like a Thanksgiving Day parade float. He reached toward Leery with both grizzly bear-sized hands, grabbing him by the shoulders.

  Leery snarled and twisted his shoulders, wrenching himself inside Einar’s grip, then pounced, sinking his claws into the troll’s sides and burying his fangs in his trapezius.

  Howling in pain and fury, Einar beat his fists against Leery’s back. When that had no effect, he grabbed the werewolf by the top of the snout and wrenched his fangs away.

  Growling and snapping at the troll’s hands, Leery shook himself free and leaped into the darkness, planning another sneak attack.

  “Unnh. You fight gud, Ulf.” Einar rubbed his bleeding trapezius and laughed. “Come out and play. Unnnh. I haven’t had a decent fight in a while.”

  Leery circled in the darkness, watching the troll flex his muscles and peer into the darkness—in the wrong direction. He sprang at Einar’s back, talons and fangs extended.

  6

  Dru trotted down the dark tunnel using her phone’s flashlight to see a feeble three feet. Ahead, snarls and grunts assaulted the stygian gloom. “Leery? You got him?”

  She paused, waiting for a break in the battle sounds that didn’t come. She sketched the majority of a rune set in the air, adding its neon-like glow to the light cast by her phone, and started forward.

  The growling in the darkness ahead intensified, and Einar let loose a string of curses in old Norse. Something clattered and boomed against what sounded like a bank of lockers, and Leery yelped.

  “Leery!” She ran into the velvet blackness, hand poised to complete the rune set, its word of power on her lips.

  7

  Leery held on, despite being slammed into a bank of metal lockers. He had one arm looped around Einar’s throat and the other buried in his mangy mop of hair. His legs wrapped around the troll’s waist, ankles hooked in front like a belt buckle.

  Einar loosed a bovine-like bellow and spun in circles, trying to get at him, lost to a berserk fury. Leery shifted his grip and held on for dear life.

  8

  Dru slowed as the walls fell away from her sides. She lifted her phone high in the air and stopped, watching Einar spin in wild circles, Leery clinging to his back like a bronco rider.

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it—they looked about as silly as she could imagine a werewolf and a troll could look.

  Leery glanced at her and snarled, then jerked his head toward his black hat lying at the edge of her light. Shaking her head, she completed her runes and spoke the invocation, tossing it at Einar almost as an afterthought.

  The troll’s manic spinning slowed, and he staggered as if carrying an immense weight. Leery looped his other arm around Einar’s throat and began to squeeze. The troll ground to a stop and stooped, resting both hands on his knees.

  “You can get off him now, Leery,” said Dru as she bent to retrieve the hat. “He’s not going anywhere until I lift the spell.”

  Leery’s gaze found hers, and he cocked his head to the side like any dog hearing a strange word.

  “Down boy,” Dru said with
a smile.

  With narrowed eyes, Leery leaped away. He straightened and stalked toward her, holding his hand out. When she dropped the hat in his palm, he grunted and put it on his head with a flourish.

  “Now, Einar. If you ever want to move from this room again, you’ll answer our questions.”

  Leery growled in support.

  Einar’s black-eyed glare darted from the werewolf’s face to hers. “Nunnh. You cheat.”

  “Not at all, you just brought brute strength to a rune fight. Surely you can appreciate the irony?” Dru flashed her best smile at him. “Now, I believe Leery asked you whether one of the Brethren would work with an unseelie if the money were right. What’s the answer?”

  Einar dropped his gaze and struggled against her spell, straightening his back and taking a single step toward the hall. “Unnh. You see? I can leave if I want?”

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself. Answer the question.”

  The troll sneered and glowered at her, then stooped his back with a gasp and again rested his hands on his knees. “Nunnh. I wouldn’t work with unseelie bugs. Not me. But they came to me with their offer.”

  “They did? Who?” Dru glanced at Leery. “You can change back.”

  Leery glared at her a moment, his lip twitching, then nodded and began his change.

  “Nunh. Don’t know who. Unseelie bugs.”

  “What kind of unseelie? What did they look like?”

  “Bugs. Unnh.” His gaze tracked to Leery, eyes narrowing at the spectacle. “Undignified,” he muttered.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, Einar. You assaulted my partner.” Dru waved a lazy hand at Leery. “You ran. Both of those spell five years.”

  “Spell five years? Nunh. You’re a strange one.”

  “Five years in the dungeon beneath Rikers.”

  Einar grunted and went to one knee. “Take this off.”

  “No. As of right now, you’re under arrest, and I don’t want to chase you again.”

  “Come on, Einar,” growled Leery. He stood next to Dru, black hat held in front of his waist.

  “I said I don’t know the unseelie bugs. Can’t describe them—too ugly. But…”

  “But?” asked Dru.

  “Am I under arrest? Nunnh.”

  Leery stepped forward. “Einar, you help us, and I’ll talk her out of taking you in.”

  “No, Leery! He’s—” Dru stamped her foot.

  “Einar?” Leery quirked a bushy eyebrow at him.

  “Unnh, fine. They talked to Lothidn, too. Unh. He wanted money more than me.”

  “Fine. Where do we find Lothidn?” asked Dru.

  “In the shadow of a bridge,” said Einar. He grunted and went down on both knees. “Unnh. Now, let me up!”

  “That’s not helpful, Einar. You should—”

  “Is that the same Lothidn who does the underground fights at the butchery?”

  Einar nodded, sweat beading on his brow. “Unnh.”

  “I know where to find him,” Leery said. “You can let him go.”

  “Right. But no funny business, Einar, or I’ll put it right back on and leave it for a day.”

  Einar grunted. “Unnh.”

  Dru lifted the rune set, then led the two back the way they’d come.

  They made a strange trio, exiting the smashed double doors of the building. Einar groaned at the mess and kicked the broken chain that had held the doors closed. “You broke my doors.”

  “Shouldn’t have locked them,” said Leery in a cheerful voice.

  “You pay.”

  “Nunh,” said Leery. He walked hunched over, hat held in front of his privates.

  Dru grinned at him. “The illusion is still working, Leery.”

  “Fine, fine, but does it work on you?”

  Eyes twinkling, Dru shrugged. “That would be telling. No?”

  “Very funny.” He looked at Einar askance. “Gee, I wish there was a Starbucks open around here. I could sure use a cup of coffee.”

  “More?” groaned Einar. “Do you piss coffee?”

  “Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Einar. Besides, it keeps my wolf strong and ready.”

  Einar grimaced. “I go. Unnh. Buy doors.”

  “Have fun,” said Leery, starting across the street.

  “You owe me, unnh?”

  Leery shook his head. “You still owe me, Einar. It doesn’t count if you make me chase you down and wrestle.”

  9

  Snugging his spare tie up to the collar of his spare shirt, Leery slid behind the wheel of his Crown Vic. Dru already sat in the passenger seat, her gaze tracking his movements.

  “How do we find this Lothidn?”

  “There’s an underground fighting ring in a meat packing plant across the river. The guy who runs it is an old CI of mine. He’ll know where to find Lothidn.”

  “Do you literally know everyone in this Locus’ seedy underbelly?”

  “That’s what they pay me for.” Leery threw the car into reverse and gunned it out onto 60th Street—without looking. Tires screeched and horns blew, but Leery continued on as if he couldn’t hear a thing.

  “Maybe I should drive from now on,” muttered Dru.

  “Nah, we don’t have time for me to teach you how to drive New York style.”

  Dru rolled her eyes and turned to watch the sidewalk sail past.

  “Before we get on the bridge, I need a coffee.”

  Scoffing, Dru snapped her head back around. “I thought you were kidding.”

  “I never kid about coffee, Nogan. Never.”

  “Right. Swing by the Starbucks.”

  “But Einar’s not there.”

  “Yeah, which means you can serve yourself as much coffee as you can drink.”

  “Hmm. Is it stealing if the place is left open but unattended?” Leery circled back on 61st Street. “Or is it looting?”

  “We’ll leave money on the counter.”

  “What, and let some unscrupulous person rob the place?” Leery shook his head. “No, I’ll leave Einar a note. An IOU.”

  “Right.” Dru snapped one hand to the dash and the other to the door frame as Leery turned onto 1st Avenue against the flow of the one-way traffic. “Are you nuts?” she cried.

  “Oh, right.” He flipped on the dash spinner and the siren. “Safety first.”

  10

  Leery pulled up to the corner of the sidewalk at the intersection of 11th Street and 45th Road, blocking the crosswalk in both directions. He threw the car in park and popped open his door.

  “You can’t be serious,” murmured Dru.

  “Come on, Nogan. You should know by now that I can always find a space, no matter how bad the parking gets.”

  “This isn’t a space, Oriscoe.”

  “You say tomato…” He stepped from the car and slammed the door, walking around the back and stepping up on the curb. He opened her door. “Come on, Dru. I gave you the sidewalk side, didn’t I?”

  She covered her eyes with her palm for a moment, shaking her head. Then she heaved a sigh and got out. Dru glanced up at the three-foot-tall wooden letters that adorned the seedy-looking building. “John Michael May Meat Packing,” it read.

  “Come on, Nogan. It ain’t the Ritz, but it’s where I can find my CI.”

  “He works here?”

  “Nah. He owns the place. It’s a front for his fighting game.” Leery turned and walked up the sidewalk to the building’s glass doors. He opened one side for her and stood waiting like a doorman until she walked through.

  The lobby of the building looked as though it had been jerked right out of 1972. The avocado-hued vinyl-upholstered chairs had tears repaired with silver duct tape, and the multicolored shag area rug was enough to blind a man—done in bright orange, lime green, and gray. Cheap, dark-colored paneling covered the walls, adorned with horrible prints of dogs playing poker. Even the receptionist’s counter was covered in cheap Formica, and the rotary phone was harvest gold.

&nbs
p; “I didn’t know rotary phones still worked.”

  “They don’t,” said Leery with a grimace. “It’s window dressing.”

  “Not very good window dressing.”

  Leery lifted his shoulders and let them fall. “Follow me. May’s back here.” He pushed his way through a pair of white swinging doors that had almost turned red with ingrained, grimy blood.

  The room beyond the reception area had been the butchery in better times. Old stainless-steel worktops ringed the room, and empty hooks hung from tracks set in the ceiling. A sharpening station rested on its side against the back wall, and a band-saw missing its blade stood in the corner like a forgotten child on punishment. Gunk and sludge hazed the harvest gold tiles underfoot. Another set of swinging doors led to the warehouse beyond. A large freezer door stood ajar to their right, and a single door lay to the left.

  Leery sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “This way.” He walked to the single door and pulled it open to reveal a staircase leading to the second floor. As they tromped up the stairs, the surroundings changed from 1972 chic to modern Scandinavian designs—all black, chrome, and pale wood.

  A man stood in the center of the room, arms akimbo.

  “May!” called Leery. “You missed me?”

  The man scoffed, scowling. “Leery. Aren’t you dead yet?”

  “No such luck, pal. How’s business? Still running your little fights?”

  May’s gaze darted to Dru, laden with suspicion. “Who’s this, Oriscoe?”

  “Relax, John. This is my new partner, Dru Nogan. Dru, meet John. He’s a fight promoter.” Leery made quote fingers as he said the last bit.

  “I’ll have you know I fill a need that no one else does, Leery. It’s simple economics.”

  “Sure thing, professor. Listen up, May. We need to talk to one of your fighters.”

  May tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

  “Let us worry about why, John,” said Dru in a soft, sexy voice.

  He spared her a single glance that lasted all of three seconds. “Succubus?” he asked Leery.

  Dru’s face wrinkled in confusion.

  “Nah. We want to talk to one of your trolls. Fellow named Lothidn.”