by Scott Colby
Kevin wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. Nerves. That didn’t happen often, but he’d already seen stranger things that morning—and he was sure things were going to get even stranger before the day was done.
— CHAPTER SIX —
Future site of Harrison Co. Metal Works,” proclaimed the black and white sign hanging limply from the rusted gate. Below that was a second sign, smaller and newer, that read “No trespassing.” Underneath, an intrepid artist of great skill and cultural refinement had spray-painted a huge penis. Kevin would’ve known Waltman’s handiwork anywhere; at one point that schlong had adorned the cover of pretty much every textbook in Harksburg High.
Ren left the car idling a few feet away and clambered out. The worst-kept secret in town was the $200 the police force charged for a copy of the key to the Works. Ever the shrewd businessman, Ren had talked Flanagan down to $50 and a date with Lily Walker, whom the officer had been in love with since sixth grade. Ren made it happen—he always paid his debts—and during the resulting seafood dinner with his beloved, Flanagan passed out from nervousness and shat all over himself. He and Lily had been together ever since and were engaged to be married the following May.
“It was cute,” Lily explained to Kevin once. “He’d always been this big, tough, responsible guy—and there he was, reduced to a vulnerable, quivering puddle because I touched his hand.”
Waltman maintained that Lily’s interest in Flanagan resulted from a scat fetish. Whenever this theory was broached in Flanagan’s presence, the burly officer just smiled and winked.
Ren unlocked the gate and pulled it open. The locals who hung out in the Works had taken good care of the gate, keeping its hinges clean and lubricated and even replacing them when necessary. It moved easily and freely without squealing or squeaking. When it’s time to party, it’s time to party—not fight with some broken gate.
“Why did the town leave this place to rot?” Driff asked.
“Locking it up and pretending it doesn’t exist is cheaper than cleaning it out,” Kevin replied. “Harrison leased the land from the town because Harksburg wouldn’t sell it outright. The lease was terminated when the company declared bankruptcy.”
The elf grunted. “Evitankari—where I’m from—would never leave something like this lying around.”
“Good for Evitankari.”
Driff ignored Kevin’s snappy comeback. “We elves never waste anything we can find a use for.”
“We aren’t wasting the Works. On any given weekend, there are at least three keggers in here somewhere.”
“My mistake. Surely this place is a jewel of your society.”
Ren climbed back into the Jaguar and drove through the open gate. “I hope you two are behaving yourselves.”
“Just discussing a few cultural differences. You missed quite the riveting debate,” Kevin replied sarcastically. Driff snorted.
On the other side of the gate, Ren once again stopped the car and climbed out. He pulled the gate shut and locked it. There were two unwritten rules regarding the Works: lock the gate behind you, and don’t light any fires big enough to be spotted from the street unless you’re friends with the cop on duty and offer him a few beers. Visitors typically adhered to these rules. After all, if the cops didn’t have reason to investigate the Works, they’d never find Waltman’s plot of marijuana or the mushrooms he grew in the basement of one of the outbuildings, and that was in everybody’s best interests.
Job done, Ren got back behind the wheel and eased the car forward. Harrison had never gotten around to paving the access road, so the Jag trundled slowly over dirt and stone and patches of brown grass. Towering oaks and elms loomed on either side, their branches trimmed back to allow the passing of larger vehicles. Not for the first time, Kevin wondered exactly what Harrison had seen in this location. It wasn’t near any major highways or rail lines, and clearing the forest certainly hadn’t been cheap. Word on the street was that the CEO had leased the land for a song thanks a few under-the-table deals with various members of the local government. Kevin knew better than to implicitly trust town gossip, but he’d heard enough of it to know that it usually contained a grain or two of truth.
The dirt road soon dumped them into a sprawling construction site, a work of human ingenuity frozen in time. To their left stood a row of six management trailers, rickety white and blue metal boxes with tiny windows. Riddled with bullet holes of all shapes and sizes, the nearest trailer was a favorite practice target for hunters heading off into the surrounding forest and for drunk idiots who wanted to show off the armaments their idiot parents had left unlocked. Kevin himself had sent a bottle rocket screaming and twisting through one of its windows years ago. To their right, like the rib cage of some long-dead behemoth, the naked superstructure that would’ve been the main factory of Harrison Co. Metal Works towered above it all. Pairs of steel posts as big around as Ren’s Jaguar sprang up from the concrete slab in parallel every ten feet or so to support heavy girders perched twenty feet above. Graffiti covered the cross beams, a chronicle of every class to graduate Harksburg High in the fifteen years since construction was abruptly halted. Smaller outbuildings, simple metal squares in various states of completion, surrounded the main building like worker ants waiting to serve a larger queen.
Driff looked around with obvious distaste. “I’ll never understand other species’ need to vandalize any object that isn’t under constant surveillance.”
Kevin shrugged. “It’s fun.”
“That’s what the gnomes say, too.”
“Gnomes?”
“Ever had things randomly go missing or end up mysteriously broken? Your TV set to an input you never use? Your cords or cables twisted into a frustrating tangle? Pieces inexplicably missing from board games or puzzles? Then you’ve got gnomes. They live for that kind of thing.”
“I always put the toilet paper on the roll so the next sheet goes over the top,” Ren said. “Once I found a half-used roll with the next sheet going under.”
“Gnomes,” Driff said sagely, as if that explained it all.
“I know,” Ren replied. “We had to gas the little fuckers. Haven’t had any problems in years.”
Kevin merely nodded. Gnomes. Surely Driff was fucking with him again. Surely.
Ren drove to the far side of the construction site and parked in his usual spot, underneath the boughs of a gnarled elm where the natural canopy could protect his vehicle from the ravages of the sun. He didn’t have to worry about birds; most avian wildlife had learned that venturing too close to the Works was a great way to get shot. They all climbed out of the car and stretched.
“Get the garbage,” Driff instructed.
“My pleasure,” Ren replied. He popped the trunk and removed two big black bags stuffed full of rancid something-or-other. Flies assaulted him almost immediately. “Take this,” he said, shoving a bag into Kevin’s arms. Kevin gingerly shifted the bag into a loose grip and extended it far away from his body. It smelled worse than Flanagan must have on his first date with Lily.
“What the hell is this?” he asked.
“Garbage,” Driff deadpanned.
“Specifically, that is a bag of garbage from the bottom of the dumpster behind the Burg,” Ren replied, swatting away a fly that dared buzz too close to his face.
The Harksburg Bar and Grill—the Burg—prided itself on being the town’s most popular eating and drinking establishment. That didn’t mean a heck of a lot, given its status as the only sit-down restaurant in town, but that didn’t stop Fran Kesky—owner, operator, bartender, and bouncer—from plastering it all over the Burg’s awnings and menus. The Burg was the place to go when there was nothing better to eat at home, when the restaurants in the surrounding towns seemed too far away, or when frustrating constipation became too much to bear.
“Why did you have to go all the way to the Burg for garbage? Don’t you have any of your own?” Kevin asked.
“I wanted the most vile, disgusting garbage i
n town,” the elf explained.
Ren smiled mischievously.
Driff led them into the woods, taking the familiar path that would bring the trio to the scene of the previous evening’s mayhem—and where Kevin had first met his mysterious employer. Fornication Point was maybe a tenth of a mile beyond that. Not a bad walk on a crisp, sunny autumn day.
“Hey, Driff! How much am I getting paid?” Kevin asked.
The elf didn’t bother looking back. “Enough.”
“How much is enough?”
“It’s enough that you should shut your mouth and carry the damn garbage lest I decide a salary adjustment is in order.”
The damn garbage was heavier than it looked—too heavy to carry at arm’s length. Kevin had no choice but to shift it underneath his arm. He hoped it wouldn’t leak all over him. If it did, he knew exactly which of his two companions would be getting a great big hug.
He and Ren were both breathing heavily ten minutes later when they reached the bulldozer and the slab of rock from which Oscar had proclaimed his immortality. The only evidence of the previous evening’s activity was the pile of ashes in the fire pit. Doorknob always made sure he took all the empties so he could turn them in. Kevin eyed the bulldozer. No one quite knew how it had gotten here; there wasn’t a path through the forest wide enough to admit a piece of equipment that size. He’d always wondered if maybe it had been airlifted in and deposited in the wrong place. Now he found himself searching the shadows in the surrounding woods for signs of gnome activity. Not that he really knew what to look for.
Several trails led away from the clearing in various directions. Driff steered them onto the northern fork, the best route to their destination. The elf certainly had done his homework.
“So…we’ve got reapers, elves, gnomes, and pixies. Anything else I should know about?” Kevin asked. He’d decided that bothering Driff with endless questions was good sport.
“Trolls, gnolls, dryads, vampires, werewolves, various species of nymphs, kobolds, Sasquatch, gremlins, ogres, unicorns, goblins, merfolk, demons—”
“Demons?” Kevin interrupted, bored with Driff’s list.
“Demons,” Driff affirmed.
“Nasty buggers,” Ren added.
“Does that mean there’s a hell or some similar place where they live?”
The elf shook his head but didn’t look back. “The hell they inhabit is this very earth. When it comes to evil, you humans are like giant batteries. You can store a ton of it. Every vicious, selfish, horrible thing you do adds to your overall level of darkness. Build up too much and it takes over.”
“Is there a way I can check my…err…level? Is there a meter or something?”
“Try shoving a dipstick up your ass,” Ren suggested.
If Driff thought that was funny, he didn’t let it show. “Do you feel evil?” he asked.
“I feel a little naughty,” Kevin replied.
“That’s normal.”
Kevin took a moment to consider the elf’s explanation, mentally listing all the bad things he’d ever done. He got depressed and gave up when his list became longer than Driff’s litany of nonhuman species. Cheating on a math test in fourth grade hadn’t really been evil, had it? What about convincing Doorknob his date to the spring semi-formal had syphilis? He immediately winced at the thought. He could almost feel his evil meter spiking a couple of percentage points.
The incline of the trail increased. Fornication Point awaited them at the top of the next rise. Though the weight of the garbage under his arm left him gasping for breath, Kevin didn’t let up. “And then what? When the evil takes over, I mean.”
“Depends on the individual and the nature of his or her sins. Most change shape radically, their features twisted by the vile energy they’ve embraced. Some gain the use of powerful magic—really black, dangerous stuff. Left unchecked, they go violently insane. That rarely happens nowadays, most demons are fully functional members of society who, with the assistance of their peers and families, keep their darker impulses in check. Most facilitate evil rather than engaging in it directly. Less chance of slipping into a murderous rage that way. You probably know a few.”
Ren stumbled but quickly regained his balance. Kevin eyed his friend suspiciously. That private conversation couldn’t come soon enough.
“But how do they keep themselves hidden? A demon would really stand out at parent-teacher night. A troll even more so.”
“Magic,” Driff replied. “Typically, nonhumans wear cloaking talismans whenever they’re in your midst. In extreme cases, we apply the narii dust liberally to remove any memories that might complicate relations.”
“That’s the crap you threw at my mother?”
“Exactly.”
Cresting the rise, they came upon arguably the prettiest view in Harksburg. The rocky ledge known as Fornication Point overlooked a crystal clear pool twenty feet directly below. Beyond, the Miller River snaked away through a lush forest before it split a set of rolling hills and disappeared into the horizon.
Driff strolled right up to the edge of the cliff, hands in the pockets of his long overcoat. Kevin somehow fought the urge to shove him into the lagoon. “Nella!” the elf called out nonchalantly. “I’ve come to have a few words with you!”
His voice echoed out and through the basin below. There was no response.
“Fine,” he snapped. “We’ll do this the hard way.” He turned to Ren and Kevin. “Gentlemen, place the bags of garbage at my feet and open them up.”
The two friends did as they were told, tearing away the knots at the top of their respective bags. Both flinched at the putrid smell and took a few quick steps back. The stench—that of rancid eggs mixed with piss and garnished with a few dollops of sour milk—reminded Kevin of an omelet he’d once had at the Burg. Ren must’ve snagged the remains of a week-old breakfast rush.
Kevin’s pulse raced with anticipation. Nella was there, he could feel it. The lover of his dreams would soon be revealed as a real, live woman. But how was Driff going to draw her out of hiding? The elf would have to use magic, Kevin decided. Driff was going to use the garbage at his feet to fuel some sort of summoning spell. There’d be eerie chanting and exploding sparks and wild columns of whirling energy. The earth would quiver with every unintelligible word Driff uttered. Frogs would suddenly rain down from the cloudless heavens. The bags of garbage would erupt in towering gouts of black flame, and then Nella would appear, beautiful as ever, chained to the rocks of Fornication Point by Driff’s tremendous power.
It was going to be awesome. Kevin was sure of it.
The elf reached down into one of the bags with his bare hands, pulled out a handful of something that looked rather like regurgitated French toast, and tossed it over the edge. It landed in the lagoon with a soft plop.
To say that Kevin was disappointed would be a severe understatement. “What the hell was that?”
“A warning shot. There’s more where that came from, Nella! Show yourself!”
The blue woman didn’t appear. Driff threw handful after handful of nasty sludge over the edge of the cliff and down into the pool below. Pretty much anyone else, Kevin decided, would’ve looked like an absolute lunatic, but somehow the elf made the act of hurling disgusting garbage into a beautiful body of water serene and hypnotic. Every movement was deliberate and controlled, a picture of precision and efficiency. There was no malice in Driff’s relentless littering, just cold purpose. It was business, plain and simple.
“You might want to wear some gloves,” Ren suggested. Driff ignored him and kept working.
Giving the elf a wide berth, Kevin approached the edge of the cliff. Below, the desecrated pool bubbled and frothed as if someone had cranked up the heat. Chunks of garbage swirled, submerged, and surfaced like the ingredients in some horrific soup. Worried that this activity might be a personification of Nella’s ire, Kevin took several steps back.
He did so just in time. A tremendous spire of water burst suddenly
upward, hurling all the garbage in the lagoon back onto Fornication Point. Ren ran for cover behind the tree line. Kevin ducked and covered his head with his hands—and watched in awe as Driff shoved his hands in his pockets and stood stoically as he was pelted with sopping wet garbage.
That, Kevin thought as something squishy caromed off his shoulder, is a bad motherfucker.
“Fucking stop it!” Nella shrieked. Kevin looked up to find her perched atop the tower of water, a nude queen sitting cross-legged in her aquatic throne. She’d never looked more beautiful.
More importantly, she was real. Kevin’s heart fluttered. He wanted to call out to her, but his breath caught in his throat.
Ren poked his head out around the tree he was hiding behind. “Nice work,” he hissed at Kevin, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “Isn’t a man alive that wouldn’t like to tap that.”
“I am Council of Intelligence Driff, representing Evitankari in a matter of great import,” the elf said as he wiped down his spectacles with a blue cloth. He didn’t seem to care about the wad of tissue in his hair or the globules of discarded food stuck to his jacket.
“I swear no fealty to Luminad VIII of Talvayne and pay no heed to the Treaty of Wreb,” Nella replied haughtily. “You have no jurisdiction in my lands.”
“You have no lands nor titles that I recognize and I couldn’t care less what you think of those I represent,” Driff replied. “What I do care about are all these humans who won’t die no matter where I shoot them. I hear you might know something about that.”
She snorted. “You must be shooting them in the wrong places. Try right between the eyes.”
Kevin found some of his voice. “He…uh…tried that.”
Nella’s lustrous silver eyes settled on Kevin for the first time since her dramatic entrance. When she recognized him, her entire bearing softened. Gone was the regal woman protecting her territory, replaced by a teenage girl who’d spotted her crush strolling into class. “Kevin?” she asked softly.