by Martha Carr
“I’m flattered. A win for the human side of things.”
“It’s going to take that kind of thinking to figure out the crime before it’s committed, which is what you’re talking about. Looking at the motivation doesn’t take magic. Takes reasoning. It’s a good idea.”
The waitress brought over their order and put the tacos with feta and hot sauce in front of Leira.
“Nice seeing you again, honey. Bring in that tall drink of water with you again, will you?” The waitress gave her a wink as she turned to help another table.
“Correk’s Elven charm at work again. He makes an impression with the ladies, young and old.”
“Ordinary slobs like me don’t stand a chance.” Hagan let out a grunt and scrolled to another page.
“You, my friend, married up when you got Rose. There is no better.”
“Very true, I am a happy man for the rest of my days if that’s the only good thing that ever happens to me. Look, we can’t find the connection, yet. We may not be able to stop the import from Oriceran of seeds. Remember kudzu? That weed covers a good part of the South these days. Grows over anything in its way. Houses, cars, even very tall trees look like they’re wearing a kudzu blanket. Wasn’t always our problem until one day somehow a little seedling came over on a ship from Japan. Same thing, good or bad is bound to happen but on a global scale.”
“You may be right. It’s how to control everything so no one gets hurt and Oriceran isn’t plundered.”
“That takes us right around to the place that makes the most sense to start. It makes your friend and his new sanctuary on Earth the place with the biggest target on its back right now.” Hagan tapped his screen. “Predictable, low risk so far, and a payoff toward some bigger goal that has given me nightmares since you told me about it. If some old rich guys are out there trying to make themselves into Robocops so they can live forever…” Hagan gave off a shudder. “Enough to put me off my feed.”
“Longevity is my working theory but I’m not one hundred percent sold on it yet. Too many pieces of the puzzle are still missing.”
“In the meantime, when duty calls we chase down what the boss asks us to go after, which means artifacts. At some point, it would behoove us to share all of this with the general. Sooner rather than later.”
“The sanctuary on Earth belongs to the Gardener of the Dark Forest. Let’s hold off telling the world of its existence just yet. Doesn’t feel right.”
“Alright, I’m going to trust you on this one, kid. But, you’re assuming that the general doesn’t already know and that this won’t come back and bite us squarely on the ass.”
“I owe that much loyalty to Correk, too.”
“Fair enough, we do a little good old-fashioned detective work and find out who’s got their eye on the sanctuary. See where it leads. Maybe it’s not all connected.”
“Maybe…”
“Come on, let’s roll by your place. I’ve never met a Wood Elf before and I have a little something for the short stack.” Hagan pulled out a small football with a string attached to it in a loop. “It’s really something to hang from a rearview mirror but the troll was asking me about football.”
“You making a new friend, Hagan?”
“I’m telling you, he grows on you when you’re not looking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Hagan stopped by Barfly’s after leaving Leira’s guest house. The troll had loved his new tiny football even if he did lick it at first to see if it was food.
Barfly’s was his favorite watering hole and home away from home. He walked up the steps under the long green awning, pausing at the doorway before turning left toward the bar. To the right there were old square wooden tables and round back chairs and at the far end of the room, two pool tables. He sat down at the bar, resting his feet against the faux wood paneling along the sides. Behind him was the wall with tin roofing all the way down the back covered in Heineken and Coors signs and one for Texas Kirin beer, along with chalk boards for specials and keeping track of pool games.
There was a window set up at the end of the bar closest to the kitchen to take orders plastered over with large menus and notices about things going on around town. Almost every square inch was covered with something.
The other side of the long, narrow room was exposed brick and overhead the same wood paneling matched the bar, creating the effect of a wooden box with neon ads for Rolling Rock and Bud Lite.
There was nothing fancy about the place but the barbeque was some of the best around. It was the best kind of watering hole that only the locals had ever heard of and was just the way Hagan liked it.
“Can I get a Bud in a bottle?”
The wiry, tall bartender looked away from the football game on the ancient TV and silently pulled out a long-necked bottle from the cooler, opening it and placing it in front of Hagan without ever saying a word. He didn’t even need to make eye contact. No one ever made a point of seeing anything in Barfly’s.
Hagan had been coming there since he became a homicide detective and had never told anyone about it, except Rose, of course. But she swore she’d take the secret to her grave. It was his one great secret in life and it gave him the chance to drink a beer in peace. Chasing after killers sometimes left Hagan with the need to unwind for an hour or two where he wouldn’t be disturbed. Hunting people who were intent on using magic to cause harm added another layer of stress.
“Can I get a plate of barbeque and fries? Overcook the fries, will ya?”
The bartender let out a grunt and gave a wave in Hagan’s direction to let him know he heard him, slowly wandering back toward the kitchen. His long, skinny brown ponytail was pulled back in an old green rubberband. Hagan heard the door open a few inches and swing shut again but when he looked over he didn’t see anything. “Texas wind should not be underestimated.” He took a long sip of his beer, letting the cold fizz pour down the back of his throat. First few sips are always the best.
The cat who lived in the bar let out a squeal and a hiss and jumped down off the ledge where it was sleeping, hurrying toward the back where it could hide under an old pleather couch. Hagan leaned back from his stool to get a better look but still didn’t see anything. He turned back toward the bar and leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar and took another sip as the stool next to him moved on its own, making a scratching noise against the floor.
Hagan slowly put the bottle of beer down, resting his hand on his gun wondering if that was a pointless exercise. Whatever it was, he was still going to take his shot. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, as he heard a soft trill. The troll peeked out from the bottom of the bar, wearing his leather jacket and red cowboy boots. He easily climbed the legs of the stool, bounding onto the bar. “Fuck me,” said Hagan, shaking his head. “How did you find me? You should consider taking up tracking felons. Yumfuck, bounty hunter.”
The troll let out a cackle and sat down on the bar. “Evening motherfucker.”
“We’re all friends here. You can call me Hagan. Only people in handcuffs need to call me motherfucker.”
“Hagan it is,” chirped the troll.
“You little shit. I knew you could talk.”
“Oooooh, football.” The troll gazed up at the hazy picture on the TV.
“You really have a thing for football. We may make a tiny Texan out of you yet. Who you rooting for?”
“Cowboys, of course.”
“Loyal, I like that.” Hagan smiled and held up his beer in a toast, taking a swig. “We’re on the thirty-yard line, first down with the ball and we’re ahead by nine. Not even done with the first half yet so this could go either way. Dak Prescott likes to run the ball but that’s a good way for a quarterback to get his bell rung by the defensive backs.”
The bartender came walking back carrying a platter toward Hagan and only hesitated for a moment when he saw the troll in his leather jacket and boots sitting on the bar. He put down the platter and got a fork and knife out from below t
he bar, putting them on a long napkin and stood back. There was a grease stain across his maroon Electric Light Orchestra sweatshirt. “You want another beer?”
Hagan looked up and saw the bartender was actually looking at him. Hagan held his gaze without looking at the troll. He was too tired and after all he had seen go down in the magical world, a small furry being in a little outfit didn’t seem like enough to get riled up about. “One more would be good.” He gave his best dead fish look as the bartender leaned down and got another beer from the cooler, never looking over at Yumfuck.
As he wandered away, Hagan heard him mutter, “Seen just about everything. Gonna have to cut back to just drinking beer. I tell you, Austin is weird right down to its britches and drawers.” He stopped at the end of the bar and put a hand to his cheek, expertly spitting a brown stream of tobacco juice into a brass spittoon on the floor, leaning back against the back of the bar, going back to watching the game.
Hagan slid the platter closer to Yumfuck. “I’m not going to go through the usual drama with you and try to keep you out of the food. How about I share and you don’t roll around on my plate. Deal?”
The troll put up his tiny paw, smiling and Hagan shook it. “You want a fry? I like ‘em a little toasted. You’re just gonna have to live with that.” Hagan sprinkled vinegar over half the fries. “The plain ones can be yours and this half is mine.” He pulled the plate out of reach. “On one condition. You don’t breathe a word about this place to anyone. I want that on your honor as a troll. Not even Leira, your buddy.”
The troll stood up and held up three fingers in the Boy Scout salute, solemnly nodding his head.
“I’m not sure if that means the same thing with a troll but I’ll take it. You and me are pals even if we’re not stuck together for life. I have Rose for that, no offense.”
“None taken,” squeaked the troll. He picked up a French fry that was the same size as he was and slowly pushed it into his mouth, quickly biting as he pushed. “Yummmm…” He picked up another and repeated the process, quickly going through the fries.
Hagan looked at the half empty fries and waved at the bartender. “We’re gonna need another plate of fries over here. Make it a large and cook em a little long.” No one ever said please in Barfly’s. It was a good way to get your ass kicked.
The waiter looked back in their direction and shook his head. “Maybe just a beer with dinner would be good.” He made his way back to the kitchen, his skinny ponytail swinging between his shoulders.
Hagan looked at Yumfuck as he took a heaping forkful of barbeque. “You ever miss seeing little people like you?” He swallowed the hot meat, keeping his mouth open to let out some of the steam.
The troll shrugged. “The story’s not finished yet. I was born under a wandering star.”
Hagan waggled his fork at the troll. “Not so fast. I know my country songs. Don’t pull that shit on me. Talk to me straight without the gimmicks or stick to the motherfuckers.”
Yumfuck gave him the side eye, arching a tiny eyebrow. “Too much trouble afoot to be worrying about relations right now. This is better.”
Hagan leaned toward the troll getting a smudge of barbeque on his tie. “You know there’s trouble coming? Do you know what it is?”
The troll shook his head, a serious look on his face, his lips pressed together in a straight line. “There’s no treaty. No agreement. And no clear path to get everyone to agree. Difficult times ahead. Lots of motherfuckers.”
“Amen to that.”
“Aloha.”
“You know what? I come to this joint to not talk about what’s out there. Let’s go back to football. You ever been in a fantasy football league? I bet you’d clean up. We should start one just between you and me. I’m sure there’s some kind of wager we can make.
The troll was barely listening, licking his lips and staring at Hagan’s barbeque. Hagan looked up as the bartender came in carrying a tray. “More barbeque too.”
“Way ahead of you. I saw how the chipmunk was putting away the fries.” The waiter put down the tray and set two plates in front of Hagan and the troll. “Does your friend need a fork or is he good with his paws. Doesn’t seem to have a thumb or anything.”
“He’s good.” Hagan held up his hand and the bartender went back to the game, occasionally stealing glances over his shoulder.
“Here, let me help you take off your outfit. I know how this goes. We can hose you off in the bathroom sink afterwards.”
Hagan carefully folded the leather jacket and put it on top of the boots, pushing the extra plate of barbeque toward the troll.
Yumfuck took a deep breath and opened his mouth wide, spreading his arms and dove into the hot meat, letting out a satisfied trill as he swam down the middle, made a turn on his back and swam the other way pushing his arms out to the sides, his mouth still open.
“How do you do that and swallow?”
The troll ignored him and pushed on as Hagan tried to take a bite from his plate, transfixed by the troll. “I want to look away…”
The troll rolled over, his belly rounded and stuck out his tongue, licking the plate till it was clean. He stood up, his fur covered in deep brown barbeque sauce, blinking to keep the sauce from dripping into his eyes. Hagan rolled him up in two napkins and carried him to the men’s room just past the Galaga arcade game as the troll stretched out his arms, trying to reach the controls.
“After we wash you off. Right now, you’re five inches of hazmat.” Hagan looked at the old, chipped sink and the separate faucets for hot and cold. “Sorry about this little guy. The hot is way too hot.” He turned on the cold and held the troll underneath, rinsing off the sauce as the troll shivered. With his fur wet he looked even smaller except for his extended belly. Yumfuck shook his head, shaking out his green hair as Hagan gathered up a pile of brown paper towels, patting down the troll.
“Not too bad. Was it worth it?”
“Yumfuck!” The troll gave two thumbs up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
They stopped at the game on the way back to the bar. The troll was standing on Hagan’s shoulder and the bartender leaned out far enough to catch a glimpse and gave a shrug. He went to give an old man who came in and sat down at the far end of the bar a beer without even a greeting. Barfly’s was like that. Everyone who came in was a regular.
“This was one of my favorite games back in the day. Not even called a video game. We called them arcades back then. Lots of people had to all come together in a place in the mall to play these things. We’d crowd around somebody when they had a hot game going and cheer ‘em on. You got to even put your initials in. I lived for this shit. Would save up all my change from delivering newspapers. Don’t say, what’s a newspaper. Too soon. Too soon, little buddy.” Hagan shook his head.
“How do you play it?”
“You take the left arrow key right there and I’ll take the right one. See that spaceship at the bottom of the screen? When you jump on the left arrow the spaceship will go left. We’ll have to work together. Our common enemy is a giant insect that flies down and tries to bomb us. It’s a lot like my job lately. We shoot the insect and destroy all of them and we can get to the next level where it gets harder and we do it all over again.”
“Start her up!”
Hagan put the troll down on the left button and started the game. The giant insect flew across the top of the screen and dove toward the spaceship. “Jump! Jump!”
The troll let out a squeal of laughter and leaped up and down, moving the ship as Hagan worked the right button. The bartender leaned out again and half smiled, shaking his head. “Wherever you can find some joy, dude.” He went back to the game, swearing at the referee.
“Jump…now!”
A bomb managed to find its target and the spaceship exploded with a flash of light and sound.
“Sumofabitch!” The troll shook his little fists, still jumping up and down on the button.
“I taught you that one, didn’t
I?” Hagan patted his chest with pride.
He pushed the button to start the game again as three large guys came in, talking loudly and making jokes about the decor.
“Hey barkeep,” yelled one of them, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off to better show off his tattoos. He pounded on the bar with his open palm, startling the old man. Hagan let the insect quickly win the game and glanced over to see what the men would do next. The troll let out a disappointed squeak but noticed where Hagan was watching and turned his attention, hopping up on Hagan’s shoulder.
“Trouble,” he squeaked. “Dumb shits with muscle, worst kind.”
“I’d have to agree.”
The man behind his friend at the bar stepped up to the corner of the bar, flexing his large, muscular arms as he grabbed the edges of the bar with both hands, shaking it as hard as he could, rattling the plates and Yumfuck’s boots. The old man quickly picked up his beer as it sloshed around in the glass. He still didn’t look directly at the men.
That didn’t stop them from coming up behind, surrounding him as one of them stuck his finger in his mouth and put it in the beer, swishing it around. The bartender leaned under the bar for his bat and brought it up. “Don’t want any trouble, dudes. This is a peaceful establishment.”
The third man quickly leaped over the bar, sending one of the plates flying to the floor where it broke into pieces. Yumfuck watched the fries scatter along the floor as his fur ruffled along his neck. The bartender swung the bat as the man grabbed it with both hands, grinning with tobacco stained teeth. He pulled it out of the bartender’s hands and leaned it on his shoulder standing behind the bar.
“Time to do something about this shit, Yumfuck. I’m not a cop anymore. Don’t necessarily have to follow the rules. Of course, I’m not a complete dick. Won’t shoot first, ask questions later. That’s Berens. Okay, it’s you and me, Yumfuck.”
“Yumfuck!” The troll growled, jumping down to the floor, marching ahead of Hagan as he neared the bullies.