by Martha Carr
CHAPTER TWO
Leira was relieved to pull up in front of the small blue house on Rainey Street and waved to the people on the front porch next door. They were already drinking. Most of the colorfully painted houses on the street doubled as bars and happy hour was just getting underway.
The strings of white lights hanging from the porch were already on, even though the sun hadn’t quite set. Even the neon sign Estelle mounted above the roofline was lit.
Leira went through the tall gate marked private and weaved through the painted metal tables and chairs on the oversized patio to the small guesthouse in the back.
She had rented the place when she was still in college and saw no reason to move once she headed out into the real world, especially after her grandmother disappeared.
Her grandmother had vanished without a trace. The unsolved case was Leira's motivation to become a cop and work to make detective.
There had to be a reason and some day, she’d find it.
Besides, the rent was the right price these days. Free in exchange for stomping out bar fights, which were a rarity, and occasionally bringing her coworkers home for a drink.
At least as far as the patio. Estelle liked having cops around her business. She said it kept away a lower element.
The patio was already filling up with people getting a head start on this evening’s buzz.
“Hey, Leira.” A regular lifted a cold Shiner Bock in a salute. Leira waved back but kept moving. “On a case?” he called out, but Leira ignored him. She wanted to get to her small sanctuary and figure out what the hell was happening to her mind.
She wasn’t anti-social, she just didn’t think to be social at times.
She slid in the key, and turned the knob, sliding her purse off her shoulder as she stepped in. “Home, sweet home,” she said and closed the door behind her. She reached over to shut the wooden blinds that overlooked the patio and dropped her purse on the red velvet easy chair to her left. Her grandmother’s favorite reading chair.
Leira took deep breath, still pressing her back against the door.
“Can’t be happening,” she whispered into the darkened room. She bit her lower lip, willing herself to get it together.
She picked up the framed photo of a younger Leira with her mother and grandmother. Everyone with the same dark green eyes, smiling at the camera.
“How can everyone call me Lucky Leira with a family like this?” she asked, tracing the image of her mother with her finger. “One locked away, one disappeared without a trace and then there’s just me.”
Leira started to sigh but caught herself, and slapped her hand hard on the wall.
“Enough! Damn, Berens, sentimental? Okay,” she said, carefully replacing the picture.
I could use a drink, she thought, as she turned on a small lamp with seashells around the base. Another relic of her grandmother’s.
She stopped to look at herself in the mirror by the door.
“Another shirt ruined.” She pulled off the dirt and blood streaked button down.
“Damn,” she murmured, “rough day at the office.”
She went to her bedroom at the back of the cottage. The small cottage was square with just four rooms. The living room was the largest of them, and the kitchen was just big enough to fit a round table and four chairs in the center with a few feet of clearance on every side.
The bedroom was even smaller but Leira liked it. Big enough for a bed and a dresser, with a small closet on the far side of the room. She made her way to the hamper and after another look, dropped in the shirt.
She unholstered her gun and retrieved the grey metal lockbox from her wooden childhood dresser. She pressed the combination, placed the gun inside and shut the lid firmly, listening for the solid ‘click.’
‘You survive the chewing out?’ she texted Felix. Three bouncing dots appeared almost immediately.
‘By the skin of my teeth,’ he texted back. ‘Go enjoy your evening, Berens. I’m good. Going to watch reruns of Golden Girls on this broke-ass TV and fall asleep.’
‘I’ll bring coffee in the morning’.
‘And a cruller. But don’t let Rose see it.’
Leira smiled her crooked smile and pocketed her phone.
She went back to the large oval mirror hanging by the door and leaned in to get a better look. Not bad for someone who never wears makeup, she thought, then rolled her eyes. Or at least, good enough.
She looked down, straightening her favorite Wonder Woman t-shirt, feeling some relief. No bloodstains had seeped through. That’s something else to be grateful for, she thought as she walked to the front door.
She opened the door and paused on the threshold, waiting for the usual greetings. She liked the ritual more than she was willing to admit.
“Leira!” called the woman just coming onto the patio from the main room. Several other patrons turned their heads to look.
“Leira!” they shouted. She stepped down and shut her door, not bothering to lock it. No one who knew her would be dumb enough to try breaking into her place. Anyone who didn’t know her would get stopped a dozen different ways by as many people before they got the door all the way open.
“Come sit by me,” said Mike, a regular, patting the seat next to him. He was sitting at the weathered and faded long wooden bar. Battered old license plates from Estelle’s travels decorated the sides. Clusters of tiny white lights hung in bunches overhead.
Leira grabbed a stool as the bartender popped the top off a tall neck and set it in front of her.
“Boone River lager,” said a man in a coat and tie on the next bar stool. Leira didn’t recognize him. Not a regular at Estelle’s. “Little lady has taste,” he added, giving her a wink as he held up his glass.
Leira frowned, sizing him up before turning her back. Not in the mood, she thought.
“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. It’s Friday! It’s even happy hour. Let me buy you a drink.” He pulled his barstool closer to hers.
Leira knew his type. Relentless. She turned and scowled at him. “Look asshole, this isn’t Match.com. You’re not going to score here. You’re in the wrong bar. Try Rodeo Pete’s on 6th Street. You’ll have a lot better luck with the tourists.” She turned back to say something to Mike.
There was a heavy tap-tap on her shoulder. She looked in time to see a larger finger tap her again. There was a gunmetal gray Rolex on his wrist.
“Seriously,” she said, as people turned around, some of them moving their chairs closer. Ready to jump in and help Leira if it became necessary.
Leira felt the crowd grow tense. Time to help everyone ease out of this and calm down.
“Look, dude,” said Leira, “you’re in the wrong establishment.” She scooted her t-shirt just high enough to show him her gold shield. “Last time I’m telling you, nicely or otherwise. Try Rodeo Pete’s, but dial it back a little or even beer goggles won’t help you score. I don’t care how much you try and wallet-slap the honeys.”
“Feisty, I like it. Come on, one drink,” he smiled, dimples appearing in his cheeks, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He stood up and waved at the bartender, holding up two fingers, but the bartender looked at Leira to see what she wanted him to do. She shook her head, no.
“Okay, I get it. This is your place,” he said, sitting down on his stool. “Look, I’ll buy your beer and you don’t even have to give me your name,” he coaxed, dimples appearing again. “I’ll be right over here, minding my own business, Officer.” He tilted his head to the side.
Leira frowned. “Suit yourself,” she said, turning back around as she took a sip of her beer. The first few sips of a cold beer on a hot Austin night were always the best.
Mike leaned in and whispered, “I think that’s called harmless flirting.”
Leira looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. “Maybe? I’m not in the mood.”
“Doesn’t mean you need to treat everyone like they’re about to be charged with something,”
he said, giving her a smile. Leira had known Mike and some of the other regulars since she moved in over four years ago. Just after her grandmother disappeared.
“Have to look out for you, you know. Estelle’s rule number thirty-one,” he said. “Look out for Leira, which we would all do anyway, by the way.”
He took a long swallow of his gin and tonic, catching a piece of ice and crunching it.
“Long day,” said Leira. “Felix got shot. He’s okay,” she said quickly, holding up her hand to head off the potential words of comfort, or worse, a hug. “Just needed some stitches and a night at the hospital. Still, long day,” she said, drinking the last of her beer.
“Another?” asked the bartender.
“Sure, one more.” She wasn’t ready to go home just yet, even if it was just a few feet away.
“Hang out with us for a while,” said Mike. “You should be around some kind of family.” Then he shrugged. “I’m afraid we’ll have to do.”
“You guys are more than enough,” she smiled, resting her arms on the bar. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” she said. “Watch my beer.” She slid off the stool and headed for the comfort of her own bathroom. One of the perks of living behind a bar.
“She always so hard to get along with?” asked the pickup artist watching Leira as she walked out.
A meaty hand clapped him on the back, making him spit just a little of his drink, dribbling it down his chin.
“That’s Craig,” said Mike, nodding at Craig, who still had his hand on the man’s back. “He’s another regular here. To even be considered a regular here, you have to want to be a part of Leira's Society. That’s what we call ourselves.”
“Didn’t catch your name?” said a woman who had pulled her chair closer. She held out her hand.
“Bob,” he replied, trying out his dimples again.
“Lucy,” she said, shaking his hand hard. She gave him a smile that didn’t make its way up to her eyes.
“Not that she knows about that part,” said Craig. “We’ll make that our little secret.”
“Former marine,” said Lucy, tilting her head toward Craig. “It’s my only style of conversation.”
“Take a good look around, Bob,” said Mike. “Everyone here tonight is a part of Leira's Society.”
“Except for that couple, over there,” said Craig. “First date, I suspect. Too much talking to suit my taste. Clearly, still enjoying each other’s company.” He looked pained. Lucy laughed and poked him, brushing a long, blonde lock of hair off her shoulder.
“What are you, like a fan club?” asked Bob, still smiling, but sounding nervous.
“More like a family,” Lucy said. “An over-protective, Texas-sized family.”
“See that tiny little woman in there?” Craig pointed at Estelle who was showing someone to their table.
“The grandmother packing a gun?” Bob’s eyes widened. He took a large swallow of his drink.
“That’s Estelle. She leads this merry band and is the head of the society. No one bothers Leira here,” Mike proclaimed.
“No one,” Craig agreed, slapping Bob’s back again.
“Rodeo Pete’s?” asked Bob, pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet, and slapping it on the bar.
“Good idea,” said Lucy. “Take a cab. No parking on 6th Street after nine. They tow whatever’s still parked there and let everyone wander in the streets.”
Bob smiled stiffly as he backed off his stool and left quickly, weaving through the now-packed chairs till he got to the door.
“You know, she might actually figure out how to like a guy if y’all stopped running everyone off,” said Lucy, watching him go.
“He wasn’t good enough for her,” Craig insisted. “Besides, you know the rules.”
“He was acting like a guy,” said Lucy, “and he wasn’t that bad looking. Leira could use the practice.”
Leira stepped up behind them, “You chased him off, didn’t you?” said Leira. She ignored Lucy’s comment. She knew they all thought of her as dating-impaired. Maybe they were right.
“Damn girl, you’re like Batman in those shoes. Sneak up on anyone,” said Craig.
“Thanks for doing that,” said Leira. “I’d remind you again that I can take care of myself but tonight, I kind of appreciate it.”
Craig and Mike exchanged a look.
“Her partner got shot,” said Mike, “but he’s doing fine,” he added, when Leira scowled at him. “I’d have told him eventually,” he said, sheepishly. “Rigorous honesty,” he added, waving at the bartender. “How about I get the next round?”
“You owe Craig a few beers, anyway,” said Lucy, moving her chair back to her table. “You can send mine over here.” She added, “Leira, you can come sit with the girls, if you want.”
Leira sat down on her barstool and turned toward the bar as a man took the seat next to her.
“Hi,” he said, with a smile.
What is it with tonight? she wondered.
“Damn, girl, whatever it is you’re doing, let me in on it,” Lucy called. “All the good ones are making their way over to you tonight.”
“Semi-good ones,” said Mike.
“Okay, big brothers, maybe step back a little. At least for my sake,” said Lucy, trying to get the new guy’s attention, smiling at him. He didn’t take his eyes off Leira.
“I think I’ll take this one to go,” Leira said, picking up her beer. She could feel a tight soreness in her shoulder from where she had landed on top of Arthur and, even though the headache had eased up, to her relief, the remnants of pain were still there. “I’ll be fine,” she said, with a reassuring smile.
Bad choice. A look of concern passed across Mike’s face. Damn.
She waved as she turned to walk away.
No looking back, she thought. Tonight, I have a feeling they’d follow me.
She opened the door to her cottage as another shout went up. “To Leira!” followed by a lot of clinking glasses and the sounds of laughter. Leira braced herself and turned, raising her beer in the air.
“Till tomorrow,” she shouted, her usual farewell. Craig at the bar smiled broadly at her, raising his glass.
“Or later tonight!” someone shouted back, causing another ripple of laughter.
“Gotta’ love a routine,” she mumbled to herself as she pushed open her door.
She curled up on the couch and took a sip of her beer.
“Ow!” she exclaimed, sucking in air through her teeth. She carefully set the bottle down on the floor and pushed down the waistband of her form-fitting black pants. A bruise the size of a quarter was forming on the curve of her hip.
She gently pressed the green and purple spot. “Have to stick my landing better the next time,” she mumbled.
She let go of her pants and was reaching down for her beer when the room exploded with gold light. It was streaming everywhere, sparks shooting out to the sides.
Leira ducked and rolled to the floor, knocking over her bottle.
“Fuck,” she shouted, covering her head with her arms, waiting for the rest of the blast. She could feel the beer pooling around her right knee.
Nothing happened. The room was so quiet she could hear the beer as it dripped from the bottle onto her rug.
“No!” she yelled, squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself to not go crazy.
Go crazy like her mother, she thought as she fought the emotions.
CHAPTER THREE
Leira was not used to the feeling of panic that washed over her. Her heart was beating fast – too fast – and she was finding it hard to catch her breath.
Instincts kicked in and she forced herself to make an assessment of the room.
Come on, Leira. Enough.
She opened her eyes and looked up, ready to at least try and take down whatever was in front of her.
A hole had opened up in the middle of her small living room, exactly like the one she had seen at the hospital. The air around it shimmered and she coul
d feel the pulses of energy it gave off move through her body.
Two creatures stood just inside looking out at her. Leira would have called them men but something about them made her think twice. Points on their ears, long white hair, one of them, the hair was so white it seemed to glow.
“Elves,” she said, not sure what was happening. “Straight out of D and fucking D.”
And of course, there was the large rip in the world that kept appearing in front of her.
“Not human,” she shook her head. “Freakin’ elves.”
There was something familiar about all of it. Something tugging at her. In a flash of remembrance, she knew what was coming back to her and she shuddered.
Her mother’s goddammed crazy stories. Never about little green men or the government out to get her, oh no. They couldn’t be as acceptable as UFOs or anything.
Tall beings that could bend light. Isn’t that what she always said?
“Goddamn Light Elves!” she shouted, finally remembering what her mother always insisted on calling her delusions. The shorter of the pair looked surprised and hesitated, putting his hand on the other one’s arm, pulling him backwards.
Leira noticed they were standing on what looked like something solid at the same level as her living room floor. Images flickered behind them, rapidly shaping into what looked like an old, dense forest.
Trees are way to big too be to be from here, thought Leira.
Every muscle in her body was tense as she rocked back on her heels. Her gun was still in the lockbox in her bedroom behind her.
She reached for the metal bat she kept under her couch and in one fluid motion grabbed the bat, rolled within striking distance and swung at their ankles. Before she could connect, and knock them over like bowling pins, the older elf sang something and made a sweeping motion.
They rose high enough to avoid being struck by the bat and hovered in midair. Now, it was Leira's turn to look surprised.
“Crazy comes with a lot more details than I realized,” she mumbled, glancing around, maintaining her situational awareness. “Like I’m inside the fucking movie.”