by Robert Bevan
Dave gently set Tim down on the floor and covered his genital area with both hands. “This isn't what it looks like, I swear to God.”
“Are you okay, little girl?” the woman asked Tim.
“Yeah. Now run along and find somewhere to graze.”
“Did this man... touch you?”
“Jesus Christ, lady. Would you please fuck off?”
“Police!” she screamed as she pushed her cart away.
Tim pulled a pair of shorts off a nearby rack and hurriedly examined the tag before tossing them to the side. “We need to get out of here before the cops come. Grab something to throw on and we'll walk calmly and coolly out the front door.”
Dave tried to squeeze into a couple of shirts and pairs of cargo shorts, but nothing would fit his broad dwarf body. He settled for a brown bathrobe.
“How do I look?”
Tim shook his head. “Like the Not-So-Great Lebowski.” He took the lead, darting from clothes rack to clothes rack, then waving for Dave to follow when the coast was clear. They stopped in the women's department, surrounded by the least arousing assortment of bras that Dave could imagine.
“Why are we stopping?”
“There's nowhere else to hide between here and the exit,” said Tim. “We'll be out in the open, so just be cool and don't call attention to yourself. Remember, this is Walmart in Mississippi. We don't look that out of place here.”
Dave nodded and took a deep breath. “Okay, let's go.”
“There they are!” squawked the white trash cow who'd spotted them before. As promised, she was accompanied by two police officers.
Shit.
“Thank you ma'am,” said the younger officer. “You can continue your shopping now.”
“But I need to give my testimony, turn state's evidence!” She leaned in close to the officer who'd spoken to her. “Can I at least give you my number, in case you want to perform a full cavity search?”
Dave felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn't imagine what that poor policeman was going through.
“That won't be necessary, ma'am. Thank you for bringing the matter to our attention. We'll take it from here.”
“Suit yourself.” The woman sauntered off toward a display of Cheez-Its, swaying her huge ass back and forth like she was trying to smuggle out a pair of bean bag chairs.
The officer shuddered, then scowled at Dave when he caught him staring. “What the fuck are you looking at, you perverted piece of shit?”
The other officer, a good twenty years the first one's senior, rested a calming hand on his young partner's shoulder. “Take it easy, Joe. Give the man a chance to explain himself.” He peered at Dave with wizened old eyes. “We were informed that you were exposing yourself to this child in the men's department. Is this true?”
Dave shook his head, too nervous to form words. He wondered how many shots these two officers would be able to fire off if he and Tim turned into their hybrid rat-person forms and made a run for it. Probably enough to take them down.
“Are you naked under that robe?”
Lying wasn't going to get Dave anywhere. He didn't have the Charisma for it, and these cops already suspected he was full of shit.
“I have b-b-boots.”
“This is all a big misunderstanding, officers,” said Tim, uncharacteristically sweetly. “You see, this is my dad. His unit got hit with some nerve gas in Iraq. He was the only one who came back. Well... most of him anyway. He gets confused sometimes, and wanders off without any idea where or even who he is.” He grabbed Dave's beard and yanked it so that Dave was looking down at him. “We're in Walmart, Dad. You didn't take your pills.”
Dave didn't think he'd be able to pull off faking combat flashbacks, so he played his part in a way that would take the least amount of effort. “Gabba yurrrrn foblar?”
“Snap out of it, Dad!” cried Tim. “I'm your son!” He slapped Dave hard in the face.
The younger officer, Joe, removed his hat and held it to his chest. “I hope you'll accept my apology, sir. I let my emotions get the better of me. This nation owes you a great debt.”
Dave stood straight and saluted the officer. “I have boots.”
Joe choked back a sob as he returned the salute. “You're a goddamn hero!”
The older officer patted his young partner on the back. “I can handle this from here. Why don't you go back and help the others look for the guy who tagged Murphy?”
Joe nodded, then grabbed Dave's right hand with both of his. “It's been an honor to meet you, sir.” He smiled tearily down at Tim. “You should be proud.”
“Oh, I am,” said Tim.
When Joe was gone, the older cop sighed as if relieved to be rid of him. He squatted so that he was face-to-face with Tim. “My name is Officer Williams.”
“I'm... Tom,” said Tim.
“Do you folks live around here?”
Tim nodded. “Not far at all. We can walk home.”
“Don't be silly. I'll gladly drive you. Have you ever ridden in a police car before?”
“No,” Tim lied with a fake air of awe.
Dave stifled a laugh, recalling at least three times he'd seen Tim in the back of a police car.
“Bring your dad along, and we'll get you home.”
Tim took Dave by the hand and followed the kindly old police officer. Dave gave him a look that he hoped conveyed, “What the fuck are we going to do when we get in his car?” Tim shrugged.
When they got outside, the lights of passing cars zipped up and down Highway 49 beyond the vast, nearly empty parking lot. Dave took in a breath of crisp night air. The scents of fast food breakfasts and car exhaust reminded him that he was home again.
Four police cars were parked haphazardly in front of the entrance. Officer Williams led them to the third one.
“Can I sit in the front?” Tim asked giddily, really playing up the excited child angle.
Officer Williams smiled. “I don't see why not. Just don't touch anything, promise?”
Tim slapped his right hand over his heart and raised his left. “I promise.”
Dave understood Tim's motivation for making the request when he sat down in the back seat and the door closed behind him. There were no handles on the inside of the doors, and a thick steel mesh separated the front seats from the rear. He was trapped.
“Officer Williams when he settled into the driver's seat and shut the door.” What's your address?” He started tapping buttons on his GPS screen.
“It's really not far,” said Tim. “It'll be easier for me to give you directions.”
“Okay then.” Officer Williams started the car and put it into gear. “Where to?”
“Turn right onto 49, then take another right after the liquor store.” Tim was eyeing Officer Williams's sidearm covetously.
Dave thought about how callously Tim had just shot Zippo in the face and hoped he wasn't thinking of doing the same to a cop.
Tim instructed the officer to pull into the first residential neighborhood they came to. The overgrown lawns and dilapidated houses made it look like kind of a shithole. Dave wasn't sure if riding in a cop car was the safest place he could be, or if it made them a slowly moving target.
“Here it is,” Tim finally said at the end of a cul-de-sac. There were no cars in the cracked driveway, and the one window not boarded up with plywood was dark.
Officer Williams frowned. “You live here?”
“That's right. We rent from the Robinsons. They live in that house over there.”
Dave and Officer Williams looked in the direction Tim was pointing. It was an empty lot. A foreboding clicking sound brought their attention back to Tim. Just as Dave feared, Tim had swiped the officer's gun.
“What?” said Officer Williams, gaping down at his unfastened holster, then back at Tim. “How?”
“My Dex score is high as a motherfucker, motherfucker. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Tim!” cried Dave, shaking the thick stee
l mesh separating the front seats from the rear. “What the hell do you think you're doing? He's a fucking cop!”
“If he makes any sudden moves, he's going to be a... bullet... um... storage facility. Shit. I should have thought that one through before I started talking.”
“Please,” said Officer Williams. “I'm a year away from retirement. I have a family.”
“Just do what I tell you, and you won't get hurt.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“First, get out of the car.”
Very slowly and deliberately, Officer Williams pulled the door handle and pushed the door open. When he was halfway out, Tim reached back and pulled his own door handle.
“Very good,” he said when they were both out of the car. Keeping the gun trained on Officer Williams, he said, “Now let Dave out.”
“Dave?”
Tim rolled his eyes. “My dad.”
Officer Williams opened the back door.
“I'm really sorry about this,” Dave whispered as he got out of the car.
“What do you expect when you cuss in front of your boy like that and let him address you as Dave?”
Tim walked slowly around the back of the car. “Step away from the officer, Dave.”
“We can just leave him here and go,” said Dave. Having said that, he wasn't going to take a bullet for the guy. He stepped aside.
“That's the plan. He'll sit in the back of his squad car until someone comes to let him out. By then, we'll be long gone.”
Dave let out a long sigh of relief. He would have preferred not to have taken a cop hostage, but it was infinitely preferable to standing by helplessly while Tim executed one.
“Jesus, Dave,” said Tim. “Give me some credit, would you? I'm not a monster.” He frowned. “At least, not in the metaphorical sense.”
“You two are still in a world of trouble,” said Officer Williams. “And it's only getting deeper. Your best option right now is to put down that gun and surrender.”
Tim laughed like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Why are you even arguing, man? The option I'm giving you right now is the one where you don't get shot. You are not in control of this situation. I am. So just get in the goddamn car before I count to three, or I'm going to –” His eyes went wide as he started to slowly raise his arms. “Shit.”
“Excuse me?” said Officer Williams. “Did you say you're going to shit?”
Dave shared in his confusion. This was worse than the bullet storage facility thing. Tim really needed to work on his action movie lines.
Tim was frozen like a statue, except for his arms, still spreading slowly as the gun now hung by the trigger guard on a single finger.
“Tim?” said Dave. “You okay?”
“Shut the fuck up, Dave,” said Tim, sounding not at all okay. “We have a problem.”
“Sweet Jesus,” said Officer Williams. “Is he taking a dump right here in the street? If you had to go, you should have said something before you pulled my gun on me.”
The gun slid free of Tim's finger, but didn't fall. It hung in the air about three feet off the ground, then floated backward about the length of a single human footstep... or an elven one.
“Thank you,” said Vaeryn. “Now stand over there with the others.”
Tim turned around slowly, hands raised, and walked backwards toward Dave and Officer Williams. “How did you get here?”
“I rode on top of the carriage. It was exhilarating.”
“You were following us that whole time in Walmart?”
“Yes. You should be ashamed to call yourselves rogues.”
“I'm actually a cleric,” said Dave.
“Excuse me,” said Officer Williams. “Whose voice is that? And why is my gun floating in the air?”
Vaeryn became visible as she pulled Tim's ring off her finger. She smiled warmly at Officer Williams in spite of the fact that he was gawking at her long ears. “My name is Vaeryn.” She slipped the ring into the pocket of her robe, which was weighed down with the gun she'd swiped from Tim. She kept Officer Williams's gun pointed at Tim. “I'm the one in control of this situation.”
“Why did you follow us?” asked Dave, hoping it might lead to an amicable resolution. “What do you want?”
Vaeryn nodded at his feet. “The boots, of course. I need them to get back home.”
Tim nudged Officer Williams. “Women and shoes, am I right?”
“They don't even work,” said Dave. “We already tried to use them.”
“Of course they didn't work, silly dwarf. They can only be used three times a day. Zippo used them once to get to this world, and once more to return. Then Tim shot him in the face.” She peered at Tim down the barrel of Officer Williams's gun, then turned back to Dave. “Then you used them a third time to come back here.”
Dave sighed in relief. “That makes sense. I was starting to panic. So we just have to lay low until midnight, and go back to...” He frowned at Tim. “Where should we go?”
“I shall be returning to the Nest,” said Vaeryn. The Nest was their name for the section of the sewer they'd transformed into their hideout.
“No way,” said Tim. “They'll kill me if I show my face back there.”
Vaeryn smiled at him. “Don't be silly, Tim. They're not going to touch you.”
“How can you be so sure.”
“Because I'm going to kill you here.”
“SHIT!” cried Tim, leaping out of the way. Vaeryn tried to keep the gun on him as she pulled the trigger, but he was too fast.
Dave instinctively dropped to the ground and covered his head, the deafening blast of the gun reverberating in his ears. He couldn't even hear himself swearing as he looked up just in time to see Officer Williams staring down in horror at the dark stain radiating out from the hole in the belly of his uniform.
Chapter 9
When he finally heard Denise snoring from the floor behind the bar, Randy got up and helped himself to a glass of beer. The Whore's Head Inn felt even emptier at night. He missed the sound of a couple dozen people snoring on the floor and the security of knowing there was always a group of elves staying up through the night to watch everyone's back. The single candle he'd lit only exacerbated that empty feeling.
He should have been sleeping, but he couldn't stop thinking that there was more he could be doing to help everyone than sitting here in this tavern. The beer didn't go down as refreshingly as he'd expected it to. It tasted like cowardice and compromise. He'd only drunk a quarter of what was in the glass when he was aroused from his thoughts by a gentle tap on the door.
“Denise!” Randy whispered, but only received a loud snore in reply.
Randy rose from his chair as quietly as he could, then tiptoed to the door. He was irrationally unafraid, but saw no point in making his presence known until he deemed it necessary. Unfortunately, there was no peep hole in the door, so he pressed his ear against it to see if he could pick up any audible clues as to the identity of this late-night visitor.
THUNK THUNK THUNK!
Randy jumped back and yelped in surprise, then clapped his hands over his mouth.
“I heard that,” said a man's deep voice from the other side of the door.
“Sorry,” said Randy. “I was just...” He tried to think of something plausible to follow that up with.
… getting out of the shower?
… putting my pants on?
… tidying up the place?
“... listening at the door,” he blurted out as he remembered that he was incapable of dishonesty.
“May I come inside?”
“I don't know,” said Randy. “Who are you?”
“I'm Jay.”
“Jay who.”
“Jay who gives a fuck? Come on, man. It's late.”
“I apologize,” said Randy. “But I got to make sure you are who you say you are.”
“Who the fuck else would I be?”
If this was Mordred, Randy didn't want
to let on that they were onto him. “There's some shady folks lurking about this time of night.”
“You think I don't know that?” snapped the voice on the other side of the door. “I was directed here by a goddamn lizard man.”
There was something strange about this guy. If Mordred wanted to get in, Randy was pretty sure a wooden door wouldn't be much of a barrier for him to overcome. But if he was trying to infiltrate the place, he would want to present himself as a native to this world, and probably wouldn't swear so much.
“Where did you say you was from?” asked Randy.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Jay replied, “Charlotte, North Carolina.”
Randy unlocked the door and opened it a crack. A dark-skinned half-elf stared back at him. Not black-skinned like Katherine's friend, but rather brown-skinned like a black man from back home. He appeared to be alone, so Randy stepped back and opened the door wide enough to let him in.
“Hello,” said Randy. “My name's Randy.” He offered his hand to shake.
Jay walked right by him, taking in the room. “I thought there'd be more people here.”
The comment was obviously meant to elicit more information, but Randy didn't want to give away any more than he had to before he knew more about this Jay fellow.
“Things have been a little hectic lately, so everyone else is out runnin' errands. Denise and I stayed behind on account of she's pregnant.”
“Denise?”
“She fell asleep behind the bar.” Randy went back to his table and picked up his beer glass. He wasn't necessarily any more thirsty than he'd been before, but he didn't want to be empty-handed if Jay suddenly turned on him.
It ain't racist. I just don't know who this guy is.
His sword, which lay across his table in its sheath, was a much more effective means of defending himself, but he couldn't think of any innocent-seeming reason to pick it up. If this guy tried anything, hurling a glass of beer at him might be enough of a distraction to break a spell or give him time to draw his sword.