Unquiet Dreams cg-2

by Mark Del Franco

  I could see his point. Asking a supporter about his relationship with a savagely murdered colleague might put a damper on a friendship. At the same time, the Danann clan of fairies has its share of internecine politics. MacGoren was powerful in his own right, and given that he was made a director at the Guild in a relatively short time, he had powerful friends that Eagan might not like. “Why me?” I said.

  Eagan glanced at Gerin. “You have a certain reputation that could be used to advantage.”

  “I think this is ill-advised, Manus,” said Gerin.

  “I know you do. But you can’t ask either without risking insulting him.”

  “It could appear I’m interfering in the Kruge investigation,” I said.

  Eagan smiled slyly. “You’ve dealt with Keeva macNeve before.”

  Gerin shifted in his seat. He had managed to spend the entire conversation not acknowledging me. “Manus, Connor is powerless. As strong a fey as Alvud Kruge was, he died horribly. If this inquiry gets tangled in the murder case, Connor will have no chance if he stumbles across the murderer.”

  I didn’t know whether to be touched that Gerin cared or insulted that he didn’t think I could handle the situation. That he likely was right was beside the point. Either way, his attitude annoyed me.

  Eagan took a swig from the flask and grimaced. “He did a fair job of surviving Castle Island last spring.”

  Gerin snorted. “I’ve read those reports, Manus. He’s lucky he’s not dead. He’s lucky we’re not all dead.”

  Eagan gave Gerin a wolfish grin. “I like luck.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  Gerin frowned and sat back in the chair. He rubbed his staff as if he were agitated. “You know his coming here was observed. Everything you do is observed. People will ask questions.”

  Eagan raised an eyebrow at me. “Ah, yes, well, how’s Tibbet, Connor?”

  I chuckled. He may be ill, but he was sharp. An old flame taking me to the big house while the master was ill was not the worst cover I’d ever heard. “I hope she’s at least driving me home afterward.”

  “Of course,” said Eagan.

  “I still object to this, Manus. He has no abilities. He has no Guild authority…”

  Eagan held up a hand. “He has a Guild director’s ID.”

  “Purely by chance. Let’s not let Briallen’s propensity for not following the rules cause us to break rules ourselves. If I may say so, you seemed fixated on macGoren. I don’t know that I’m comfortable with one of my people being pulled into your personal politics.”

  “It’s not that personal, Gerin. These questions need to be asked. Normally, I would ask Keeva macNeve to look into this, but it would not be appropriate in this case. I want an objective ally here.”

  Gerin did look at me then. I felt an odd probing sensation, though whether he was actually trying to do something to me or it was his innate force of will I could not tell. “If I recall, allies do not fare well with this man,” he said.

  I wish I could say I was insulted, but I really shouldn’t be. I knew I’d left a few pissed off people in my wake at the Guild. It’s why no one comes around anymore now that I’d lost my abilities. They were willing to put up with me when it might help their careers. Now, I’m yesterday’s news. I didn’t need to be reminded of that, though.

  Eagan looked at me a long time before he spoke. “People expect unpopular people to ask unpopular questions, Gerin. They often don’t think beyond the annoyance of the questions and forget to wonder about the reasons behind them. It’s an advantage. I think Connor will know what to do to protect himself.”

  I hoped I did. “I can take care of myself.”

  Gerin shook his head and sighed. “If your course is set, then it must play itself out.”

  “Yes, it must. Tibbet is waiting outside, Connor. It was a pleasure talking to you,” Eagan said by way of dismissal.

  It didn’t seem like I had been very much a part of the conversation. I stood and picked up my jacket. As I shook Eagan’s hand, it felt cold and damp. I turned to Gerin and bowed again. Apparently, the High Druid didn’t think much of me. I tried not to look as humiliated as I felt.

  “I’ll let you know what I find,” I said and walked out. As I stepped into the cold October air, Tibbet waited in the car near the back of the greenhouse. Eagan must have done a sending to let her know the meeting was ending. I jumped in to get out of the cold.

  “You don’t look happy,” she said as she pulled around the house.

  “It’s nothing. I just feel like a mouse that’s been tossed between two cats.”

  She chuckled. “Those two can do that to you. Do you want me to drop you anyplace special?”

  “Home. Home would feel special right now.”

  She rubbed my thigh. “Oh, dear. It must have been bad. Just ignore them, Connor. That’s what I do. They play too many games between them.”

  “Sage advice.”

  We indulged in catch-up conversation through the rest of the drive. She had not really been doing much since Eagan fell ill. That was fine. Other than almost dying and saving the world last spring, things had pretty much settled down to boredom for me, too.

  When she arrived at my building, Tibbet put the car in park and slid across the seat. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged. I let my nose nestle in her hair. One of the things I love about Tibs is her scent. She always smells like warmth and comfort.

  “Everything works out eventually,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  She pulled back, a playful smile on her lips. “Do you want me to come up?”

  “You don’t have to do that, Tibs.”

  She eyed me with the hint of confusion. “I know that.”

  By that, I guessed she didn’t realize Eagan had asked her to pick me up to cover our meeting. I should have realized. If she knew, Tibbet would have told me immediately when I got in the car at the OCME. “I’m sorry, Tibs. Bad timing. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  She ruffled my hair. “No harm. Take care of yourself, handsome.”

  I tugged her hair. “You, too, gorgeous.”

  Once inside my apartment, I went straight to the computer. During a case, I keep meticulous files. I logged the information from my visit with Janey Likesmith, cross-referencing it to Moke’s drug-running gang. I leaned back, the desk chair letting out a squeal I never remembered to oil. Farnsworth had been running drugs. Which meant he was probably a gang hit. Which meant we were likely never going to find the perpetrator.

  I sighed and started a file on Ryan macGoren. After watching any connection between Farnsworth and the Kruge murder evaporate, Eagan had handed me a back door into the murder investigation. No one could blame me for looking into Kruge as part of researching macGoren.

  I paused and considered. Pride was rearing its head again. I missed the Guild. Not the political crap Eagan and Gerin were pulling me into, but the chance to work on big cases. It’s where I belonged. I could feel that in my bones. But as Gerin had made abundantly clear, I wasn’t in the big leagues anymore. I could get hurt. I pushed the thought roughly aside. I didn’t care. If I had to risk my life to prove them wrong, I didn’t have a problem with that. Because if I wasn’t willing to risk everything, Gerin was right that I had no abilities. At all.

  Chapter 7

  I took a run to the deli to pick up some dinner. When I got back to my apartment, a little mote of light spiraled above the futon. Judging by how dim and fading it was, the glow bee probably had been chasing me down all day. When I approached it, it put a burst of speed toward me and tapped my forehead, vanishing.

  Midnight. Yggy’s. The low energy of the glow bee made Joe’s voice sound faint. You don’t understand a glow bee like a sending; you actually hear it. People impress messages on them with their own essences. When it lands on you, the essence releases the message. It’s quick, though. Try and put too much information into a glow bee, and it takes a while to sort out. On the other hand, too cryptic
a message, and you find yourself scratching your head anyway. Joe and I had been exchanging them since I was a kid, before I was able to do a true sending. Now that I can’t do decent sendings anymore, we’re back to glow bees.

  Yggy’s. Interesting location. About the midpoint of the Avenue just beyond what passes for retail shops but before the commercial warehouses begin. Not the worst place in the Weird, but starting to venture into that territory. It was a crossroads bar, one of those places where an elf can sit down with a fairy and either have a civil conversation or end up rolling around on the floor. I had almost forgotten Joe was setting up a meeting with his gang connection, and Yggy’s would be the perfect place for it. The bar’s one rule was no essence fighting.

  Murdock didn’t pick up when I tried his cell. He hadn’t checked in at all, which was unusual, so I was relieved when he called me from his car just before midnight. Yggy’s would be a good place for him to check out, learn more about how the fey can sit down and have a drink without all the race drama.

  I was happy when Murdock called me from downstairs. It was getting chilly at night, and I didn’t want to have to walk in the cold down to the bar. I tossed some newspapers from the passenger seat of his car into the back, where they landed, not accidentally, on a romance novel. Murdock has a secret passion for them. You might call it a secret, searing passion of towering desire. With flowing hair, ripped abs, and corsets. I tease him about it. He doesn’t read the good kind. Every once in a while, I find a paperback lying around my apartment that he’s left in a subtle effort to get me interested. I have read a couple, well researched, well written, but in the end, not so much my thing. Murdock thinks I’m single because I don’t get romance. I point out he never goes out with someone more than twice.

  “Okay, gang fight. Two nights ago. What happened and when were you going to tell me?” I said, as he pulled an illegal U-turn and drove the wrong way up Sleeper Street to the Avenue.

  He threw me a look that was at once surprised and annoyed. “What’s with the attitude? I was just going to bring it up.”

  “I heard about it from Keeva, who took much joy in my lack of knowledge, thank you. Why didn’t you mention it the other day?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. I must have been distracted by the fire. Nothing much to tell. A face-off between the TruKnights and the Tunnel Rats.”

  I grabbed the dash as he took the corner a little too fast. “Okay. TruKnights I know are elf and fairy kids. That makes the Tunnel Rats our dwarf boys?”

  He nodded. “Don’t know much about the dwarves. Keep to themselves mostly. You saw the colors: black hoodies and yellow bandanas. They claim a small area south of where the Farnsworth kid was found.”

  “Still leaving the question of why a human kid was wearing the colors of a dwarf gang,” I said.

  He nodded. “Except for the dead kid, all the members are dwarves as far as we know. The report didn’t have much detail about why the fight happened. The TruKnights claim turf just east, so based on what you picked up from the Tunnel Rats you met, it was probably turf related. Two elves ended up in the hospital pretty cut up.”

  Dead kid. Murdock can do that, just refer to him as a dead kid. He’s much better at emotional detachment than I am, at least when he’s working. It’s a cop thing, to an extent. He’s seen more murders than I have, so he’s got an extra layer of protection against the horror of it. Not jaded so much as resigned.

  We left the working lights of the Avenue behind and entered a more desolate stretch of road that led to the warehouse district. Murdock pulled the car to the mostly empty curb. It wasn’t an area where you left an unattended car parked for long. We got out and walked toward the harbor.

  “I’m still convinced the blood on the kid’s shoe was Kruge’s,” I said.

  Murdock gave me a lopsided smile. “Of course you are.”

  Joe chose that moment to appear. Murdock is getting better at not being startled by a flit popping into view without warning, but you can still see the surprise on his face when it happens. He has to work on that if he ever wants to do undercover work with the fey.

  Joe swirled around us, clearly pleased. “Right on time, guys. I just checked and our guy’s inside. Let’s go, let’s go.”

  “What’s the rush, Joe?” I asked.

  I didn’t get an answer, or, rather, I didn’t get an answer from Joe. Yggy’s is on the dead-end side of Congress Street north of the Avenue. A few people milled around the black-stained door with a “Y” painted in the middle. No one reputable. We were eyed with wary curiosity, but no one bothered us. The door slammed outward, followed by an airborne body that landed firmly in the gutter. Murdock and I exchanged glances.

  Stinkwort laughed nervously. “I guess he decided to meet us outside!”

  At that same moment, we were close enough for me to sense the guy’s essence. I stopped short and glared at Joe. I didn’t need an introduction, and I didn’t need the guy to roll faceup for me to recognize him. Murdock paused a step ahead of me, turning back with a questioning look on his face.

  Stinkwort zoomed ahead. “Cal! How are you doing, bud?”

  Cal opened one eye and smiled. “Hey, Joe, what do you know?”

  Joe crossed his arms, sat down on Cal’s chest, and looked up with a self-satisfied, I-dare-you-to-get-mad-at-me smile.

  “Hi, Cal,” I said.

  When he realized it was me, he opened his other eye in surprise. “Well, well, what do you know, little bro?”

  I didn’t hide the displeasure I felt. “Leo Murdock, meet Callin Grey. My brother.”

  Naturally, Murdock was surprised as hell. “You have a brother?”

  Cal reached up a big, meaty hand. “Pleased to meet you, Leo.”

  Murdock shook and found himself pulling Cal off the ground while Joe fluttered up. “Same to you. And it’s Murdock.”

  Cal stood a good five inches taller than either of us. We look nothing alike. He takes after our father—broad shouldered, barrel-chested, rough-cut facial features—but has our mother’s coloring—ash-blond hair, light brown eyes that can appear yellow. He has an infectious smile that belies an unpredictable temper. Which is how he ends up in gutters a lot.

  Joe clapped his hands. “Drinks are on me!”

  “My favorite words,” said Cal. He reached for the door handle to Yggy’s.

  “Didn’t you just get thrown out?” I said.

  He gave a sheepish smile. “Nah, not really. Just a prelim.” He sauntered inside with Joe on his shoulder.

  “You don’t look happy,” said Murdock.

  “More ambivalent. Let’s see where this goes,” I said.

  I opened the door, and Murdock passed inside. No one really stood as bouncer at Yggy’s. It was the kind of the place that if you needed to rely on a bouncer to get you out of trouble, you didn’t belong there in the first place. When the management wanted someone removed, the bartender usually asked one of the meaner, drunker customers to take care of it for a free round. There were always takers.

  Immediately inside the door stood a coat check that no one ever used, but the coat-check girls, usually elves, always got tipped for their outfits, or suggestions thereof. After a short hallway, a large square bar area filled the front of the place. Stools surrounded it on all sides and could easily seat a few dozen people. Beyond that was a dance floor that was primarily an excuse to place wooden barrels to lean on when the bar was full. And beyond that was a pool table. For the right price, pool wasn’t the only action the felt saw.

  Cal waved to a sallow-looking fairy with shaggy black hair sprouting from various points on his skin. Not all the Celtic fairies are from the pretty Dananns clans. The fairy frowned and gave him the finger.

  “My table’s back here,” Cal said over the low din. Yggy’s is bar-loud, not club-loud. You can carry on a decent conversation without having to raise your voice too much over competing conversations and the new-wave-retro harp and fiddle classics on the sound system. Not far from
the pool table, we slid around a battle-scarred table with four chairs in the style every New Englander knows as colonial. Joe flipped over the empty black plastic ashtray and used that as a seat. Cal waved four fingers at a waitress, who nodded and disappeared toward the bar.

  Cal smiled down at Joe. “Someone said he had someone I needed to meet. Someone implied it was a date.”

  Joe put on an innocent look. “I never said date. Why does everyone think I want to set them up on dates?”

  “Maybe because strange women end up with our phone numbers?” I said.

  “Not true!” he said. He winked at Murdock. “It’s not always women.”

  Murdock shot me a sly glance. Joe thinks I don’t date enough and believes if he throws enough variety at me, someone will stick. Murdock can’t understand how anyone can be without the company of women for more than a week. Since I don’t rise to their baiting, they keep wondering if my interests lie outside the assumed. Of course, not rising to their baiting also means they keep baiting. I think we all enjoy it.

  “How ya been, bro?” Cal asked. I hated the “bro.” Even though Cal always used it, it felt like an affectation. The constant reminder of our relationship was a constant reminder that we were hardly buddies. When I lost my abilities two years back, Cal managed to show up at Avalon Memorial a week later, mildly sober, with enough contrition for the delay to indicate he meant it. It still irked me that he took so long. Our parents called the day I woke up, and they were in Ireland.

  “Okay. Not much change. You?”

  The waitress returned and dropped three tumblers of whiskey in front of us and a smaller one for Joe. We tapped glasses. While the three of us sipped, Murdock placed his back on the table. He wasn’t on duty, but I could tell by the way his eyes kept shifting to the crowd, it was not the kind of place he liked to drink in.

  “I’m okay,” Cal said. “Been doing a little of this, a little of that.”

  We always started this way. Wary. Not going too deep.