Petrified

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Petrified Page 19

by Ben Meeks


  C H A P T E R • 26

  It was a little after nine in the morning when I left the hospital, giving me about half a day before my battle with Petra. With nothing to do but wait, I headed to the clubhouse. It was mostly empty inside. Besides the goblin at the bar looking like he already had a few too many, the only other person was Adan, sitting at his normal table in the corner by the pool table. He had a plate of bacon and eggs with a beer, looking over papers spread all over the table. The rats in Atlanta handled not only the broad distribution network for the dust but also the necessities for modern life like driver’s licenses and bank accounts. As the representative of Atlanta, he handled all those things for the ultras in the area. I joined him at his table.

  “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a demon to get ready for,” he asked.

  “I’m as ready as I am going to be. Just wasting time,” I said. “I do have some business I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?” he asked, taking off his reading glasses to give the full attention that business requires.

  “Holt told me he hadn’t set up his accounts yet. I wanted to get that in order for him,” I said.

  “He was in bad shape last I heard. Rumor has it he isn’t going to make it,” he said.

  “Well, I know he’s awake. He’s strong, he’ll be okay,” I said. “I just need the usual, bank account, debit card, he already has a license but it’s for Tennessee, so we need to have that updated to Georgia. Go ahead and transfer ten thousand from my account to get him started, and fifty percent of the take from the dust going forward.”

  “Are you sure? That’s pretty generous,” he said.

  “Yeah, just make it happen,” I answered.

  “It’s your money,” he mumbled jotting down notes on a scrap piece of paper. “You must be feeling pretty confident about tonight if you’re making plans for the future.”

  “Of course he’s confident. Keepers always win,” Otis said from behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders.

  “While I appreciate the vote of confidence we both know that’s not true,” I said.

  He sat down in a chair to my right. “It’s true enough. Listen, Obie, we have about ten hours until we have to be at the bridge, and I know you don’t drink, but we’re going to have a few today.”

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

  “The world as we know it could be ending,” he said, getting up and heading to the bar.

  “How is that different from any other day?” I shouted after him.

  Otis returned a few minutes later carrying six large mugs and having to step around a knocker that scurried across the floor in front of him. He put them down on the table, getting beer rings on Adan’s papers, who didn’t seem to mind in the least.

  “Any luck finding a home for the knockers?” I asked when he sat down.

  “Not in the least. They won’t go back to the mine and no one wants to take them in. Imagine that,” he said.

  Tico called over from the bar. “Travis is snooping around the shop.”

  “Travis? What’s that about,” Otis said. “I got to check this out.”

  “I’ll come with you,” I said, getting up from the table. “Adan?”

  Adin reached for a beer. “I’m good here. You fellas go ahead.”

  We changed back into human form and walked over to Morrison Salvage and Repair, the more legitimate business of the Tortured Occult. We walked into the shop through one of the open garage doors. The mechanics always kept the doors open with giant fans running in the middle of summer, not that it did much to stifle the heat. The building had a small waiting room with a window to the shop where people could watch their cars being repaired. Travis stood by the window with a magazine, trying to discreetly watch one of the mechanics. He fancied himself as a hunter, and he did in fact hunt, he just never caught anything, which made him mostly harmless. Otis and I joined him in the waiting room.

  “Something wrong with the car?” Otis asked when he opened the door.

  “Just getting an oil change,” he said.

  “Weren’t you in here a couple weeks ago for an oil change? Unless I’m mistaken,” Otis said. “There has to be something other than that. You’re holding your magazine upside down.”

  He wasn’t, but since he wasn’t paying any attention to it he did a double take before he figured out Otis was testing him.

  “All right, you got me,” Travis said. “You know how I look into strange things sometimes. Well . . . I’ve got a story for you.”

  He put the magazine on the table and took a seat on the couch. Otis and I took chairs across from him.

  “First, tell me about that feller working on the Buick,” he said. “How long’s he been ’round here?”

  Now that Travis mentioned it, I hadn’t seen the guy around before. He looked Japanese, wore navy coveralls, and was focused on his work.

  Otis turned to verify who Travis was talking about before responding. “Five or six weeks. He was passing through, looking for work. I don’t know if he’s planning on staying or not. We call him Panda,” he said, giving me a look to let me know the name was more literal than he was letting on. “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, now that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Travis said. “Have you noticed any funny looking scars on him? Maybe something looking like a penny-gram?”

  “A pentagram?” Otis asked. “No, he stays covered up most of the time. What’s this about?”

  “Couple days ago I was checking out an old house in Dahlonega, behind the Dairy Queen. It’s been abandoned for a while and all overgrown. It just looks like a place you could find a ghost or spook or something. Well, I was there poking around and I run across this light coming out from under the door in one of the rooms upstairs. It was kinda shimmering and I didn’t know what to make of it. So I pop the door open, ready for anything, and there’s a tiny little person with wings flying around, like Tinkerbell or something. It’s got this little rock that’s giving off all the light. I didn’t waste any time grabbing it up. So then I’m thinking what do I do with it now?”

  “What did you do with it?” I asked.

  “This is the good part,” Travis said leaning forwarded in the couch. “So this little thing starts talking. Stuff like ‘please let me go’ and all that. I’m thinking no way I’m letting it go! Then it says how it’s harmless and never hurt nobody and if I let it go it can tell me where a real, honest to God, werewolf is. I says, ‘baloney, you’re just trying to get away’. Then it says it will tell me where there’s a werewolf and these little things called tommy knockers, both. I didn’t know what they were until it told me. It told me where there’s this mine close by with these little yellow-eyed critters in it. I checked it out and sure enough there was. I didn’t catch any but they were there. That checked out so I thought there might be something to the werewolf. It says there’s one working right here. I know if you had some kinda maneater working in yer shop you want to know, so I come a looking. Now I’ve seen y’all around and I know you good people, the only feller I don’t know is that one. It has to be him,” he said pointing discreetly in Panda’s direction.

  “So let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you caught some kind of fairy that told you there was a monster working in my shop? Do you hear what you’re saying?” Otis asked.

  Travis looked a little hurt by the lack of confidence. “I know how it sounds but as sure as the day’s long there’s some funny stuff going on around here. I just want to make sure folks are safe, that’s all.”

  “Why did you ask about a scar?” I asked.

  “I don’t reckon I know anything about werewolves other than that what ya see in movies and whatnot, so I looked in the Google. I found all kinds of stuff I never heard of. One of them was that werewolves have a scar in the shape of a penny-gram.”

  “I see,” Otis said. “While I appreciate you looking out for us I can say with one hundred percent certainty th
at he is not a werewolf, okay? I like you, Travis. You’re a good guy but please don’t come around here snooping around for some kind of monster or something. It’s bad for business and people are going to think you’re nuttier than a squirrel turd.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to cause you no trouble, that’s for sure,” Travis said, looking a little hurt.

  Otis stood up and shook hands with Travis. “Don’t worry about it. It’s always good to see you, and that oil change is on the house, okay?”

  We said our goodbyes and went back to the clubhouse. It was a strange story, one I felt we needed to figure out. We made it back to the table where Adan had finished off four of the six beers.

  “Really?” Otis questioned, when he saw the work Adan had done on the beer. “We were gone for five minutes.”

  Adan was just putting down his fourth empty mug. “What’s that saying? A fool and his beer are soon parted?”

  “You’re getting the next round,” Otis said, sitting down and claiming the remaining two beers. He put one in front of me and kept the other for himself. “Drink.”

  “What do you think about Travis? It sounded like he was talking about a pixie to me, and we both know a real pixie would have evaded or killed him rather than be captured,” I said.

  “I think someone’s playing games. Maybe sending a message,” he said, taking a drink.

  “What message is that?” Adan asked, holding up three fingers to Tico for another round.

  “That they aren’t afraid to cause problems,” he said.

  I picked up the beer. “Who do you think is responsible?”

  “There’s only one person that has any kind of beef with Tom C: the Queen,” he said.

  “Assuming we make it through the night, what are you going to do about her?” I asked.

  “What can I do? Sometimes you just have to wait for the old to die and take their ideas with them,” he said taking another swig. “Maybe whoever replaces her will be more interested in getting along.”

  Adan took a long swig from the beer. “You know how long elves live, especially paranoid ones with armed guards?”

  “We can address that at the next meeting. Let’s not let it spoil our good time,” he said. “Obie, drink up, we have another on the way.”

  The first gulp gave me a strange sensation in my throat. It was the first thing I had to drink in a long time, and I had forgotten what carbonation felt like in my throat. There was a good chance this was going to be my last day, even if I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else. Sharing a few cold ones with friends was a good way to spend it.

  C H A P T E R • 27

  Traffic backed up about a mile away from the bridge, to be expected with the detours in place. I waited in the line of cars approaching the bridge, where a cop parked in the road was waving traffic onto a side street. Behind him, some assorted machinery, I had no idea what any of it was, was sitting in the road. I recognized Razor and Cotton dressed up as construction workers, milling around the machines, not really doing anything—they were pulling off the disguise of your average road worker to a tee. When the officer saw me, he waved me into the construction site. I pulled slowly around the police car, giving him a nod as I went by. I arrived at the bridge a few minutes behind schedule, but still with time to spare for the final arrangements. I found the elves and T.O. parked on opposite sides of the road, like boys and girls at a middle school dance. I pulled up close to where Cearbhall and Otis were sitting on a tailgate, and got out.

  “You smell like beer,” Cearbhall said when I had walked over to them.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I was wasting some time with Otis today.”

  “He needed to loosen up a bit,” Otis said.

  “You do look a little more relaxed,” Cearbhall said with a smile. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “Let’s get ready, we don’t have long,” I said, stepping out toward the center of the road and waving everyone in. “Thanks for coming, folks. Let’s get everyone together and go over the plan one more time to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

  Looking over the crowd I saw the Queen hadn’t attended our little soiree, but I spotted Harlan with a weird looking hat in one of the trucks. She had held up her end of the bargain and sent him to handle business with Tom C as promised. A small group of eight elves represented the Elvin Nation with what looked to be ten from the T.O. in attendance, on top of what I already saw manning the construction equipment. Harlan still sat in the truck by himself and didn’t seem to notice we were getting underway, so I walked over to see if he was okay.

  When I got close he got out of the truck, slowly and deliberately, clearly in pain. That’s when I noticed he wasn’t wearing a hat, he had bandages on his ears again. This time, they were covered completely with the cloth wrapped all the way around his head, so only his face and the back of his head were uncovered. His head had been shaven clean, and blood was soaking through on each side of the bandages where his ears were.

  “What happened, Harlan?”

  “My dear mother has punished me for embarrassing her. I couldn’t be banished because of the agreement with the Tortured Occult, but I don’t really think she would have banished me anyway. I imagine I would have just disappeared and been forgotten like so many others. Since that wasn’t an option, she said if I wasn’t proud of my ears then I shouldn’t have them. So she had Patsy cut them off,” he said. “I’m not allowed to hide my shame, with a hat or hair.”

  “She cut off your ears?” I said, not really believing what I was hearing. “Let me help.”

  “Just stay the hell away from me. She wants me to suffer, you’re just going to make it worse,” he said, shooting me a look that actually gave me pause.

  “We aren’t in the Elvin Nation and she isn’t my Queen. Show me,” I said.

  His expression softened. “If you wanted to help you would have let me go. If you heal me she’ll just hurt me again. There’s nothing you can do. The best thing you can do now is leave me alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Harlan. I hope you believe that,” I said.

  “Let’s get down to business. Why don’t I show you what your loyalty bought?” he said.

  He walked slowly, almost shambling, but with his head up. He was in pain, a lot of it, but he didn’t let it show or make apologies. He ignored the sneers of the elves and the concerned looks from the T.O. as he approached the trucks. Each had a large bulge covered by a heavy tarp in the back. He waved a hand and a couple of elves pulled the tarp back, revealing the largest gun I had ever seen.

  “We have two trucks mounted with M134D Gatling guns. These will take down anything we run into tonight, flying or not. We would normally have tracers, but since we are trying to stay low profile we aren’t using them. The upside is there won’t be streaks of light to attract unwanted attention, the downside is it will take an extra second or two to acquire the target once we open up. Each truck has a crew of four with additional small arms if needed.”

  I stepped forward to get a closer look at the machine. “I am going to be honest, I don’t know what that means, but it sounds good. Like I said, I am hoping they won’t be needed. It’s just insurance. If you do shoot them, I am guessing it’s going to attract a lot of attention, right? Even without the tracers? Are we going to be on the clock to wrap this up and get out of here before the National Guard shows up?”

  “I think we will be okay. Yes, they are loud but you have to understand that these fire three thousand rounds a minute. Shooting that fast the gun doesn’t go bang-bang, it hums. If anyone around is familiar with it they might be able to tell what it is, but we are working under the pretense that there is construction going on tonight. It would be easy for the layperson to confuse it for machinery and not give it a second thought. As long as we position the trucks where the muzzle flash can’t be seen from passing boats, then it should largely blend in. We’re going to have two or three feet of fire coming out of the barrels when we let go, so placement is important.”


  The members of the T.O. standing around began to mumble among themselves. They hadn’t had any real dealings with the Elvin Nation in over a hundred years. Weapons had come a long way in that time and I don’t think they realized the resources that their historical adversaries had access to. A bit of a wakeup call, to say the least.

  Harlan waved again and the tarp was placed back over the gun. “We should be able to find a good position in the tree line that will serve our purpose.”

  “Okay, great, that sounds good. Otis, can we have the machines making as much noise as possible to conceal any sounds from the fight or gunfire?”

  “Sure, not a problem,” he said.

  “Ok, don’t open fire unless she tries to fly away. Just hang back and let Cearbhall and I finish her off. The T.O. will keep her away from the elves in case she gets away from us. That’s it,” I said.

  “What if she kills the both of you?” Harlan asked.

  “Then you all can do whatever you like. It won’t matter to me,” I said. “All we have to do now is get into position and wait. Please don’t kill each other in the next hour or so. I’ll catch up to you when it’s done.”

  Cearbhall and I got in the truck while the T.O. and elves split into two groups. One group went into the trees on the close side of the bridge; the second group took position on the opposite side. We drove to the center and parked. The machinery started up a few minutes later, flooding the area with the rumbling and clanging of construction. With an hour to wait, we got out of the car and made the change to krasis. I put the box with the soul stone and the two vials of antivenom on the hood and we took a seat on either side.

  “Thera told me something interesting today. She said that you chose me to be a Keeper. Since our fight, I spent all this time under the impression that you resented me,” I said.

  “What fight?” he asked.

  “You know, the one where we had it out and started working separately.”

 

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