by Dan Knight
~~~~~~
He collected Gumshoe and the amateur sleuths from the break room.
“Will you help me interview the witnesses?” asked Wiggles.
“Yes,” said Jack. “Anyway, it’s better to do something than wait.”
“We’d better get some rest while we still have a few minutes,” Gumshoe yawned. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“How can we sleep knowing there’s a child killer on the loose?” Shotgun asked.
“You get used to it,” said Gumshoe. “Life goes on. I’m in no hurry though. The missus has taken a room in Iron Mountain already. Without her, there’s nothing to go home to.”
“I feel the same way,” added Jack. “With Jazz missing it’s just too depressing.”
“No kidding,” Shotgun said. “Without Goldie my better half is gone.”
“Did they go to Iron Mountain?” asked Gumshoe.
“Yes,” said Jack. “We sent them ahead with the Clay Players. With my shows cancelled, Jazz is working for Nodlon Memorial’s mobile hospital. Goldie volunteered too. With the risk of an attack by Mars, there’s no reason for anyone to stay here.”
“Take my advice,” said Gumshoe, “and don’t postpone your weddings.”
“Thanks for the advice,” said Shotgun.
Doctor Norman interrupted them. “We’ll be ready to start in about an hour. We have no code for ‘stunning’ patients. Don’t use that word when you speak to the press, the patients, any relatives, or the public. Better yet, just don’t use that word at all. For the record, we will call this procedure a general electro-neural stimulation.”
“It’s genius,” said Shotgun. Everyone looked at him, “Just making up an acronym folks.”
“Thanks, Shotgun,” said Gumshoe. “But if we value our pensions, I think we’d all rather keep this to ourselves.”
“If you and your team want to rest before we get started,” said Norman, “you can use my office. I’ll send an orderly when we need you.”
“Thank you doc,” said Wiggles. “We’ll take you up on that offer. A short nap is better than none.”
All too soon an orderly appeared.
Wiggles led the way. He deputized Jack and Shotgun, and then joined Norman.
Slowly, as the Constable stunned one victim after another, the investigators took statements from the bewildered teachers and students.
The First Born
In the third hour, only a few night owls reveled in the last open tavern. Distant laughter came from the tavern as the ever optimistic celebrated the coming of tomorrow.
Artificial twilight covered the marina. Half the berths were empty. No light came from the cloud lamps. Chinese lamps lit the fisherman’s wharf on the other side of the harbor. Dimmed streetlights lit the Strand.
A lone longshoreman with wide shoulders and greasy overalls paced up and down the boardwalk. Fighting insomnia and a sense of unease, he walked up and down the piers. When his dreams haunted him, and he became philosophical, he left his room at the Union Hall, and wandered the Strand. Usually, he stayed on the boardwalk, but tonight he crossed the foot bridge to the fisherman’s wharf and back again. Time and again, he repeated the circuit as the night wore on. He had done so for many nights and for many years.
Hoffer had worked here all of his life. When he felt down he always consoled himself by crossing over to fisherman’s wharf and cleaning out a pot at the crawfish boils. Love had eluded him, and he had never paid off his contract.
Though he knew now he had no other hope in this life, yet he believed there was more to life than the part he had lived. He had decided it was not a bad life.He wanted to dream again. He wanted to fall in love. He wanted so much, but his time had passed. No going back!
“Don’t feel sorry for yourself,” he said to himself. “If you feel sorry now, you’ll be sorry when the time comes to do it all again.”
Occasionally, fish disturbed the water. “Hoffer, you’ve enjoyed good times and you’ve seen the sights.” he whispered to the fish. Often he dreamed of fishing and writing a book.
At the end of each pier, he stopped and contemplated the waters of the port. A feeling of foreboding grew. He tried to escape it, but his anxiety mounted. Gentle ripples shook the reflections on the placid surface.
A tingle ran up his spine, and he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Spinning slowly he stared at the shadows between the pools of light. Nothing! Listening, he heard the revelers in the nearest tavern raise their glasses in another toast. They celebrated the night as others passed away. Time crushed dreams, and the waters swept away their hopes.
Again, a shadow flitted out of the corner of his eye, and he tried to catch the elusive figure. Looking at the cargo, nothing moved. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms.
Flexing his muscles, he felt no fear of the living, but what of the dead? No fist stops a ghost.
The old salts told tales of ghosts in the night. One favorite was the mariner who called to yachtsman along the Great River. He offered to work his passage, and then disappeared before they reached Stevedore Point. Another tale told of the maid who had died at the hands of a faithless suitor. She haunted the old road that ran along the river below Outfall. Hogwash! Don’t scare yourself with old wives’ tales, Hoffer!
Then, the water rippled, and he twisted. A gentle wake lapped the pier’s posts. He backed away from the pier’s end. His eye’s searched in vain for the boat that caused the wake. Another wake lapped at the posts under the pier. He walked back to the boardwalk, and stared into the dark water beyond the boat ramp. He watched the wake turn. He looked over the lake and saw no launch, no catamaran, and no yacht.
“Aye Hoffer,” he said, trying to calm his nerves. “There’s a sight ya’ ain’t never seen. Don’t ya’ worry none about Noddie. She ain’t never ate no one in the port, and she ain’t never done in a man doin’ his job neither.”
“Go on back to the Hall, Hoffer.” Curiosity tugged at him, but he picked up his pace. Reaching the boardwalk, he started jogging back to his room. “It’s no good Hoffer. You’ve got to see.” He slowed to a halt. “If it’s Noddie, you just have to take that chance.” He argued with himself. “Yeah and what if it’s a gator living in the sewer all these years. Maybe she’s come up the river looking for an easy meal?” He swayed back and forth. He started to walk back.
“Hoffer where’s your common sense. Doggone it.” He started to walk away. “You’re gonna go and leave a beauty of a mystery when she’s gone and offered you a shot.” He stopped, and turned around. “Yeah what if she goes and carries you off to a watery grave?” He shook his head. “Aw, Hoffer you can’t go now.”
Choosing his fate, he ran to the end of the boardwalk. On the pier, he watched the ripples in the water. The water was quiet, placid and dark in the shadows of the harbor’s cranes. Only a few streetlights illuminated the pier, and he struggled to see where the pier ended and the water began.
Edging back to the boardwalk, he looked down the pier onto the boat ramp. The ramp sank into the water and vanished in the dark shadows where light of the lamps could not go. At the boundary between the land and the lake, the water of the port looked as it always had on his midnight strolls. Is that a pale patch? The water was as smooth as glass. The pale patch was out of place, but it was real.
“Nay Hoffer, don’t ya’ go down there. It’s a bit of trash, and if it ain’t then it’s a gator. And if it ain’t a gator it’s a ghost.” From the top of the boat ramp, it looked like a buoy dropped overboard by a negligent yachtsman. Spellbound by curiosity, he circled the pier where the police had collected the dwarf girls and faced the boat ramp.
He looked away and blinked. Then he checked the water, and saw the patch. “It’s a buoy Hoffer. It’s gotta be.” Keeping his eye on the water, he walked down the ramp. As he approached the patch, a fear grew in his mind. Chills ran up and down his spine and his flesh pimpled.
A shadow flitted by, and he star
ted. “Hoffer, you nervous Nellie, it’s just a ghost ship.” A wake rippled across the port in the opposite direction this time. “Nothing to worry your wee brain about.”
Turning back to the object of his curiosity, he stared at the buoy trying to discern what was in the water. Only yards separated him from the buoy. If it’s a buoy! The streetlights cast the shadow of the pier over the ramp. In the dark of night there was too little light to see. The ripples lapped the ramp, and the buoy bobbed in the water. The hair on the nape of his neck tingled, and he reminded himself again of his purpose.
“You’re no fair weather fairy Hoffer.” He cheered himself on. “You’d break up a bar fight with any twelve molemen.”
Ashamed of himself for fearing the dark, he straightened his back and strode towards the patch. He was angry for feeling ashamed.
“Yeah,” he argued, “but you’ve no more power against a spirit better than a babe in a cradle.”
He summoned his courage. “Nay Hoffer, ain’t no spirit in that water. If it ain’t a buoy, it’s just a bit o’ trash some human folk threw into the storm sewer.”
His boot slipped on a patch of moss and flew out from under him. He slid towards the water. Momentum sent his other boot out after the first, and he landed on his rear. He slammed into the ramp and pain shot up his back. He slapped the moss and saved his head from cracking open on the concrete. He clawed at the ramp, but the moss slipped through his fingers. He kicked at the moss and struggled to stop.
He slipped into the water. He imagined a gator making lunch of him and scrambled and flapped about in the water. He kicked the buoy and it bounced in the water. It floated away and twirled around. It twisted, and he saw two long skinny balloons attached to the buoy. It’s an overturned cooler with a handle bar. He told himself that, but he did not believe it.
The mysterious object drifted away from the ramp. If he failed to act the buoy or whatever it was would drift out of reach.
“You’ll have to find a launch Hoffer, or go swimming for it. Just what ya’ wanna do in the dark with a gator lookin’ for a fat moleman for breakfast.”
Cringing, he plunged into the water.
Cold water poured into his boots and soaked his overalls. If he slipped now, he would swim for sure. He shoved his fist into the water and grabbed the nearest balloon.
For a longshoreman of his years, the object was no heavier than a ball of cotton candy. He pulled the balloon, and the buoy came out of the water.
It was no buoy. Even in the dim twilight, the streetlights dispelled wishful thinking. His heart raced, and the blood pounded in his ears. He wanted to shut his eyes, but he had to look. Fear melted with the certainty of knowing.
His fist held a small arm connected to a pale green boy. The boy’s head rolled, and he stared into the boy’s face. Black eye sockets and a gaping mouth stared back at him.
“Argh,” he yelled. “Oh no! Not this Hoffer! Not again!”
Trembling, he held the boy by one hand at arm’s length. The boy wore only his underpants, and his hair was short and matted down.
Carefully, he drew his burden from the water. His animal brain screamed to let go. He overruled his horror, and commanded his fist to tighten the grip.
“Hoffer will not let ya’ go laddie, not today.”
Hardened by long years on the dock, he held the boy in a grip of iron. His lungs complained and his back ached. He choked and gulped.
“No dignity in life, none in death. Boy, Hoffer will give ya’ your dignity. You should’a been someone’s baby but I bet ya’ had no one. For a little while ya’ got ol’ Hoffer to take care of ya’.” Cautious, he sidled up the slippery slope. With each step, he carved the slime out of the ridges with his heels. He made sure the heel of his boot caught the small lip of the traction ridges ground in the ramp.
He reached the top of the ramp, and laid the boy on the dock. He put his hands on his chest. “You’re getting’ too old for this Hoffer.” He tried to close the boy’s eyes, but the lids were tight.
“They’ll not cremate ya’ without a eulogy if I can help it.”
He knelt beside the boy. “Hoffer, ya’ should’ve read more poetry. You’ve got no words fit for the death of a child.”
On the boy’s forehead was a hole where his chip should have been. His skin dangled from his brow. Hoffer looked away and shuddered. He sucked in a deep breath.
“Old Hoffer is not a man of words, but I’ll see ya’ through.”
He cleared his throat and summoned his best diction.
“In times of old our fathers sacrificed their sons for riches now corroded and forgotten. Today, our babies perish for the crimes of their makers. You lived for nothin’ more than whatever life they gave you. And now that’s gone too. Remember man thou art mortal. And there will be justice in the next world, and there will be justice for the forgotten man.
“I’ve no idea who you were, or what world you lived in, but if your world was half the size of mine it must have been a grand place indeed. They made their plans to use you, boy, and the only thing they forgot was you. Fear not, wherever your spirit is. There’s no place for you to go, except it’s a good place. You’ll not be forgotten boy, so set your sails for the seas of paradise and the shores of the Elysian Fields.”
Stifling a tear, he pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose. Then, he stuffed the hanky back in his pocket. “I’ll make sure they take proper care of your remains…”
He caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He looked up, and the shadow flitted away. A wake broke the water with no sign of a boat or a gator. Ripples ran across the water, and lapped the posts under the piers. Waves rolled up the ramp and broke on the cave moss.
As he watched, the wake tacked. It turned around the end of the pier and headed for the ramp.
“Ghost ship!”
The wake broke over the ramp, and he saw a pale object floating on the crest. This time he knew it was no buoy. The breaker crashed, and the wave washed a child onto the moss.
Overcoming fear he ran to the edge of the ramp and gave the ghost a piece of his mind. “Come out and take your medicine you coward!” He shouted at the water.
A wave slapped the body, and the child rolled over. The child’s arm flopped with a squishy sound. Searing anger welled up inside him, and he shook his fist at the ghost, and yelled again, “Show yourself, ya’ baby killer! What are you doin’?”
A knot of inebriated sailors stumbled from the tavern. A pair of salts dragged along a third. One said something he could not hear. Turning away he heard a reply, “Yeah, it’s a mad sot yelling. Four sheets to the wind, he is.” The drunken sailors laughed.
He hung his head, and felt sick. He wanted to throw up.
Cursing, he wrung his fist at the water, and shouted again, “Are you afraid of little old Hoffer? Face me like a man.”
The dark waters shook, and another wake turned around the pier. Fear quelled his anger. He stepped back and shivered. The wake came towards him. The waves broke over the child and washed up the ramp.
Dumbstruck, he wished he had thought before shouting at the water. Should’ve held your tongue Hoffer!
The wake grew, and became a waterfall. Water rained down on the body of the child and ran back into the lake.
Spines shot from the wave, and the head of a dragon stared at him. Red fire burned in her dragon’s eyes. Water dripped from her fangs.
“Noddie,” he gasped, backing away.
The dragon growled, and the rumble shook the dock. Her whiskers twitched, and her eyes narrowed. Her ears bent in his direction and her spines clicked.
Standing his ground, he stifled his fear. “Are ya’ killin’ these kids? If you’re the one, ya’ gotta stop!” He yelled at the beast.
The dragon growled again, and smoke wafted from her nostrils. The noise echoed around the port. She glared at him with her angry, red eyes.
A thought stunned him. His idea
was as improbable as the idea of a mythical monster murdering children.
“Noddie? What are you telling ol’ Hoffer?” He sucked in a breath. “Are ya’ bringin’ the babes in for Hoffer, right? Is that what you’re doin’?”
Mollified, the dragon’s snarl faded. Slowly, the dragon withdrew and she slid back into the water.
“Sorry, Noddie, I get it.” He waved, and let out a whoosh. He put his hands on his knees and sucked in more air.
The dragon snorted a puff of steam, and slipped into the lake with a plop. The water swirled into a tiny whirlpool and she disappeared.
The longshoreman gritted his teeth, and carefully sidled down the ramp.
Snatching up the child’s arm, he lifted the boy from the water as he had the first. He was smaller, and Hoffer ground his teeth as he made his way back to the top of the ramp.
Gently, he laid the new boy beside the first. Like the other, there were no marks on him save for the hole in his forehead.
Tears welled in his eyes and he pursed his lips in a tense grimace. Blood pounded in his head, and he rubbed his temples. Looking down at the boys, he recalled a love long unrequited, and of dreams of children unfulfilled.
Love stabbed his heart. He wished he had had a boy. He imagined building models, playing ball in the park, and fishing for swordfish in the gulf. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to stop the tears.
“Yeah, none of us will ever see that on this side. Fear not babe. Go into the light, and you’ll find the fishin’s good on the other side.”
Waves slapped the pier again, and he cursed. Dagnabbit! The wave rounded the pier, and the tell-tale pale patch appeared in the trough. When will it end! As before the wave broke, and it tossed another child upon the ramp.
Rage flooded him and wracked his muscles. Tears ran down his face, and he curled his fists and ground his teeth. For him the pale blue light of the night turned red. He bent over and tried to control his feelings.
He dug into his overalls and pulled out his caster. He flipped it open, and pressed the emergency call button.
“State the nature of your emergency,” said the dispatcher.
He recalled a prophecy.
“A dragon fell from heaven, and he’s here to collect his harvest. Hoffer’s gonna need your help to care for our dead.”
“Sir, I don’t speak in riddles.”
None Dare Call It Conspiracy
Heavy metal wracked the quiet of the ward and jarred his nerves. Guitar riffs ripped the air in the lobby of the psych ward, and he fumbled with the folds searching for the right pocket.
“Shut that off,” snapped Hatchet. She worked at her desk completing her reports.
“For the love of Mother Earth,” Gumshoe groaned. “Can’t you silence that thing?”
“I picked a tune that gets your attention.”
From her station, the nurse shot him a glare full of icicles.
Shotgun rolled his head and popped his neck. Gumshoe muttered something about the failure of elves to learn common courtesy.
He pulled the caster from his cloak and the sound of the rhythmic accident escalated.
“Jack,” he croaked.
“Wiggles here, is Gumshoe with you? He’s not answering his caster.”
“Yeah, I’ll let you talk to him.” Handing his caster to Gumshoe, he said, “Wiggles wants you.”
“Oh, this can’t be good,” said Gumshoe, taking the caster. “What’s up Wig?”
“Where have you been old man?”
“Taking a nap in the psycho ward. There’s only so many we can do at a time apparently. Sorry, I missed your call. My caster’s on silent.”
“Sorry, I interrupted your break old man. I know you haven’t gotten any beauty sleep, but I need you to find Doctor Norman and cover for me. I tried calling her, but her butler said she’s still at the hospital. She’s about to get busy again.”
“Mother Earth!” Gumshoe rubbed his temples. “Norman is here somewhere.”
“I’ll get her,” said Jack, “I saw her just a minute ago.” He found the doctor, and they returned to the nurse’s station and huddled around his caster.
“Wiggles, we’re all here,” said Jack.
The moleman still wore the same disheveled uniform in which he had left the hospital.
“Spit it out, Wig,” said Gumshoe. “We’ll all hear it.”
“Brace your selves,” said Wiggles. “It isn’t pretty. I’m down at the Strand. Remember the philosophical longshoreman who told you about some myths and prophecies?”
“Yeah,” said Gumshoe. “The crackpot seemed like a good enough chap, but he didn’t need any drink to help him chase albatrosses.”
“Right, his name’s Hoffer.” The portly detective grimaced. “He found the missing Beslan boys.”
Jack felt a pit in his stomach, and Norman gasped. He glanced at Hatchet and Shotgun. The veteran nurse looked ready to spit bullets, and his butler looked sick.
“Don’t say it Wiggles,” groaned Gumshoe. “Don’t tell me it’s the same modus operandi.”
“Afraid so old man,” said Wiggles. “The techs are just setting up now, but I’ve looked at the bodies myself. Your Black Dwarf ripped out their chips. I can’t tell, but I’d bet a paycheck they have no blood.”
“How many?” Gumshoe asked. “Have you found all of them?” He combed his thin hair with a hand.
“All thirteen,” the moleman drooped. “He found them all on the boat ramp.”
“Thirteen autopsies,” interrupted Norman, “Mother Earth! Do you expect us to handle them all?”
“Right doc,” said Wiggles. “I’m sending all of the boys to Moab Charity.”
“And you’ll want us to follow homicide protocol for the autopsies?
“Yes doc. And we need them done A-sap.”
Norman shook her head. She turned away. “Hatchet, get on your blower and let Forest know.” She pulled her caster. “I’ll get pathology out of bed.”
Gumshoe stuck his nose up to Jack’s caster. “Were the boys dumped on the ramp?”
“No old man,” said Wiggles. “They were dumped elsewhere. But that isn’t the craziest thing about it.”
“What?”
“Wait for it,” said Wiggles. “You’re not going to believe it.”
“We’re all ears,” said Gumshoe.
“He saw Noddie. She pushed the bodies up to the ramp. He thinks she found the bodies in the sewers and brought them up to the river. He said she knew he would say a few words for them.”
Reaching up to his forehead, Gumshoe felt for his fedora and grabbed a few locks of his hair instead. Lacking a hat to throw, he pulled on his bangs. “Do you believe that cockamamie story?”
“You’ve met Hoffer and you know this case,” said Wiggles. “What do you think?”
Gumshoe stretched and groaned. “I believe he thinks he saw Noddie. He wouldn’t make this stuff up. But how do we know he’s not hallucinating?”
“He’s not tweaking if that’s what you mean. I’ve already asked him to take a truth scan and a drug screen. But I know the answer. He’s cleaner and more honest than I am.”
“How are you holding up Wiggles?” asked Norman. “I take it you didn’t get any sleep.”
“Oh, I got home, and I tried to crash on the couch. Just got my shoes off when the caster rang.”
“Are you holding up, though?” asked the doctor. “I can prescribe something if you need it.”
“Thanks doc, but I’ll hold up.” The portly constable lifted his cap and rubbed his hair. Carefully, he placed his cap back on his head.
“You look terrible,” said Jack. “Let the doctor give you something.”
“Spare me, Jack, I’m a grown-up. It’s just that times like these make me wish for the good old days. In the old days, I’d have to call these boys next of kin, and console their mothers. Now, I have to fill out a breach of contract report. Before it’s over, I’ll have to explain how these
boys died to a small army of pencil pushers. It doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Gotcha, Constable,” said Jack. “Biots are people too.”
“I’ll see you later at the autopsies. Got to go now,” The Constable broke the connection.
“Wait here and I’ll send an orderly when we’re ready,” said Norman. The doctor rubbed her neck. “This is a nightmare, and I need one of you to wake me up.”
“Sorry, doctor,” said Jack, “I’m afraid you’re already awake.”
Norman smiled, “Thanks, Mr. Clay.”
Shotgun rolled his eyes and put his face in his hands.
The Inspector worked on his tablet. Jack supposed he was updating his endless paperwork.
“Gumshoe,” asked Jack, “why do I feel like I failed those kids? Do you always feel like this?”
“There’s nothing you could have done, Jack. We still have no idea where the Black Dwarf is hiding. Until we find him, there’s not much we can do.” Gumshoe stretched. “I need coffee.”
“I’ll get it,” said Shotgun, “Anyone else?” A chorus of assent rose from the little group of investigators.
“All we can do is hope we find a clue” said Gumshoe. “We could tap New Gem’s com channels, but Ferrell probably has the place staked out. If the beast could be tracked on security cameras, we’d have found something by now. But this guy has magic or some really advanced technology.”
“Advanced technology or magic?” Jack frowned. “I could stop him if I really understood magic.”
“What makes you think you can stop him, Jack?”
“Just a hunch, I can feel it. Maybe it’s a clue I’m overlooking. Daisy’s story of the invisible dwarf is hard to explain.”
“Get some rest, Jack. Maybe it’ll come to you.”
No dignity in life, no dignity in death. The faces of the dead spun in Jack’s head. The girl in Blueberry Lake, the girl in the sewer, and the girls in the port haunted him. He closed his eyes and tried to shut off the memories.
Now thirteen mole boys were dead. They’re just orphans. They’ll be cremated and forgotten. No one loved them in life, and no one will miss them.
That’s not true, Jack Clay! He remembered Princess Virginia. She reminded him of his promise. ‘You care! I know you do! I read Clay-net too!’ she said. He felt the ring on his finger. The princess was right. Biots are people too! Anger boiled in him, and he rubbed his arms.
Clutching his face, he forced the angry thoughts from his mind. Peace! Rest! You’re no good to anyone if you can’t think straight!