All Dwarf'ed Up (Dwarf Bounty Hunter Book 3)

by Martha Carr

  “And the drawings on the right are more muddled. I know.” She stepped back to look at the entire wall. “So either he started with the crappy drawings, tacked them up as he went, and produced better and better quality until the very end on the left—”

  “Or he went in the other direction and lost his skillset with his marbles.”

  “Except the dark figure in the corner hasn’t changed at all.” She smirked and shook a finger at the wall. “No, I think he put these up from right to left. Everything’s muddled and almost crazed on the right. Erratic.”

  “Yeah. Like somethin’ a crazy person would draw after they went crazy.”

  “Usually. If it weren’t for that dark outline that looks like a person, I’d probably agree with you.”

  “Drawin’ folk without faces don’t make a person less insane, darlin’.”

  “It doesn’t make them more insane, either. This fits the profile of someone with obsessive tendencies centered around one thing—like a nightmare or a dream. Sometimes, it could be a real person, like their face or their belongings.”

  Johnny snorted. “Are you ʼbout to tell me you’re a federal psychologist too? ’Cause whatever you’re seein’, I ain’t.”

  “Okay. I worked with a criminal psychologist before I officially passed my exams. Don’t ask me how long ago that was. Trust me, it was long enough.”

  He smirked at her. “All right.”

  “One of the patients we worked with was a six-year-old girl who… Well, let’s say she needed to work through considerable trauma. She did the same thing with drawings. At the beginning of every session, Dr. Sanders had her sit with a box of crayons and paper and told her to draw whatever she wanted to. Yeah, at first, they were only scribbles, but the thing she was fixating on that caused so many problems for her—the trauma—manifested in the drawings over and over after maybe the first two sessions.”

  “Okay, I think we already covered that part with this.”

  “Just listen, Johnny.” Lisa pointed at the drawings on the right side of the wall. “This little girl drew her bedroom each time. The first few times, it was rough—scattered lines and nothing more than blobs as the shape of her bed, the dresser, her bookshelf, and stuffed animals. But every time she came in for a session, the images became clearer. Granted, she was only six, but each new drawing took on more definition and detail.” She trailed her pointing finger slowly across the wall toward the left. “Every time, she remembered more of what she’d suppressed until she was finally able to tell us about it.”

  The dwarf swallowed thickly and scowled at her. “In her own bedroom?”

  She looked equally disturbed. “Yep. We arrested the asshole soon after that. By the time he’s out of prison, she’ll be an adult and living her own life, hopefully far away from where she had to grow up.”

  “Naw, if the sonofabitch did that to her is behind bars, he ain’t never gettin’ out alive.”

  “That’s what I hope for.” She exhaled a long sigh, then shook her head and stepped toward the wall again. “The point is that’s exactly what’s happening here. Look. These drawings take on more definition as they move across the wall. The one you pointed out is probably one of the last but the figure in it is still smudged and shadowy. There are no real details.”

  Johnny narrowed his eyes as his gaze traced the expanse of drawings. “Do you think he was bein’ his own shrink with at least a hundred pictures?”

  “I think he was trying to remember, Johnny—specifically, what that figure in the tunnel truly looks like.”

  “This demon, huh?”

  “It makes sense. And I think he came close.”

  “Before he simply couldn’t cope anymore and ditched the art gig for somethin’ a little more permanent.” The dwarf moved toward the far-left corner to peer at the more detailed drawings. His boot knocked against a pile of books stacked against the wall and scattered them across the floor. With a frown, he scanned the covers—The Art of Happiness, How to Be Happy, The Power of Positivity, and others with similar titles. “Maybe he didn’t give up so easily after all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All these self-help books on happiness and pullin’ your despair outta the gutter.” He nodded at them.

  The agent frowned. “So a successful guy working for himself and living in a fairly nice house with nice things somehow gets this mark on him. He said he loved his life. That he was happy.”

  “And maybe he’d credit all the self-help readin’.”

  “Or he already knew of a few tools to try to help himself when things got bad and tried to work through a psychological block to remember what the hell he was trying to draw in the first place.”

  “Huh. It doesn’t look like anythin’ worked.” Johnny strode across the living room and stopped in front of a large, obviously expensive entertainment center that supported a fifty-six-inch flatscreen TV. “He has a weird collection of DVDs if you ask me.”

  She snorted and turned. “I’m surprised you know what a DVD is.”

  “Careful, now.” He nudged the top DVD case aside with the back of his hand to see the other titles beneath. “Okaay…a few standup shows and comedy films and Hallmark movies. All right, that’s where I draw the line in good taste.”

  Lisa joined him and studied the titles. “I bet the point of all these was the same as the books.”

  “Fill his head with fluff to drown out all the crazy?”

  “He was trying to stay happy,” she explained and darted him a sidelong glance. “That’s the point of watching comedy—and I assume the point of Hallmark movies. He said she—this demon—wants to take everything from him. That if she does and he’s still alive, she wins.”

  “Yeah, I’d say that usually happens when someone loses their mind. There isn’t much to be happy about at that point.”

  A little impatient, she rested her hands on her hips. “You don’t honestly think it’s a simple answer like that, do you?”

  He shrugged. “It might be.”

  “Johnny, you saw that mark on his arm as clearly as I did. There’s dark magic involved.”

  “I know. We oughta go see one of the other two names on the list. If we find more crazy drawin’s and feel-good entertainment scattered ʼround either of them, I’ll be willin’ to believe Folsum ain’t simply one round shy of a full magazine.”

  “Right.” Lisa regarded him with a small frown, then scoffed and shook her head. “Only Johnny Walker would use a bullet metaphor for mental illness.”

  “If the bullet fits…”

  “We should check the rest of the house. Maybe there’s something magic-related. Or a sign that Folsum tried to look into this on his own to find out more about demons, cults, or specific blocks to his memory.”

  “Yeah, all right.” Johnny snapped his fingers and nodded at the hounds. “You heard the lady, boys. Time to move. You’re sniffin’ for magic.”

  Rex stood immediately and trotted across the living room toward the hall. “That’s easy, Johnny. We find anything, we’ll give the signal.”

  Luther stayed where he was and stared longingly at the half-empty can of Spaghetti-O’s.

  “Luther. Now.”

  The hound whined. “Johnny, it’s just sitting there…”

  “Is there somethin’ wrong with you, boy? Leave it.”

  “Okay, okay.” He padded slowly through the house after his brother. “Next snack we find after this, though, I want first dibs.”

  “Git.” Johnny pointed down the hall and didn’t lower his arm until Luther had disappeared into one of the open rooms. I woulda said when I brought them home that Luther was the smarter one. Somethin’ ain’t right with him.

  “You’re not going to tell me your dogs can sniff out the subjects of books or curated reading, are you?” Lisa asked.

  “Nope. That’s where our eyes come in.”

  “Right. Because dogs can’t read, either.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He sniffed and continued down
the hall to search through Christopher Folsum’s personal effects. If I had a collar for every canine out there, I reckon they’d all prove her wrong.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After an hour spent going through every drawer, cabinet, closet, and bookshelf, they called off the search.

  “There’s nothin’ but crusty clothes, rottin’ food, and a sad fella’s decline into madness.” Johnny shook his head as they trudged up the steep driveway toward the street.

  “The point is that we left no stone unturned,” Lisa added. “Or moldy plate, as it were.”

  “I still ain’t buyin’ this demon nonsense.” They turned left to descend the hill toward the center of downtown. “It could merely be poison makin’ everyone lose it.”

  “It’s not. They all had negative tox screens, remember?”

  “Do any of the docs here have a degree in magical medicine?”

  She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Not here. But the department has at least three. All the blood samples were tested traditionally and by magical means. There was no poison, Johnny. Not even the magical kind.”

  “And there’s still that mark.”

  “Right. Anyone who uses dark magic on humans is already playing with a double-edged sword. Magic is much easier to identify when it’s dark. Whoever branded these victims knows what they’re doing or we would have already found exactly what that mark means and what it’s for.”

  Johnny raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. “Couldn’t you even find it in your fancy doohickey?”

  “No, Johnny. The Internet didn’t pull up any clues about dark magic. The department couldn’t find anything either.”

  “It wouldn’t be a good sign if they did.”

  “Why’s that?”

  The dwarf cleared his throat. “You don’t want a horde of federal employees with knowledge of dark magic on the payroll, darlin’. That’s askin’ for trouble.”

  “Fair.” Lisa pulled her phone out and looked up restaurants in the area. “Do you know anyone on the west coast who specializes in runes and magical marks?”

  He snorted. “I never needed that kinda contact. Runes and magic ain’t exactly standard for the bounties I bring in.”

  “Oh, I get it. Because your type is the smarter than average criminal who decided they could do the most amount of damage on Earth with the least amount of magic.”

  “And that’s why I’m so good at my job, darlin’.” He shrugged. “Most amount of damage with the least amount of magic.”

  “If you say so.” She scrolled through her phone and looked up at the next cross-street. “We still need to interview those other victims who aren’t locked up, in a psych ward, or out of state. And I think it’s a better idea if we don’t go into it on an empty stomach.”

  “Yeah, Johnny.” Luther trotted faster to catch up with them. “Hunger’s a distraction.”

  “You want us to be sharp for the next hunt, right?” Rex added.

  He glanced at the hounds and muttered, “She weren’t talkin’ to y’all.”

  “Well, not technically.” Lisa turned her phone to show him the restaurant displayed on the screen. “But it doesn’t mean they have to sit outside and wait for us to eat.”

  The bounty hunter squinted at her phone and scowled in bemusement. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”

  “Nope. I found at least six within a few blocks of each other. This one looks appealing.” Lisa grinned. “It has a good menu for all of us, don’t you think?”

  “That ain’t dog-friendly, darlin’. That there is dog-servin’.”

  Rex whipped his head up from sniffing the sidewalk. “Say what?”

  Luther’s tongue lolled from the side of his mouth. “Did he say they serve dogs?”

  “But we’re hounds.”

  Johnny grumbled and finally shrugged. “What the hell. I could do with a meal. We’d better call and check their portions first, though. I ain’t payin’ thirty bucks for a mouse-sized lunch.”

  “It’ll be fine.” Lisa slid her phone into her pocket and pointed at the next intersection. “We’ll turn here, and it’s only another block or two after that.”

  “Uh-huh.” The bounty hunter scowled at a mural in bright colors painted on the building they passed. It depicted weird geometric shapes and a pair of legs. “As long as I don’t have to stare at somethin’ like that while I’m eatin’.”

  When they reached the restaurant, the hostess greeted them with a huge smile. “Welcome to Water Dog. Table for two outside?”

  “That would be great.” Lisa glanced at Johnny and elbowed him in the side when she saw him glare at all the dog statues, photos of “doggie customers” plastered on the right wall, and the kitschy decorations of everything canine-themed hanging from the ceiling and stacked on the shelves. “Won’t it?”

  “Sure,” he muttered gruffly.

  “Perfect.” The woman nodded, her grin unwavering. “I will have to ask you to leash your four-legged friends. When you’re outside on the patio, feel free to let them loose. We have a little dog park out back.”

  “Dog park?” Luther whipped his head from side to side, overwhelmed by the dogginess of the restaurant’s indoor seating. “For real?”

  “Johnny, this place was made for us!” Rex uttered a high-pitched whine. “Let’s go. Let’s go.”

  The dwarf snapped his fingers. “I ain’t got leashes but the hounds will be fine.”

  “It’s merely restaurant policy. Here.” The hostess ducked behind the counter and popped up again with two thin nylon leashes in her hand. “And we have extras.”

  “Uh-huh.” He scowled at the items.

  “It’s only to walk across the restaurant,” Lisa muttered.

  “Fine.” The hounds sat immediately when he snapped his fingers, and he snatched the leashes from the hostess’ hands. “We’d already be sittin’ at a table by now, but fine.”

  “Thank you.” she gathered their menus and silverware while Johnny hooked the leashes to the collars of his perfectly behaved coonhounds. When he finished and held both nylon ropes with enough slack that they draped on the floor, she nodded. “Right this way, please.”

  “Whoa. Hey, Johnny. Look.” Rex stared at the canine sculpture as they passed. “It’s a bear.”

  “Where are all the hounds?” Luther asked. They headed through the restaurant full of Portlanders eating in tasteless canine heaven, most of them without dogs. “Hey, I found one—”

  An old, gray-muzzled poodle lay at his master’s feet at a table on their right. He looked at Rex and Luther and uttered a low, raspy growl.

  “Jeez.” Luther whined and gave the table a wide berth. “You don’t have to be that mean about it.”

  Rex snorted and trotted at his master’s side. “Johnny, if that’s the only other hound in here, I don’t think they’ve got their marketing right. It’s supposed to be hound-friendly, isn’t it?”

  He said nothing and followed Lisa and the hostess to the back patio.

  “Oh, yeah!” Rex yipped when he saw the large green lawn behind the dining patio and the half-dozen other dogs running around in play. “This is more like it!”

  “How’s this table here?” The woman set their menus and silverware down without waiting for a reply.

  “It’s great.” Lisa pulled a chair out. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Charlie will be your server. And here’s the doggie menu.”

  Johnny snorted. “The what?”

  “It’s great, right?” The hostess tapped the third paper menu on the table. “Our chefs are brought in specifically with working knowledge of canine nutrition, and we have the largest selection of doggie meals in Portland. Enjoy.”

  She turned and left them on the half-full dining patio and Rex and Luther sat and waited to be unleashed. Their tails thumped madly on the concrete.

  “Come on, Johnny. Come on.”

  “We wanna go play!” Luther yipped at a black lab that darted across the lawn and it stopped to look at hi
m before it snorted and raced after two French bulldogs. “Oh, you think you’re too good for us, huh?”

  “Your loss!” Rex shouted after the lab.

  The dwarf removed the leashes and dropped them on the ground. “Go on, then.”

  “Yes!”

  “This is the best!”

  “Who wants to race? I’ll take on every single one of you mutts at the same time!”

  The hounds raced onto the lawn. Luther sprinted after the black lab anyway, and Rex headed to the huge metal tub filled with water in the shade. “Holy crap. They put ice in the water? Johnny, how come we don’t get ice?”

  Johnny shook his head and sat, then scowled at the menu.

  Lisa chuckled and handed him the doggie menu. “This is very creative.”

  “Naw, I ain’t entertainin’ that nonsense.” He waved the menu away, and she set it aside with a playful frown. “They can have what I’m havin’.”

  “But it’s made specifically for—”

  “Darlin’, I don’t trust folks with ‘knowledge of canine nutrition’ to know better ʼbout my hounds than I do.”

  She shrugged and studied the menu for humans. “It’s your call.”

  “Damn right.” He studied the choices available to him and snorted. Canine chefs. Who the hell thought that was a good idea?

  “Hey, look.” Rex trotted up to another metal container, this one filled with water, ice, and cold glass bottles. “Johnny, they serve beer to hounds too? Oh, wait. No, it says soda.”

  “Wait, hound soda?” Luther asked as he joined his brother.

  “I don’t know. Hey, how about you try to turn one of those around, and I’ll read the label?”

  “I can do both.” Luther plunged his whole head into the tub of ice water but withdrew it quickly. “Yeah, I saw a hound on that bottle.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t your reflection?” Rex lapped the water that dripped from his brother’s muzzle.

  “Totally. Not sure I can read, though. Johnny!” he barked. “Come help us out with this.”

  He pointed at the small yard of the dog park. “I ain’t openin’ bottles for hounds. Y’all go run it off.”