Unquiet Dreams Page 14

  “Moke. You have company,” he said. The way he pushed back his coat, I knew he had unsnapped his holster. He banged again. “Moke! I don’t need a warrant to come in there.”

  We could hear rummaging sounds and some actual growling. Murdock stepped back as a double-height panel shifted opened.

  “Awright, awright. Keep yer hat on,” a deep voice said.

  The panel swung out on a makeshift hinge. A troll shuffled out, his head bobbling on a long neck that protruded from a wide hunchback. His gray face held round black eyes, a number of yellow teeth protruding from between his lips, and one of the longest noses I’ve ever seen, misshapen and hooked downward. His hair consisted of several greasy strands that dangled straight down to his chin. He stank, of course. His patchwork suit looked so soiled that soap and water were clearly not part of the program.

  He leaned forward onto his hands and squinted down at Murdock. “Hemph. Police. You tell that Ms. Beruthy I didn’t take no cats. She got so many, she don’t know if one’s gone anyway. And they taste terrible, too.”

  “We’re not here about cats. We’re here about goats,” said Murdock.

  He narrowed his eyes at us. “Hemph. Stupid joke. Older than you.”

  “Are you Moke?” I said, just to confirm Murdock’s information. There might not be many trolls in the city, but too often people assume there are fewer than there actually are. You just don’t see them.

  He nodded. I resisted the urge to hit him for destroying my blood evidence. But you don’t hit a troll unless you want to break a hand.

  “Word is you run the T-Rats,” Murdock said.

  His great head swayed between us. “Don’t like T-Rats. Hide from them.”

  The hard part about interrogating a troll is that you can’t intimidate him with size or strength. Grabbing him by the neck and trying to shove him against the wall would make a scene that we’d both laugh at.

  “What about Dennis Farnsworth? You know him?” I said.

  He stared at me and didn’t speak. Trolls can stay incredibly still, so still it’s not unusual for someone to walk right past their large shadowed presence without even noticing them. Murdock and I exchanged a glance. Unfortunately, it was one of those glances that said this is what Murdock submitted my consulting fee invoices for.

  I looked up at Moke and decided to try and provoke him into talking. “Rumor has it the T-Rats are underpaid and easy pickings. C-Note will pay double their current cut if they ally with the TruKnights.”

  Nothing.

  “So, Detective Murdock and I are spreading the word. Sounds like a good deal and would stop the fighting.”

  More nothing.

  “Everyone knows the T-Rats are in it for the money. Not a loyal one in the bunch. I’ll tell you this since you don’t like them, but one of them led me to some evidence in the Farnsworth murder.”

  “That’s a lie. Was a flit that did,” said Moke.

  Success. I smiled at him. Trolls don’t trust anyone easily, so they value loyalty more than most. Murdock would make a good troll, but he bathes too much.

  “And you set the building on fire,” I said.

  “’Nother lie. Was TruKnights.” Moke settled back on his haunches.

  “I didn’t see any TruKnights. I saw T-Rats.”

  “You was on my turf. Fire had elf-stench.” Another little trick trolls have. While druids can sense the essence of people, trolls can sense who manipulated essence. All fey manipulate essence and, unless they use their own, they pull it from their surroundings. If I found a ward stone, it would have essence running in it, but I’d have no idea who put it there unless whoever did it had been near it recently. Trolls can sense what kind of fey did it long after they’re gone. Sometimes even the exact person.

  “Why would the TruKnights kill the kid?” said Murdock.

  Moke rocked his head. “Not all runners run for joy.”

  Joy was the current street slang for drugs. “Are you saying the kid was delivering something else?” I said.

  Moke’s hunchback rolled in what I took to be a shrug.

  “Who was he running for? Kruge?” I said.

  Murdock glared at me. I have to admit it was an amateur mistake, but the guy annoyed me.

  “Yeah. Kruge,” said Moke. Of course he’d say that.

  “All right, I’ll play. About what?” I said.

  Again with the hunchback. “Kruge not like a lot. Not a lot like Kruge.”

  “A name,” said Murdock. I could sense his essence start to spark up. Not a good sign. “Give us a name, or I’ll haul in half the T-Rats, and we’ll see how long the rest of your crew survives against the TruKnights.”

  Moke growled and stretched his head toward Murdock, who had the good sense to step back. No telling what might come out of the troll’s mouth, or what might end up in it. Murdock unholstered his gun. Moke cocked his head at it, probably debating whether a bullet would itch or burn. It would take more than one to slow him down.

  “Kruge hate C-Note most.”

  No surprise there. “So do you. What makes you think I believe that?”

  He worked his tongue over his teeth. “Croda knew. Kruge told her C-Note was trouble. Needed help.”

  “What kind of help?” said Murdock.

  Moke rolled his shoulders. “Maybe he had a goat needed eating.”

  I smirked. I couldn’t help it. Not everyone gets to throw Murdock’s sarcasm back at him. “Where’s Croda?”

  Moke shifted his eyes toward me. He made no other movement, but I could feel his disposition change, a sense of anger and fear enveloping him. Anger I was used to from trolls, but fear? Trolls feared little. They could take a bolt of essence to the face and keep coming. They had few adversaries who could match them in a physical fight. And their own innate ability to manipulate essence was not inconsequential. A fearful troll is not a good thing.

  “Why bother Moke? C-Note trouble, not Moke.”

  “We’re bothering you because a kid is dead, and we’re not happy,” said Murdock.

  He shrugged again. “Go bother C-Note. C-Note kills. Moke just make people happy.”

  “Sure, happy, and occasionally battered and bruised if they don’t pay for their happiness,” I said.

  It was my turn to get the growl. Trolls love to growl. Between their odor, their looks, and their size, the growl makes the picture complete. My feeble little shields flared up around me like a warning system, only one that would not stop a troll bite. Unlike Murdock, who had a better sense of self-preservation, I stepped up on Moke. His face loomed over me, twice as wide as my own, a foul odor wafting out of his mouth. I clenched my jaw.

  “Let me tell you something, Moke. I am going to go see C-Note, and I am going to bother him. But right now, I want to know where Croda is, or I will come back at noon and tear the door off your hidey-hole.”

  Never underestimate the speed of a troll. Moke’s huge hands pinned my arms to my sides, and he roared as he lifted me off the ground.

  “You dare!” he screamed, his voice reverberating against the underside of the bridge.

  “Drop him!” Murdock yelled. He had his gun out, judiciously pointed at Moke’s head. Moke roared again and swung me at Murdock. I slammed into Murdock, and pain shot through my shoulder. Not such a good idea after all. Murdock went tumbling into a heap of trash as Moke stalked across the debris-strewn ground and shoved me against a support column.

  “You want to see me kill? I show you kill!” I bit my tongue as he shook me. I could feel every bone in my body rattle. My head banged against the column, my shields screaming as they tried to soften the blows. With a futile effort, I tried to tap my essence, tried to reach deep within myself and breach the wall that blocked my abilities. A knife blade of pain sliced in my brain, and blood shot out my nose into Moke’s face. Not the counterattack I was hoping for.

  He tossed me through the air, and I landed on a cardboard shanty. Something struggled beneath me and shoved me aside. A lance of pain pierc
ed my shoulder as I rolled. An old man appeared from within the box and ran off without looking back. I dragged myself to my feet, holding my arm against my side to keep it from hurting. Murdock was searching the trash for his gun as he yelled into his radio for backup.

  I backpedaled as Moke lumbered toward me. Turning to run, my ankles twisted, and I landed on my ass. I dug my heels into the dirt and tried to scramble away. No point. Moke was on me in seconds and grabbed me by the torso. Yeah, I screamed. I admit it. A troll lifts you and slams you against a retaining wall, damn, you scream. Black and red spots flashed in front of my eyes. Then I was in the air again. I plowed into a garbage heap. Stunned, I tried to will my body to move, but it wouldn’t cooperate.

  I heard a shot. Murdock had found his gun. I shook my head to clear it as I heard him fire again. When my vision cleared, an unexpected sight greeted me. A thin young girl with short blond hair, dressed in fatigues and pink ski jacket, stood with her back to me holding her hands up to the oncoming troll. Murdock fired again, but Moke only flinched.

  “Stop! Stop! Moke! Stop!” she yelled.

  He was almost upon her when Murdock fired again. “Stop!” the kid screamed.

  Moke skidded to a halt. For a moment, no one moved, the only sound the ragged breath of the troll. Murdock came forward, gun extended in front of him.

  “It’s okay, Moke,” said the girl.

  Breath still heaving, he turned his head toward Murdock. “Tell him to stop shooting me,” he growled.

  Keeping one hand up toward Moke, she turned her other palm toward Murdock. “Please! Stop! I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  I stumbled to my feet. “You’re a little late.”

  Murdock gestured with his gun. “Back off! Now!”

  Moke did exactly that. He took two steps back toward his hovel, leaving a dozen feet between us.

  The pain from my shoulder made me grimace as I walked toward the girl. She couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, cute and scared as hell. She started to drop her hand. “Keep the hands where I can see them, and no one will get shot. Who the hell are you?”

  She ignored the question. “Please don’t let him shoot again.”

  “I asked you your name.”

  She held her hands out in front of her again. “Crystal Finch.”

  Even if I hadn’t been fighting a faint, I would have rocked back on my heels. The last place I expected to find Dennis Farnsworth’s girlfriend was under a bridge forcing a rampaging troll to back down.

  I flicked my head at Moke. “Do you really have him under control?”

  She looked at Moke. “Are you all right, Moke? Can he put the gun down?”

  Moke closed his eyes and stepped back against his makeshift door. “No gun. I stop. No gun.”

  Murdock had not taken his eyes off the troll, sighting down his arm as he held the gun at Moke. “Connor?” he said.

  I looked at Crystal, and she nodded. “As long as he doesn’t move, I’m cool with it,” I said.

  Murdock backed toward us and away from Moke. He swung the gun at Crystal. “Open your jacket,” he said.

  “I think she has a knife in her left front pocket, but otherwise she’s unarmed,” I said. All fey are sensitive to metal, mostly because it screws up how we use essence. I can feel it at close range if I let myself, and given the weak field projecting off Crystal, I knew she didn’t have a gun. Murdock leaned forward and pulled a small pocketknife on a key chain out of her pocket and slipped it in his own. Then he stepped back and holstered his gun.

  “If you leave Moke alone, I’ll take you to Croda,” Crystal said.

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to bargain,” I said.

  “Neither are you,” she said. I hate smart kids.

  Moke and I tensed as Moke moved again. “You okay, Crystal?”

  “Yeah, Moke. Thanks. I think I’ll be all right with these guys,” she called over her shoulder.

  He stepped back more. “You call. I come.”

  “Thanks for everything,” she said.

  Murdock pointed a finger at Moke. “Wait a minute! You’re not going anywhere. You’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer.”

  Moke’s face broke into a jagged-tooth smile. “Not tonight.”

  Everything around us began to vibrate. Dust rained down from the bridge, and the dirt in front of Moke erupted. A wall of rock rumbled out of the ground, rising in a massive heap. When it almost reached the undercarriage of the bridge, it crested like a wave and rolled down over Moke, sealing him in against the retaining wall. Murdock looked at me in utter disbelief.

  I shrugged with my good shoulder. “It’s a troll thing.”

  Murdock’s radio squawked somewhere nearby. He looked one more time at the rock wall and went to retrieve the radio.

  I turned to Crystal. “Where’s Croda?”

  “I need protection. Big-time,” she said.

  “You’ll get it. Tell me where Croda is.”

  As Murdock returned with his radio, I heard him call off the backup. Not that they seemed to have made any rush to get down to this end of the Weird.

  She turned to Murdock. “I heard you guys talking. Are you really trying to find out who killed Denny?”

  “You don’t answer questions very well,” I said.

  She glared at me. “I’m trying not to die. Are you the good guys or not?”

  “Good guys. Bad guys would have beat the hell out of the troll,” said Murdock.

  Crystal zipped her jacket and looked around. Most of the homeless who had been there when I arrived had made themselves scarce. “I was safe here. You’ve got to hide me somewhere until you get Denny’s killer, or I’m dead.”

  “Tell us where Croda is, and we’ll take care of you,” I said.

  She crossed her arms. “I can’t. I ran, so I don’t know exactly where she is. We can go look tomorrow when it’s light.”

  “Let’s go now,” I said.

  She began to bounce on her feet against the cold. “Dude, look at me. Every snitch in the Tangle will sell me out the moment we hit the Avenue. I’ll be dead before daylight. Hide me tonight, and I’ll take you tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll call Moke back.”

  I hate to admit she had a point. Her platinum blond hair would stick out, to say nothing of the jacket. The only neon pink in the Tangle is in the bar lights.

  “The only thing I can give you is a lockup cell tonight. I’m not waking up my boss for a safe house until I know you have something,” said Murdock.

  She shook her head firmly. “I won’t be safe there in jail.”

  Murdock looked at me, and I shook my head. A sixteen-year-old girl was not going to spend the night in my apartment. Even if I thought it was okay, the gracious not–Mrs. Finch would probably claim I molested her daughter.

  “I have an idea,” I said. I pulled my cell phone out and walked out to the channel to get a better signal.

  Meryl picked up on the second ring. She never picked up on the first. “Hey. It’s late even for you.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t sound angry anymore. “I need a favor.”

  “At this rate, when I call in all the favors you owe me, you’ll be my slave for the rest of your life.”

  I smiled. “Really? You’d be into that?”

  “Funny. What do you need?”

  “Can I stash a sixteen-year-old girl at your place for the night?”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Is this a kooky French comedy involving a maid?”

  “No. That was last week. This week it’s a murder witness who has a troll at her beck and call.”

  “She can stay, but not the troll. I’m still finding maggots from last time.”

  “Funny. Can you meet me on Summer Street by the Reserve Channel?”

  I heard a heavy sigh. “Which one?” I told her and disconnected.

  I went back under the bridge. I could tell by their faces that Murdock
and Crystal were not getting along. “I found a place for you. If you don’t bring us to Croda tomorrow, Murdock puts you in a cell.”

  Crystal looked uncertain for a moment, then nodded.

  Murdock pulled at my sleeve. We moved out of earshot.

  “What’s the deal?” he said.

  “Meryl will take her for the night.”

  He nodded toward Crystal. “She says she won’t talk until daylight.”

  I glanced back at her. She looked tired and scared. A kid scared enough that she only felt safe with a troll under a bridge. “If she saw what happened to Kruge, I don’t blame her.”

  Murdock turned to look at her again, assessing what he wanted to happen. “Think we can trust her?”

  I shrugged. “She managed to keep a troll from killing me. Let’s give her a shot.”

  My cell phone buzzed against my thigh. Meryl’s number lit the screen. “Let’s go. Ride’s here,” I called to Crystal.

  We made our way up the embankment to find Meryl leaning against a black car smoking a clove cigarette. She wore a long leather coat with matching black gloves and her standard Doc Martens.

  “Crystal, this is Meryl. She’s going to take care of you,” I said.

  Meryl took a drag and eyed her up and down. “Just so we’re clear, he doesn’t mean that in a milk-and-cookies kind of way.”

  “Not a problem,” Crystal said.

  Meryl jerked her head back. “You look cold. Get in.”

  I waited until Crystal had settled herself inside the car. “You have a Mini Cooper. Very nice.”

  She smiled. “Astute.”

  “I didn’t know you even had a car. I thought you’d come in a cab.”