Night Call (Book 3): Rock Paper Sorcery

by Hayward, L. J.

  “Well, whoever he sold it to didn’t get it,” I surmised. “Someone else was here. I didn’t see him but whoever it was, he forced Lyle to hold a knife to Candy’s throat, said if he didn’t tell him where it was, he’d make Lyle kill her.”

  Dev looked over the blood stain and winced. “He didn’t tell?”

  “Oh, he told. Whoever was controlling him made him kill her anyway. Then hang himself.” The nausea threatened to make a comeback. Or perhaps be re-envisioned as per the current trend in remaking movies—bigger, grander and generally, more gory.

  “Yeah.” It was more an expression of sadness than a word. “That fits with what I know of this earth sorcerer. And it was him. The sense of the sorcery here is exactly what I felt in Friedrich’s place.”

  I shook my head clear of the lingering bits of Lyle’s last, terrifying moments. “Then this sorcerer is one fucked up psycho.”

  Again, that soft ‘yeah’.

  “Do you need anything else here?” I asked, not because I was eager to get out of there.

  Dev looked around the room, frowning slightly. “No, I suppose not. Your vision only confirmed what I was feeling. The sorcerer got the spell?”

  “Not directly. I got the address of where it was being kept, though.”

  Standing, Dev gestured for us to leave. “Can we go there next?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I locked the door behind us and we clattered back downstairs, tailing a short Asian man in a business suit. He kept looking over his shoulder at us, a bit too nervous to be anyone other than Darlene’s customer. Outside, he clambered into one of the pretty SUVs and took off while I was fumbling for the keys for the Monster Mobile.

  “Hey, look! A sorcerer.”

  Beside me, Dev cursed under his breath.

  Laughter followed the loud announcement and someone yelled, “Where’s your broom, dude?”

  “Probly left it at home, sweeping up the cow shit!” Which elicited another round of hysterical laughter.

  The intelligent witticisms were courtesy of the herd of youngsters slouching along the opposite side of the road. A half dozen boys and two girls, of which a few had probably hit the modest milestone of twenty-one, but most of them were probably shy of twenty and undoubtedly thought they looked tough in their grubby jeans and torn t-shirts. A couple of the guys had skateboards under their arms and one of the girls had a ‘blade’ scooter thingy which she idly twitched about in circles.

  “Come on,” the tallest guy said, stepping out between a couple of parked cars. “Show us a trick then.”

  He was a big fella, perhaps the oldest of the mob and built like he’d spent his school time in the gym instead of the classroom. His shirt advertised a tour for ‘The Used’. Tattoos up both arms, a piercing in his left eyebrow and a look in his eye that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

  Great. Ex-NRL players and now punchy kids. Was it some sort of pheromone I was putting out? Granted, this one seemed to be spurred by Dev and his ridiculous shirt, but still, maybe he’d been caught up in my sphere of influence.

  “This happen to you a lot?” I asked quietly.

  “No. But usually, I’m not paradin’ around in a t-shirt this stupid.”

  “He can’t do anything,” one of the other boys said from the protection of the herd. “Fuckin’ poser. Reckon he’s one of them LARPing dorks?”

  “Shall we go?” Dev said to me.

  “Sure.”

  Problem was, the Monster Mobile was parked right where the kids looked to be settling in for some serious acts of angsty rebellion.

  Chapter 18

  “Come on, kids,” I said loudly. “Clear off.”

  “What? You his bodyguard?” Another piped up.

  “Nah, look at ’em. He’s his boyfriend.” More laughter.

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, kid, if I had a dollar for every time I’d been called some bloke’s boyfriend, I would have a dollar. Enough of this shit. Get lost.”

  So far, the girls were hanging back. The one with the scooter moved a little further away from the others. She had violently red hair and big, dark eyes further enlarged by thick eyeliner and impossibly long lashes. Her skinny body was barely clothed in denim cut offs so short the bottom of the pockets were exposed on her thighs, and a tight shirt with torn off sleeves. While the others all laughed she held back, watching warily. There was a bruise, livid purple and sick yellow, on her upper arm, as if someone had grabbed her hard.

  Something like anger kicked me in the gut at that sight. Someone had hurt this little, fragile child. The headache spiked, but at the same time, it was washed over by a rolling wave of berserker.

  Before I could make another mess, Dev muttered something. My skin rippled in a desperate escape bid at the nearness and immediacy of the sorcery.

  A blast of wind shot across the street and pushed the big kid backwards. He staggered, falling into the side of the Monster Mobile, hair pushed back from his face, clothes flattened to his front. He looked like he was test driving a wind tunnel. A circle of dust was blown off the side of the car. An instant later, a larger gust of wind followed the first, tactical shot. It wasn’t as strong or as targeted, more generalised so it blew through the leaves of the hedges, ruffled the kids’ clothes and whipped their greasy hair into tangles. Then it died away, as if it had been a natural bit of weather.

  “What the fuck?” The kid who’d accused me of being the boyfriend picked a leaf out of his hair.

  “Best get goin’,” Dev said, his voice low and not threatening, but full of meaning.

  It might not have been enough to get them on their way, and in fact looked to maybe be the something that got this rumble going in the wrong direction, if it weren’t for the redhead.

  “Come on, Chop,” she said, scooter on the ground, one foot on it, ready to push off. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  “Shut up, Feeble,” Chop, the big guy, snapped. He pushed off the 4WD and savagely pulled his shirt the right way around.

  “No.” Though from the way she cringed as she said it, I guessed it wasn’t something she said often.

  Yeah, that didn’t appease the berserker much. He rolled under my skin like a baby alien, wanting to be birthed in blood and gore.

  Chop turned a glare on her. “What the fuck did you say?”

  The other girl, perhaps a bit older than Feeble, stepped up. She was a big girl, as in played-hockey-to-a-high-degree-of-violence big, with strong arms and hands that could probably crush rocks. Pretty, though, with what you would call, on someone less likely to thump you into the ground, cute features. She had short, spiked blond hair and enough piercings in both ears to make me fear imminent lightning strikes.

  “Come on, Chop. She’s right. We gotta find Scary. You getting into another fight isn’t gonna help us.”

  “Yeah,” Leaf Boy muttered. “If we don’t find him, we’re in trouble, man. Come on, let’s go.”

  Chop glared at them, then at me and Dev, then spun and stalked back to the herd. He mumbled what was probably threats before snatching at Feeble’s arm. His hand closed over the bruise like it was a matched set. Chop hauled her off the scooter and shoved her ahead of him.

  “Then get the fuck going,” he snarled.

  Stumbling, Feeble hit the pavement on her hands and knees. There was perhaps a heartbeat of time when, if she’d done anything other than pick herself up, dust off her bare knees and lift her head defiantly, I would have done something to have me back in prison.

  “Don’t be a fucking dick,” the older girl snarled, shoving Chop from behind. “Leave her alone.”

  “Watch it, Razor,” Chop snapped at her.

  Razor bristled. “Or what?”

  I’m all for a tactical retreat and, apparently, so was Chop. Dev and I didn’t bother him, but apparently Razor did. I didn’t blame him.

  Scowling, Chop turned and brushed past Feeble. He fell into a forced-casual slouch-walk, clearly signalling his leaving was entirely
his own decision. Fool. Abusive fucking fool.

  Razor went to Feeble, making sure she was all right while the rest of the Tool Brigade slumped off after their master.

  I was across the street before my brain could catch up.

  “She all right?” I asked gently of Razor.

  The blonde girl turned a dark look on me. “She’s none of your business, fucker. Piss off.”

  Ignoring the open hostility, I looked at Feeble. “Are you okay? Do you need help?” This close, I could see the thickness of the makeup on her face, layers of foundation hiding faint discolouration.

  The berserker thrashed in need and red tinged my vision.

  “I said—” Razor began, but Feeble cut her off with a simple touch on her arm.

  “I’m fine,” Feeble said to me, those big eyes earnest. “Thanks anyway.”

  Something tightened in my chest at those words, brave and honest, and yet so fucking sad at the same time. “If you need anything… Either of you.”

  “We’re good,” Razor snapped, but there was a bit less tooth that time.

  Feeble smiled at me and collected her scooter. “Sorry about Chop. He’s just a bit upset today.”

  I scrounged in a pocket for a card. “If you want help with anything, let me know.”

  It was one of my cards for Night Call. I willed her to take it, and keep it, and use it if she needed. And if she did, maybe I’d have a chance to do something about Chop’s attitude.

  Razor snorted and started walking away.

  Feeble took the card and read it. “For things that go bump in the dark?” There was a healthy dose of scepticism in her tone.

  “Yeah. I help out all sort of people with all sorts of issues. I also work free, for special people.”

  “Move your arse, Feeble!” Razor walked backwards, watching us.

  Feeble waved to her and tucked my card into her pocket. “Thanks, mister.” She put a foot on her scooter and pushed off.

  “She’ll be okay?” Dev asked, coming up behind me.

  “Probably not,” I muttered, watching her go.

  “You did what you could, buddy.”

  I snorted and we started back to the car.

  Rustling in the hedge caught my attention. Turning, I studied the green wall. It came again and this time, I saw a flash of brown skitter through the green.

  A piercing whistle split the quiet afternoon air.

  Feeble had stopped several houses down the street. Fingers in her lips, she whistled again and from out of the bushes popped a monkey.

  It clambered to the top of the hedge and paused, looking at me and Dev, little head tilted one way, then the other as it sized us up. From the top of the black furred head to the tip of its black-tipped tail, and all the golden-brown fuzz in between, it was not even a metre long—half of that tail—and probably weighed less than a kilo. The white fur on its face gave it a distinctly skull like appearance.

  “Marcel! Come on, boy!”

  The monkey perked toward Feeble, tail twitching. It gave us one last look, then scampered with monkey-like agility across the hedge toward Feeble. From the distance of several meters, it leaped at Feeble and landed on her shoulders. She laughed and patted its head. Tail curling around her neck, Marcel the squirrel monkey poked his tongue out at us as Feeble scooted off.

  “Well,” Dev said, “you don’t see that every day.”

  “No,” I agreed. “Only when a bunch of monkey’s got stolen from a zoo, generally.” Hauling out my phone, I called Erin.

  “Sol Investigations, Erin McRea speaking.”

  “I think I have a break in the monkey caper,” I announced, heading after the disappearing Tool Brigade.

  They turned down a side street, Chop looking back to make sure the others were still following. I pretended I was just making a call, not following anyone at all.

  “What is it?” Erin asked eagerly.

  “I think I’ve found one of our stolen monkeys. It’s riding with the Tool Brigade.”

  I could almost hear Erin’s eyebrow arching. “The Tool Brigade?”

  “A herd of juvenile delinquents who have a less than average chance of reaching adulthood if they keep annoying sorcerers.”

  Erin sighed. “Did you hit any of them, Matt?”

  “Hey!” I made sure the Brigade was out of sight, then kept following. Dev trailed along with an expression that wasn’t quite long-suffering. “I didn’t hit any of them.”

  There was a low level growl in my words that made Erin’s next silence deadly serious.

  “Tell me,” she said in her PI voice.

  I explained the confrontation in sparse terms, saving the details for my disgust for Chop and the appearance of the monkey. By the time I’d finished, I’d reached the corner. Not quite sneaking around it, I found… just another street of parked cars, houses and no Tool Brigade.

  If they weren’t locals, they were probably still more familiar with the streets hereabouts than me. They could have disappeared off anywhere.

  “Lost them,” I reported to Erin.

  “You probably shouldn’t follow them, anyway,” she advised.

  “They’re not that tough.”

  “No, but imagine how it would look. Two grown men following a bunch of kids. We can track them down another way.”

  Dev waited at the corner, clearly getting the point before I did.

  I slowed to a stop, looking both ways up the relatively empty street. A car went past. At the far end of the block, a mailman on a motorbike whizzed between letter boxes. There were jacarandas along this street, the air filled with soft purple flowers. Scowling at the trees, I turned to head back to the car.

  “Yeah, I guess. I might be able to coax Mercy out for a bit of exercise tonight.”

  “That would be a big help. Could you and Dev come in to the office and give me detailed descriptions of the kids?”

  “Sure. When would you like us?”

  “Um, how about now? Do it while it’s fresh.”

  “Let me check.” I explained to Dev and he agreed as we walked back to the car. “We’ll be there in twenty,” I told Erin.

  “Oh, could you pick up food? Chinese would be great. Thanks!”

  She hung up before I could protest.

  Lonely and hungry. Not good enough for filing but apparently I was fine as a delivery guy.

  Chapter 19

  Dev assured Hawkins he didn’t mind stopping for lunch. If they could help Erin’s investigation then at least it would be productive. Out of a sense of professionalism, he didn’t ask for details, just sat and listed off what he remembered about the group of teenagers and answered Erin’s questions. They shared out plates of fried rice and sweet and sour pork, Erin and Hawkins arguing over who got more shrimp crackers—prawn chips in Australia—than the other.

  “Are you sure it was one of our squirrel monkeys?” Erin asked, a shrimp cracker in one hand, flipping through a paper file with the other.

  They sat at the desk in her office, take away containers put to one side, plates and mugs of coffee sharing space with piles of folders.

  “Unless there’s a plague of cute little simians I wasn’t aware of,” Hawkins said around a mouthful of rice. “Pretty sure it was. Looked like that picture you showed me. Yup, that one.” He pointed his plastic fork at the photo of a monkey Erin held up.

  “This one exactly?” she demanded.

  “Well, I don’t know if it was that one exactly. Definitely the same species, at least. Back me up, Dev.”

  Dev nodded. “It looked just like that one.”

  Erin frowned at the picture. “This one is Moloko, one of the missing monkeys. What did the girl call it?”

  “Marcel,” Dev said.

  Erin flicked through more photos of monkeys that could have all been the same one as far as Dev could tell.

  “Look through these, see if you recognise the monkey,” she ordered, handing them over.

  “Really? You expect us to recognise a monkey from
a line up?” Hawkins snorted and pushed his pork around the plate.

  “No, from a mug shot. Just look, Matt.”

  Grumbling, Hawkins took each photo as Dev handed them over after carefully looking at each.

  “This one,” both of them said at the same time, looking at different photos.

  Erin sighed.

  Curiously, Dev looked at the photo Hawkins held. Then back at his. “Sorry, Erin, but Matt’s right. It’s impossible to tell one from the other.”

  Snatching back the photos, Erin muttered, “That’s racist.”

  “No, it’s species-ist,” Hawkins said triumphantly.

  Erin pulled a face at him. “Do you think Mercy will be able to track them?”

  Dev perked up. Was this Hawkins’ partner? He’d said she was a warrior, as well, but that tag had well and truly been proven wrong. So what was this Mercy if she had a better chance at tracking than Hawkins?

  “She should do better than average,” Hawkins said. “We’ll head out tonight, see what she picks up.”

  “Great. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Naturally.”

  The phone rang and Erin answered it. After a moment of listening, she put her head in one hand and her shoulders stiffened with silent tension. Dev quirked an eyebrow at Hawkins, who shrugged.

  “Okay, thanks, Miles,” Erin said after a bit. “I’ll be sure to tell you anything I find out. I promise. Bye.”

  Hawkins’ face screwed up at the mention of the name. “Courey?” His tone said this wasn’t a person he liked overly much.

  “Yes,” Erin snapped. “Apparently he got word of a small disturbance at the Brisbane Private Hospital today.”

  Groaning, Hawkins muttered, “Really? And he got my name out of that?”

  “No. But witnesses described you rather well, it seems, and since he thought it might be something you’d be involved in…” She shook her head at Hawkins, despairingly. “I’ve already clashed with him once today over you. If you could keep your antics a bit more on the down low I’d really appreciate it.”

  “It wasn’t my fault. Tell her, Dev. I didn’t do anything. In fact, I ran instead of confronting him.”