The Nyte Patrol

by Alex P. Berg

  Larry’s brow furrowed. “How did you know Darragh was a leprechaun?”

  I blinked and shook my head. “What? I meant it as a pejorative, because he’s tiny and Irish and drunk. You’re not suggesting he’s actually…?”

  Larry planted his hands on his hips. “Yeah. He is. And like all leprechauns, he’s an expert at finding items that are otherwise well hidden. Ever found a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?”

  “Of course I haven’t. Rainbows don’t have—”

  “Shut up. They do have ends, but leprechauns are the only ones talented enough to find them. That’s why they hide their gold there. And drunk or not, Darragh is our best bet for getting a bead on that book, so don’t blow it for me by insulting his sobriety. Speaking of which, are you twenty-one?”

  “Six months shy,” I said. “Why? Are you going to tell me you’re incapable of buying booze, too? What happens? Your driver’s license turns into a flying monkey any time you take it out of your wallet?”

  “Cut the sarcasm, Grasshopper. Obviously, I don’t have a driver’s license because I don’t drive. Neither do Dawn or Tank, and I doubt Dawn brought her passport.” Larry sighed. “Okay. New plan. Darragh might drive a hard bargain, but that guy would drink used motor oil if it could give him a buzz.”

  “Are ya gabbin’ about me, mister?” said the leprechaun.

  “Nothing, Darragh, be there in a sec.” Larry dropped his voice. “As I was saying, it doesn’t have to be whiskey. So why don’t you mosey into that Taco Bell, get me a soft taco and a large Mountain Dew Baja Breeze, no ice, and I’ll do the rest.”

  “I fail to see what your dinner order has to do with Darragh’s demands. And you didn’t hire me to be your delivery boy.”

  “Not delivery boy. Junior partner—if you can ever stop hassling me and get to work. Snap to it, girl.”

  I sighed and walked into the Taco Bell. Ten minutes later, I emerged with Larry’s order. I shoved the items at him, interrupting his small talk with Darragh. “You owe me three dollars and forty-four cents. And no, I’m not paying for it out of my salary.”

  “Relax. I’m good for it.” Larry unwrapped the taco, ripped the edge off, and held the rest out to the supposed leprechaun. “Want a bite, Darragh?”

  The bum snatched the taco out of Larry’s hand with viper-like speed. He crammed it into his mouth, speaking through mouthfuls of ground beef and shredded cheese. “Don’t tink I’m givin’ ya anyting fer dis, boyo. Ya offered, and I accepted. Simple as dat.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of altering our arrangement.” Larry turned his back to Darragh and popped the bit of tortilla he’d appropriated into his mouth. As he chewed, he snapped the top off his Baja Breeze, then spat the chewed ball of dough into the drink.

  I almost gagged. “Ugh! What are you doing?”

  “Speeding up some natural processes, that’s what.”

  Larry lifted the plastic cup with his left hand. He brought his right hand up to it, the fingers tense, arched into a makeshift claw. His face tightened, his eyes narrowed, and he bore into the cup with his gaze. I was about to tell him it was the worst David Blaine impression I’d ever seen when, as if by magic, the chewed up tortilla ball floating in the Mountain Dew disintegrated, bubbling as it disappeared into the neon green liquid.

  “What the hell?” I said. “How did you do that?”

  Larry took a deep breath, and his shoulders relaxed. “Haven’t you been paying any attention? I’m a wizard. I told you. Several times.”

  “Yeah, but…” The fact that he kept repeating the same line made me think perhaps it wasn’t a joke. “So what did you do?”

  “See for yourself. Have a taste.” He offered me the cup.

  “Gross. No way. I don’t want your taco spit in my mouth.”

  “It’s perfectly safe. The fermentation process kills harmful germs. Alcohol’s a disinfectant, you know. But suit yourself. More to barter.” Larry turned to the hobo. “Look, Darragh. I’ve got some bad news. The Jameson and Bushmills isn’t going to happen.”

  The leprechaun scowled and smashed his empty bottle of Boone’s Farm on the concrete. “What? Ya feckin’ gobshite. How dare ya?”

  “But,” continued Larry, “if you play your cards right and tell us what you know about that book, you can still earn yourself the finest malt liquor that Mountain Dew and an accelerated fermentation process can provide. What do you say?”

  “What da hell are ya talkin’ about, ya bleedin’ tick?”

  “Go on. Give it a try.” Larry held out the cup.

  Darragh looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, but he took the drink and sucked on the straw regardless. His eyes bulged as the green liquid hit his tongue, and he pulled back from the straw, coughing and sputtering.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, dat’s a strong brew! What in bloody hell did ya do to dis ting?”

  Larry smiled. “I guess we have a deal, then. A name, please.”

  “Fine, fine,” said Darragh. “But next time I want da Bushmills. Da person yer lookin’ fer is a bloke by da name of Adric Wallow. He’s a librarian over at da Perry-Castañeda Library.”

  “Wait a sec,” I said. “We’re looking for a mystical book of power, and the hot tip you have for us is to ask a librarian?”

  “Oh, sod off, ya rugby hugger. He ain’t no mere librarian. He’s a bibliomancer.”

  Larry oohed and nodded.

  I glanced from Larry to Darragh and back, and I felt myself frown. If Larry and his friends were pranking me, they’d done an incredibly thorough job of it. Not only had Darragh gone along with Larry’s fermented Mountain Dew bit, but they’d invented a brand new language to go along with the schtick. What exactly had I stumbled into? Some sort of fantasy role playing thing? “So I’ve got to ask… what the hell is a bibliomancer?”

  Larry nodded toward the ’burban. “Someone who might be able to help us find that book, that’s who.”

  6

  The Perry-Castañeda library stands at roughly the southern edge of the University of Texas campus, just to the west of the Jester dormitories. Otherwise known as the main library, PCL is both the university’s flagship research institution and one of the single ugliest buildings I’ve ever seen. Five stories tall and made of countless tons of flat grey concrete, I guessed the architect who’d designed it had been paid off by the Texas Cement Producers Association. It doesn’t even have windows, except for one weird angled part that juts to the north toward East 21st Street.

  I’d managed to find parking in a pay lot across the street, which I’d only taken because Larry assured me he’d reimburse me. This time, Dawn and Tank joined us, the latter with his enormous duffel bag slung over his shoulder, clanking and rattling with each of his steps. Despite giving her my best look of disbelief, Dawn had also strapped up, using one of those long Japanese sashes to tie her katana and wakizashi around her waist.

  To say I was self-conscious as we walked through the PCL entrance would’ve been a ludicrous understatement. I couldn’t decide if I was more mortified by the idea of being seen by a classmate in the presence of the three weirdos or more terrified of being set upon by a SWAT team with rifles drawn and being screamed at to get on the ground. Amazingly enough, no one stopped us as we walked in, despite the fact that several students stared at Dawn with mouths open as we passed them. Maybe they thought she was a cosplayer.

  We stopped at the checkout desk. Larry tapped on the counter to get one of the librarian’s attention. “Excuse me? Ma'am? We’re looking for someone who works here. Adric Wallow. Know where we can find him?”

  The elderly woman looked up and to her credit didn’t even flinch. She turned her eyes back to her computer as she spoke. “Sixth floor. Probably near the engineering collection.”

  We headed to the elevators and punched the up button. Larry, Dawn, and Tank stood there waiting, Larry with his arms crossed, Dawn calm and cool with a bit of a slouch in her posture, and Tank looking as if he were ready to jump out of an
attack helicopter in ’Nam. I stared at them.

  Dawn noticed. “Something on your mind?”

  “Yeah. How the hell is it nobody seems to notice how bizarre we all look? I mean, how you look. I blend right in.”

  Dawn shrugged. “People see what they want to see. That means they also ignore what they want to ignore.”

  “Like the fact that you have two swords from feudal Japan strapped to your hips?”

  Dawn smiled, and even though I’d never batted for the other team, I still felt myself get a little weak in the knees. “If you shake your hips right, no one notices what’s strapped to them.”

  The elevator dinged and we piled inside. “So, that’s it?” I said as the doors closed. “Am I really supposed to buy that explanation?”

  “Would you believe I’ve cast a spell over everyone that makes us invisible to the naked eye?” said Larry.

  “Given that I can see you? No.”

  “What about a spell that makes people immediately forget us after they’ve seen us?”

  “Hard pass.”

  “Well, there you go,” said Larry. “Hiding in plain sight it is.”

  The elevator dinged again, and we stepped out onto the sixth floor. Seeing as I was majoring in mechanical engineering, I knew where the engineering collection was, so I led the way toward the help desk. There, organizing books on a movable cart, stood a man who was a dead ringer for Ben Stiller’s cameo in Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny—complete with frizzy hair, black-rimmed glasses, ludicrous amounts of jewelry, and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

  “Let me guess,” I said as we approached. “Adric Wallow?”

  He looked up. “Can I help you?”

  Larry gave me the fisheye again. “First you out the leprechaun, now this? Do you have hidden supernatural skills you failed to report on your resume?”

  “I didn’t give you a resume.”

  “Touché.” Larry stuck out his hand. “Adric? The name’s Larry Stuttgart. We’re with the Nyte Patrol.”

  Adric tilted his head. “I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t ask,” I said. “They’re a motley group of supposed spell casters and supernatural badasses for hire.”

  “They?” said Adric. “You’re not with them?”

  “She’s trying to pretend she’s too cool for us.” Larry glanced my way. “Yeah. I see you over there. Anyway, we’re here because a mutual acquaintance told us you might be able to help source a rather hard to find book. The Librum de Virtute. Ever heard of it?”

  “Have I heard of it?” Adric’s face hardened. “We’re talking about the same Librum de Virtute, aren’t we? The book that allowed Julius Caesar to consolidate Rome’s power in his hand and ultimately led to his death upon its discovery by Gaius Cassius Longinus? The book that unleashed the black plague in the fourteenth century? The book that vanished mysteriously from the deck of a Spanish galleon off the coast of Barbuda some four hundred years ago? That Librum de Virtute?”

  Larry stared at the man. “Uh…”

  Adric erupted in laughter. “Hah! I’m just yanking your chain. I’ve never heard of it. Come on, we’ll check the computer catalog.”

  We headed with him toward a desk with a couple computer stations on it, but both were occupied, so Adric instructed us to follow us to his office instead. Of course, his ‘office’ turned out to be a janitor’s closet that had been cleaned out and furnished with a cot, a hot plate, a bunch of canned food and granola bars, stacks of fruit crates filled with paperback books, and a tiny desk with a severely outdated library computer on it—a first generation iMac with orange plastic casing, if I wasn’t mistaken.

  “You live here?” I said.

  “Librarian’s salaries aren’t what they used to be. Don’t tell anyone. I’m trying to keep it on the down low.” Adric sat at the desk and started typing. “Alright, let’s see. Librum de Virtute. Well, it doesn’t seem to be in the library’s main stacks. Let me try the larger University system. Hmm… It’s not showing up there, either. It does sound familiar, though. Librum de Virtute… Like I’ve heard about it recently.”

  “What about those? The restricted sections?” Larry pointed at the screen to one of the side bars on the library catalog. As he did so, his finger barely scraped across the monitor. The screen flickered and dimmed. I heard a crackle and a hiss followed by a pop. Despite myself, I jumped back and brought my hands up to shield my face, but the thing didn’t explode. It just fizzled and died, though a puff of black smoke escaped from an air vent in the top of the monitor.

  Larry hung his head. “Aww, damnit.”

  “What the hell happened?” said Adric. “What did you do to my computer?”

  Larry sighed. “I’m a wizard.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, right? Like that’s a normal explanation for why your computer died? What the hell is going on? I feel like I’m taking crazy pills.”

  Adric gave Larry a nod. “I thought she was with you.”

  “She’s new. Give her a chance.”

  Out of nowhere, the computer burst into flames. Adric shot back in his chair, rolling the whole three feet to the other side of the closet. From somewhere, Dawn procured a fire extinguisher and doused the flaming computer with compressed CO2. I coughed and waved away the spray. As it cleared, it revealed the warped, charred remains of the iMac, now looking like some demented Halloween decoration.

  “Well, that’s bad,” said Adric.

  “I am so sorry,” said Larry. “I should’ve stayed in the hall.”

  “At least it was your personal computer and not one of the library ones,” said Dawn as she set the extinguisher on the floor.

  “About that,” said Adric. “I actually stole this from one of the group study rooms. Somebody’s probably wondering where it went…”

  Larry winced. “Again, my sincerest apologies.”

  “There’s always eBay,” I offered.

  “No need,” said Adric. “I can probably fix it.”

  I looked at the computer. The melted plastic and glass had barely stopped smoking.

  “Well, not fix it per se. But replace. What was your name?” Adric pointed at me.

  “Lexie.”

  “Right. Could you head to the third floor, section R? The periodicals. You’ll be looking for an old Macworld magazine, circa nineteen ninety-nine or so. Find it and bring it back up.”

  “Uh… I guess. Why?”

  Adric looked at my companions. “You guys know I’m a bibliomancer, right?”

  “We know,” said Larry. “As I said, she’s new.”

  “I don’t even know what to say right now.” I threw up my hands in frustration and left, heading down the stairs to the third floor. I followed the signs on the aisle end caps, searching for section R, when out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a couple familiar looking burnt orange jackets. They could’ve belonged to any number of UT scholarship athletes. Baseball. Swimming. Basketball. But they didn’t. They belonged to softball, and not any two softball players. None other than Carrie Fletcher and Janie Nguyen.

  I cursed my luck and dove into the nearest aisle, hoping they hadn’t seen me. It was probably because I was too busy looking over my shoulder that I didn’t realize I wasn’t the only one there. I slammed into someone, tackling them to the floor with a mutual grunt.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I said as I picked myself up off the carpet. “I—Tony? What are you doing here?”

  The cute, nerdy, overly hairy guy I’d met outside Larry, Dawn, and Tank’s place sat up, adjusting his taped-together glasses. “I go to school here same as you. I’m an EECS major.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Janie wasn’t on her way over. “You’re in electrical engineering? No way. I’m mechanical.”

  “Go figure.” Tony stood. “Don’t tell me you’re in my History of Computing class and I’ve never noticed.”

  “Nah. I’m just looking for an old Macworld magazin
e. Like from the turn of the century.”

  He nodded, although that didn’t explain anything. “That’s cool, I guess. I like vintage computers, too.”

  I glanced over my shoulder again, sure that the noise would’ve attracted Carrie and Janie.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Tony. “Is someone following you?”

  I looked back at him. “No. It’s nothing. I saw someone I didn’t want to confront right now.”

  Tony smiled halfheartedly and lifted an eyebrow. “An ex-boyfriend?”

  “Huh? No. Girls from my softball team. I did something dangerous at the last practice that I’m angry and embarrassed about, and my coach is majorly pissed. Like, I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to keep my spot on the team. Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “No, no. I get it.” Tony averted his eyes, and he started to adopt that bird-like stance he’d held outside the door to the Nyte Patrol house. He tilted his head and pointed at the stacks. “Hey. Check it out. Macworld, January two thousand.”

  I followed his finger and grabbed the magazine off the shelf. The cover read ‘2000, Fun! Fun! Fun!,’ where the 0’s in the date had been replaced with vintage iMacs. “Close enough. Thanks, Tony. I’ll be sure to tell Larry about you.”

  “You haven’t yet?”

  I grimaced. “Slipped my mind. See you round. Maybe.”

  I took off before he could shuffle his feet and smile at me awkwardly some more. Checking the hallway for signs of the softball girls and seeing that the coast was clear, I headed back up the stairs. When I returned to Adric’s makeshift office, I found the desk to be totally clear. The mangled remains of the computer wouldn’t have fit in a wastebasket, so I assumed Tank had carried them out.

  “Hey.” I flashed the magazine. “Not sure why the library bothered keeping these, but I found one.”

  Adric took it and glanced at the cover. “Not orange, but good enough. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” I said. “But if you don’t mind my asking, what are you planning on DOOOING?!?!”