by Alex P. Berg
“Back at the house. You didn’t exactly agree with me when I said we had to keep it out of his hands. I get the impression you still don’t totally believe he’s a bad guy.”
“Well, I don’t know it for a fact. I mean, Cheyev was polite to us, if not terribly helpful. And those vampires at the rave were just having a good time until you tripped and scraped your knee. That fight was your fault, you know.”
“Larry! Romanov is acquiring items of power. Lots of them! He’s building some sort of vampire army, and you want to give him something that will make him stronger? You have to realize what a bad idea that is.”
Larry grunted. “Fine. I won’t sell him the tome. But those funds were going to pay your salary, mind you. We’ll need to find other work quickly if the job’s a dud.”
Mention of my salary brought back thoughts of my softball scholarship and Heather and the rest of my teammates. I sighed. Up until now, I’d been perfectly happy ignoring my more mundane problems.
Betsy barked and pulled on the leash, dragging me along with her. “Whoa. Slow down, girl. What is it? You smell something?”
Betsy didn’t listen to me. She took off, pulling me behind her as she darted through the trees. She barked a few more times, clearly excited.
“Whoa there. Whoa.” She pulled me up a small knoll before coming to an abrupt stop. She pointed her head toward a fallen log half submerged under dried leaves, a low growl building in her throat.
I shined my flashlight over the log. Sure enough, facedown in the leaves with his bare ass sticking into the wind was none other than Tank.
“Tank. There you are,” said Larry. “Thank goodness you’re not hurt.”
Tank grumbled and snorted in a not entirely human fashion. He pushed himself out of the leaf pile and turned to face us.
Dawn put her head in her hand and sighed.
Larry winced. “Well… that’s unfortunate.”
Tank had transformed back into human form—mostly, anyway. He still sported the head of a Kodiak bear, though.
He gave a restrained growl. “Rahr rarrah.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” said Larry. “Hold still. Let me try to unfreeze you.”
Larry tapped his flashlight wand several times until the light changed to a pale green color. He mumbled something under his breath and flicked the wand at Tank. A ripple shot from the end of the stick and slapped Tank in the head.
Tank grunted. “Ruurarh.”
“Okay, that didn’t work,” said Larry. “Let me try something different.”
He tapped the stick again, this time until the light was pinkish-yellow. He spoke a more forceful sentence in a language I didn’t understand and flicked another spell at Tank’s head.
This one bounced off and sent Tank tumbling into the leaves. He shot up, his head still in bear form, and belted out a menacing, “Grrahraah!”
“Damnit, Larry, we don’t have time for this.” Dawn stepped forth, pulling clothes from her backpack. “Tank, get dressed. We need to move. We’ll figure this out as we go.”
Tank cocked his head as he slipped into his pants. “Graah?”
“Precisely,” said Dawn. “Bill’s missing. So’s the tome, and the clock is ticking.”
26
I pulled up to the Taco Bell drive-thru intercom and turned to Larry. “Well. We’re here? What do you want?”
He had his magical two-way portal device pressed to his ear. He glared and flicked a hand at me. “Not now. Can’t you see I’m on the phone? Frank! Damnit man, pick up.”
I snorted. “Phone. Yes. I can see that. Dawn?”
She sat in the back of the Suburban with Betsy sitting happily on the seat between her and Tank. After her initial shock, the police dog seemed to have taken a liking to the big guy, despite the fact that his head hadn’t returned to normal.
“I don’t know,” said Dawn. “I’ll take a chalupa, I guess. This is really about Tank. He’s the one who needs food.”
Tank nodded. “Ruh graurhar.”
Dawn squinted at him. “Yeah, I didn’t totally catch that one, but get him like fifty tacos to be on the safe side.”
I sputtered. “Fifty?”
“Transforming to and from bear form is exhausting. Regenerating the wounds he suffered at the hands of the vampires is more so. He needs calories, specifically protein. Come to think of it, we should probably order some of those fried chicken chalupas, too.”
Tank nodded his enthusiasm. “Ruhrah!”
A voice crackled on the intercom. “Welcome to Taco Bell. Can I take your order?”
I relayed the request, though I had to repeat the quantity of tacos three times before the guy taking the order was sure he’d heard it right. He told me how much it would run and then warned me it might take a few minutes.
Larry slammed his not-a-phone shut as I pulled up to the pick up window. “Damn! Where the hell is he? Doesn’t he know the whole point of a two-way portal device is that it’s only good for speaking with one other individual? Why would I want to talk to his assistant?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t had any luck convincing this Jerry guy to hand over Melondrious.”
Larry scowled. “Do I look like I’ve had any luck?”
The pickup window opened and a pimpled teen nodded to me. “That’ll be seventy-nine forty-six.”
I handed him a hundred dollar bill, he made change, and handed it back before closing the window again. “You owe me for the food,” I told Larry. “Again.”
“I’ll borrow it from my 401k.”
“If we can’t get our hands on Melondrious, then we might as well not even show up to that meeting with the bikers,” said Dawn.
“We can’t not show up,” said Larry. “Bill’s life is on the line, not to mention the whole tome situation.”
“Roaruh rahraa?” said Tank.
“Not an option,” said Larry. “I’m not letting you anywhere near the police station in your condition. We’ll have to think of something else.”
The pickup window reopened, and the pimply youth leaned out with a giant bag. “Alright. Here you go. Fifty soft tacos, three chicken chalupas, one regular chalupa, a caramel apple empanada, and one order of… holy shit. What the hell is that?” He was staring into the back of the ’burban, directly at Tank.
I sighed. “Larry?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Larry snapped his fingers a few times to get the kid’s attention. “Hey. Kid. Are you familiar with the concept of a freak show?”
He blinked. “What?”
“We’re with the circus. Tank there is one of our acts. Here. Let me show you.” Larry cleared his throat. When he spoke, it was with a voice far more grandiose and bombastic than his own. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, gather round for a most sensational, stupendous sight, a veritable visual bonanza of brawn, bravery, and the bizarre. A creature so fierce, so ferocious, so foul that he’s been forced into hiding for the past thousand years. Hailing from the little known Kodiak Archipelago off the southern coast of Alaska, feast your eyes upon the one, the only, the amazing manbearfreak!”
Tank nodded and grunted. “Roarah.”
The tortilla flipper nodded. “Whoa.”
“But that’s not all,” said Larry. “To his left, let me introduce the woman who forced an army to its knees in more ways than one, the voracious, rapacious, insatiable battleslut!”
Dawn sneered. “I will literally stab you in the neck, Larry.”
“Cool,” said the fast food kid. “So what does the dog do?”
“It’s a dog,” I said. “And before you ask, I drive and beat on things with a demonic softball bat.” I passed the bag back and Tank tore into it, ripping tacos from their wrappers and tossing them into his mouth whole.
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” said the Taco Bell kid, “but that bear guy is pretty cool. How long are you in town?”
Larry clicked his tongue. “Sorry. We’re headed out tonight. On to Dallas.”
; “Bummer,” said the kid. “You guys seem pretty cool for freaks. Normally, the only weirdos we get around here are the bums on Sixth Street.”
Tank took a break from inhaling his tacos to tip his head toward the kid. He grunted, and I think he tried to smile.
Larry blinked. “Weirdos. That’s it.” He unhooked his seat belt, opened his door, and hopped out.
“Wait, what that…?” I said. “Larry! Son of a bitch.”
“Don’t worry about him,” said Dawn, unwrapping her chalupa. “He does this sort of thing all the time.”
“I’m not worried about him.” I pulled the Suburban into an open parking space and killed the engine. “Should we go after him?”
Tank grunted. Dawn shrugged and spoke around a mouthful of beef and cheese. “Once we’re done eating, maybe. Sure you don’t want anything?”
“I naively thought there’d be extra tacos.” My phone started to buzz. I pulled it from my pocket and glanced at the ID. It was an unknown number, but a local one, so I took a chance.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hi, uh…? Lexie?”
The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Tony. You know. From the library?”
“Oh. Right.” The voice did have a bit of a nervous twang to it. “How’d you get my number?”
“I looked you up in the student directory,” he said. “I didn’t know your last name, but I remembered you said you were a softball player, and you’re the only Lexie on the team.”
“That’s… resourceful.” And somewhat creepy, I thought. “So what’s up?”
“Oh, you know. Not much.”
I braced myself for the awkward question that was sure to follow.
“So, uh… have you talked to Larry yet?”
I blinked, surprised. “Ah, no. I’d totally forgotten. Sorry about that. Things have been crazy lately.”
“Oh, I totally get it. No hard feelings. But is he, ah… there now?”
I glanced at the empty seat. “Just missed him. Why? What’s going on?”
Tony laughed nervously. “It’s nothing really. Just a little problem I’ve got. Nothing serious. I got a little out of control last night and I have a feeling it might happen again.”
“I hate to break this to you, Tony, but Larry’s not an addiction counselor.”
“Yeah, that’s not the kind of problem—”
The door opened, Larry hopped inside, and slammed it back shut. “Damnit. I can’t catch a break. He’s not here.”
“Who’s not here?” I asked.
“Darragh, of course,” said Larry. “Who else would I be looking for in the Taco Bell parking lot?”
“I’m sorry I asked. Look, Tony, let me put you on speakerphone. Larry, can you talk to this guy? He needs your help. Some sort of recurring issue he refuses to be specific about for untold reasons.”
“No time for that.” Larry leaned over the phone. “Sorry whoever you are. Unless you know where to find a drunken hobo leprechaun within the next thirty minutes, I’m afraid you’re plum out of luck. Lexie? Hang up.”
“Sorry, Tony.” I lifted a finger over the phone.
“Wait,” he said. “Have you tried the homeless camp in the Barton Creek Greenbelt?”
Larry froze. “Say again?”
“The Barton Creek Greenbelt. Lots of homeless people camp there overnight. It’s within easy walking distance from downtown.”
“Lots of homeless people, you say,” said Larry. “Guy? You’re a lifesaver.”
27
With the flashlight in one hand and Betsy’s leash in the other, I walked through another set of darkened woods while I suffered an eerie sense of déjà vu. The difference was this time Tank walked beside Dawn, who no longer sported the backpack full of clothes. Instead, she grasped another leash, this one loosely wrapped around Tank’s furry bear neck. A cardboard sign hung from his shoulders upon which we’d written ‘The Amazing Manbearfreak!’ in black permanent marker.
Tank grunted and shook his head. “Grrahruh.”
“Well, I don’t like it either,” said Dawn. “I mean, I’m the one who has to hold the stupid leash. Blame Lexie. It’s her fault.”
“I think what you meant to say is I’m the one who had the brilliant idea for the disguise,” I said. “It’s not like Tank can walk around in public in his current state, and since Larry is too busy or tired or is going insane a little too quickly to cast a spell to keep him hidden, I took the initiative.”
Larry sighed. “As I already mentioned, a spell to take care of that would require too much magical upkeep, and I’m going to have to exert myself enough with a second one later on. Besides, I want to be prepared for whatever else we have to deal with tonight. Though I’ll admit, fermenting a second Baja Breeze did take the wind out of my sails a little.”
“You really think Betsy is going to be able to track Darragh from the scent of that boozed up Mountain Dew alone?” I asked.
“I don’t see why not,” said Larry. “She tracked Tank from the smell of his groin sweat. Besides, she seems to be doing a pretty good job so far.”
I glanced at Betsy, who continued to lead us through the woods with a look of quiet determination. She seemed to know where she was going, but I sure didn’t. I squinted at the path before us—nothing more than dirt and leaves. I would’ve thought a homeless camp in the middle of the woods would’ve had a more obvious entrance, but maybe the bums didn’t want anyone to find them.
I glanced over my shoulder, wondering not for the first time if we’d taken a wrong turn. The woods all looked the same to me—for all I knew we were walking in circles—but beyond that, something didn’t feel right. My danger radar beeped quietly. Were we being followed?
Betsy barked and pulled on the leash, sending me stumbling after her. “Slow down, girl. Dang.”
I jogged behind her as she dragged me through a cluster of junipers into a clearing. I clicked my flashlight off as I came to a stop. Thanks to the light of the full moon, I could see perfectly well without it—even though I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to see.
Betsy had led us into a junk yard. Trash littered the expanse, from beer bottles, soda cans, and plastic bags to bigger items that should’ve been close to impossible to bring into the woods: shopping carts, motorcycle engines, mildewed couches, even a rusty refrigerator. There was a weird smell to the place, too. A mixture of wet earth, urine, booze, and sweat.
“Dang,” said Larry. “This place is a dump. Literally.”
Tank nodded. “Gruhrah.”
Betsy sat on her haunches and whined, looking from side to side nervously. She looked up to me for guidance.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “I think Betsy lost Darragh’s scent.”
“How could she lose it?” said Larry. “This whole place reeks of week old liquor and—oh, I get it now.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Finding your leprechaun pal here is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. Poor Betsy. This is bad enough for me, girl. I can’t imagine the discomfort you’re in.”
Dawn glanced toward the moon. “Lexie, have you got the time?”
I stuffed the flashlight in my back pocket and grabbed my phone. “Quarter after eleven. We’re cutting it close.”
“Grahh gur roaruah?” said Tank.
“Good thinking, Tank,” said Larry. “We can cover more ground by splitting up. Lexie, you keep Betsy. Dawn and Tank, you two should stick together, obviously. I’ll—”
Leaves rustled. Betsy growled, Larry spun, and we all turned our attention toward the sound.
An old guy in a ratty jacket with wild white hair and a matching beard approached, his tequila and cigarette stench potent enough to beat back the overall funk. He held his hands in the air. “Whoa, there, friends. Just looking for a smoke. Maybe you’ve got one?”
Larry held out an arm as if he were shielding an unbuckled kid in the front seat of a car. “Stay back everyone. This on
e isn’t what he seems. I can smell the magic on him.”
“Yeah, that smell?” said Dawn. “It’s not magic.”
Betsy whined, and I couldn’t blame her. I detested cigarettes. “Come on, Larry,” I said. “Just because he’s dressed like you doesn’t mean he’s a wizard.”
“Wait, Larry?” The bum took a step forward and squinted. “Larry Stuttgart?”
Larry’s arm fell. “Wayne? Is that you? Holy hell. I knew I recognized that magical aroma. What in the world are you doing here?”
“You know this guy?” I said.
“Sure,” said Larry. “Wayne Nelson. We were roommates back at Zephyrburr Magical Academy. Christ, Wayne, what happened to you? You look like you’ve aged a hundred years.”
“Seventy-six, actually,” said Wayne with a shrug. “I got stuck in an alternate dimension fighting a race of sentient ant people. They imprisoned me and left me to rot in a cell, but I never gave up. Took nearly a lifetime, but eventually I escaped.”
“That’s awful,” said Larry.
“I know,” said Wayne. “Seriously, though, do you have a cigarette? I’m dying here. Literally. Of old age.”
“And you’re trying to speed up the process?” I said.
Wayne glared at me.
“Sorry, Wayne,” said Larry. “None of us smoke, though we all inhaled a turntable and a few speakers earlier this evening. But since we tried our hardest to help you with your goal of hastening your eventual demise, perhaps you could do us a solid in return?”
Wayne sighed. “Seventy-six years in an ant prison wanting nothing more than a nice long drag of sweet American tobacco and this is what I get when I return.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Larry. “We’re looking for a leprechaun by the name of Darragh. A drunken, ornery little guy. Any chance you’ve seen him?”
“A drunken, ornery leprechaun? Can’t imagine I’ve ever seen one of those.”
“I’d be fine without the sarcasm, Wayne. We’re in a rush.”
“Yeah, and the guy who spent seventy-six years in a hollowed out dirt hole lined with ant spit’s got nothing but time.” He grunted and waved. “Come on. He’s got a tent near the swale.”
