The Nyte Patrol

by Alex P. Berg

  Wayne led us through piles of garbage and thick underbrush, skirting the odd occupied hammock or leaf pile that had been lined with towels and emitted snores. Down a shallow slope we went until I heard the faint sound of water gurgling over stones.

  “You said Darragh, right?” said Wayne. “Not Dúnchadh or Dubhghall? We’ve got a lot of the little treasure lovers in this encampment.”

  “Is that a joke?” said Larry. “Because honestly I’d take any of them. I suspect Darragh will be the most accommodating of the bunch, though.”

  Wayne pushed back a bush revealing a shabby tent the size of a washing machine. The mesh door was zipped half shut, and sounds of snoring leaked from within.

  “I guess you’re in luck,” said Wayne. “Sounds like he’s home.”

  Larry unzipped the flap the rest of the way, bent over, and stepped inside. The tent stretched and wobbled as he crammed his body in there, but it quickly dissipated back to its original size.

  “Damnit,” called Larry. “He’s out cold. A little help?”

  “How do you propose we do that?” I asked. “Despite Tank’s freak show sign, none of us are contortionists.”

  “It’s roomier than it looks,” said Larry. “Trust me. Come on in.”

  I looked at Dawn. She shrugged, ducked, and wiggled through the flap, dragging Tank through the gap behind her. When they both disappeared, I knew there wasn’t any point fighting it.

  With Betsy’s leash still in hand, I pulled up the flap and stepped through myself—into a tented space roughly five times the square footage of my dorm. Though he’d undersold the size, Larry had failed to mention the place was even more of a dump than the surrounding homeless camp. Piles of junk stretched to the canopy on all sides: moth eaten books, crates of National Geographics, empty liquor bottles (surprise, surprise), piles of rocks—not gemstones, mind you, but regular old rocks. By far the most prevalent item of all, however, was shoes. There were stacks of them everywhere. Ratty shoes, new shoes, loafers, high-heels, pumps, flip-flops, sandals, clogs, sneakers, high-tops, and even an original pair of Jordans in royal blue.

  “What’s with the footwear?” I said.

  Larry knelt over a cot that contained Darragh’s snoring, unmoving form. “You need to bone up on your fantasy lore. Leprechauns are cobblers. Tank? A little help?”

  The manbearfreak stepped over two giant piles of junk and stopped at the side of the bed. “Gruh rurahrah?”

  “We’re not kidnapping him,” said Larry. “We’re borrowing him. In his state, he’ll barely notice. In fact, it might be better that’s he’s drunk as a skunk. Won’t be able to contradict us.”

  “Ruh grawarah.”

  “He’ll be fine, okay, Tank? Trust me.”

  “Hey, everything alright in there?” Wayne stepped inside and cast a wary glance at Larry and Tank.

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” said Larry. “Just need to, ah… relocate Darragh.”

  Wayne crossed his arms and frowned. “You know, it occurs to me you never mentioned why you wanted to speak with the leprechaun.”

  “Come on, Wayne,” said Larry as Tank hefted the halfling over his shoulder. “We’re old roommates. Buddies. Did I ever try to pull a fast one on you?”

  “That was three-quarters of a century ago for me,” said Wayne. “To be honest, I don’t remember. My gut tells me the answer is yes.”

  Larry rubbed the scruff on his face and got serious. “Alright. New deal. I’ll buy you a carton of cigarettes and you forget all about this, okay?”

  Wayne snorted. “Make it two.”

  “Sure,” said Larry with a smile. “On one condition.”

  “Being?”

  “You help me cast a glamour spell. I’m saving myself for later.”

  28

  Gravel crunched under the Suburban’s tires as I pulled off an obscure FM road into a darkened parking lot in the middle of the Texas hill country. According to my phone, it belonged to a BBQ joint by the name of Bone Lickers. Given the name, I expected the place to have a giant sign in the front featuring a cartoon waitress with comically oversized breasts wearing a knotted crop top and giving the incoming patrons a sexually suggestive wink, but the place was much more subdued. A stone walkway snaked off through a cluster of trees toward an old barn in the distance. I didn’t see any lights.

  I squinted at the structure, trying to spot any motion. “Is this place abandoned?”

  Larry unbuckled his seat belt. “You wouldn’t expect a gang of murderous bikers to meet us at an operational BBQ joint, would you? Remember the plan?”

  “I stay in the truck with Tank and Melondrious while you and Dawn hash out a deal with the bikers. When we see the signal, we bring our fairy out to the meeting site.”

  “Unless you want to get us killed, stop putting emphasis on his name and race,” said Larry. “Actually, new rule. No talking once you and Tank bring him out. I don’t want anyone screwing this up.”

  I glanced into the rearview. Betsy had been relegated to the far back so Darragh would fit between Dawn and Tank. He slouched there, snoring in a drunken stupor. Thanks to the glamour Wayne had cast over him, he looked like the spitting image of Melondrious.

  “What about him?” I said. “You’re just going to hand him to the bikers? What happens when the spell wears off? Or worse? What if the bikers buy it and start torturing him, assuming he’s who he’s supposed to be?”

  “As I told Tank, it’ll be fine,” said Larry. “I have a plan. Dawn?”

  Dawn and Larry hopped out of the vehicle, slamming the doors shut behind them. Gravel crunched as they headed off, the sound fading as they reached the stone path.

  I turned toward the back of the truck, wondering how I’d found myself alone with a police dog, an unconscious leprechaun, and a guy with a bear head. “What do you think, Tank? Are we doing the right thing? With Darragh I mean?”

  “Grooahruh.”

  “Yeah, I have no idea what that means. Are Dawn and Larry actually able to understand you in bear form?”

  He shrugged. “Rah grugh grahrah.”

  I snorted. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  Betsy started to growl. I cocked my head at her. “What is it girl?”

  I jumped and slammed my head into the roof as something tapped at my window. I spun around to find a familiar nerdy young man in a purple He-Man shirt standing there, waving at me.

  I rolled down the window. “Tony? Christ. You scared me half to death. What the hell are you doing here?”

  He smiled nervously. “Hey, Lexie. Sorry for scaring you. Didn’t mean to.” He leaned over and looked into the vehicle. “Is Larry with you?”

  “He stepped out. Seriously, what are you doing here? How did you even get here?” I glanced into the parking lot, but I didn’t see any other cars.

  Tony grimaced and scratched his neck. “Yeah, I’ve sort of been, ah… following you. Not in a creepy way, I promise. I just really need Larry’s help, and when you guys hung up on me after I mentioned the homeless camp in the greenbelt, I thought…”

  So I wasn’t crazy. Someone had been following us. “Right. I apologize about that. Larry was all like, We’ve gotta go! And my truck’s a dinosaur. It doesn’t have bluetooth enabled. I can’t link calls. I might be reckless, but I don’t talk and drive at the same time. The point is Larry knows you need help, and he’s totally got your back. I think.”

  Tony hopped from one foot to another, as if he needed to pee. “Great. So if you could, like, call him over…?”

  A burst of bright red light erupted over the barn. “Damnit,” I said. “Tony, I swear you’ve got the worst timing. Just hang out by the Suburban. Keep Betsy company. She’s the dog. I’ll be back with Larry soon. Tank? Time to move.”

  I hopped out. Tank did the same, with the Melondrious doppelganger thrown over his shoulder. We hoofed it onto the path while Tony stayed behind, stammering his objections. The flare sparkled in the air as we walked, fading slowly, and I realized it wasn
’t coming from over the barn. Behind it, rather. It wasn’t until the path curved around the edge of the painted red structure that I spotted our destination. A smaller building, this one with lights inside. An exterior spotlight shone on a group clustered near an outdoor stone grill. Tank and I approached them, joining Larry and Dawn on the near side.

  “See?” said Larry. “Here they are. With Melondrious, as promised.”

  A group of four bikers in leather jackets and with bandanas on their heads stood a dozen paces from us. They were decidedly more hispanic in appearance than the ones we’d previously dealt with at St. Marque’s. One of them held Bill by the hair, an ice pick pressed against his ear. Bill’s eyes were as wide as saucers. He looked like he was sweating, which I didn’t realize was possible.

  The biker in the front nodded at Tank. “This your guy, esé?”

  “That’s my guy,” said Larry.

  The biker blinked. “He always like that? With the, ah…?” He waved his hand at his own head.

  “It’s a temporary thing. He’s working through it.”

  “Could we speed this up?” screeched Bill. “Larry, they’re going to scramble my brain. Don’t let them scramble my brain! It’s the only one I’ve got.”

  The head biker shot a finger at us. “The talking cabeza’s right. Let’s see the guy.”

  Tank walked forward, pulled Darragh off his shoulder, and set the leprechaun down in the middle of the lit area before stepping back.

  “He ain’t moving,” said the biker.

  Darragh chose that moment to cut loose with a ragged snore.

  “He’s a little drunk at the moment,” said Larry. “He’ll be fine, at least until you get your hands on him. Time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

  The biker nodded to his compatriot. He pulled the ice pick from Bill’s ear, wound up, and chucked him at us from across the divide.

  Larry caught him with both hands. “Hey, pal. Good to see you.”

  Bill was panting. “I knew you’d come. I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”

  “Are you kidding?” said Larry. “How would we navigate without you? I mean, other than joining the twenty-first century like Lexie has. Come to think of it, you’re getting pretty replaceable.”

  “Oye,” called the head biker as one of his crew came forth to collect Darragh. “We ain’t done here, gringo. Where’s the money?”

  “We’re taking option two,” said Larry. “We’re offering the drugs instead.”

  “Then bring ’em out.”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy,” said Larry. “Melondrious is the one who knows where they are.”

  The head biker scowled. “Nice try, cabron. We can ask the fairy ourselves.”

  “Exactly,” said Larry. “You get the guy and the drugs. It’s exactly what you want. So hand over the book.”

  The biker’s scowl intensified. “No cash, no drogas, no book. We’ll keep it. Word is someone’s willing to pay a pretty penny for it, esé.”

  “Not anywhere near what Melondrious owes you,” said Larry. “It wouldn’t make a dent in that debt. It’s not even worth your time. Be better if you gave it to us.”

  Despite the fear that tingled in my fingertips, I couldn’t stand silent and listen to the exchange anymore. “Larry? Larry!”

  He held up a finger. “Sorry. One moment. What is it, Lexie?”

  “Have you been through one of these before?”

  “One of whats?”

  “Exchanges. Handoffs. Whatever. Because you seem to have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “For your information, I’ve already secured Bill. And I’m close to reasoning with this man for the return of the Librum.”

  “Are you kidding me? Tell me you have a plan, Larry. You do have a plan, right?”

  “Eh… Jefe?”

  We turned at the sound of one of the biker lackeys, the one dragging Melondrious toward his buddies. The doppelganger’s jacket flickered, changing color from salmon to green to violet and back. His face looked glossy, like he’d been heated under a flame. Then his nose started to lengthen, his eyebrows grew thicker, and his jaw widened.

  A half dozen guns cocked, including several at our backs. Dawn swore. I would’ve too if I knew language foul enough for the situation.

  “Hijo de puta. What are you assholes trying to pull here?” said the head biker, his own pistol drawn and aimed at us.

  “Damnit.” Larry pinched his fingers together. “I was this close to negotiating for that tome, too.”

  29

  A hand jabbed me hard in the back, pushing me into a dark room that smelled of mesquite smoke and charred meat. Tank followed through the exterior door beside me, holding Darragh—now fully returned to his original form—in his arms.

  “Move it, pendejos.”

  Dawn and Larry followed us in at gunpoint, the former stripped of her swords. Larry stumbled as one of the armed bikers shoved him in beside us. “Hey. Watch the jacket.”

  “You worried about your jacket, holmes?” said the biker. “Damn, you’re even more estúpido than you look.”

  “Hey, we can work this out,” said Bill, who Larry still held in his hands. “There’s no need for violence. No brains need to be scrambled.”

  “Cállate, all of you,” said the second biker who’d drawn on us. “I don’t want to hear another damned word, got it?”

  A distant screech rent the air. One of the bikers turned toward the sound, but the other was disciplined enough to keep his eyes and his gun trained on us. “Que es eso?”

  The screech sounded again, a pained, somewhat human, somewhat birdlike sound. The biker who’d turned whipped back around, shoving his gun into our faces. “Well? What the fuck was that?”

  “I’m confused,” said Larry. “I’m supposed to talk now?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, puto.” The biker stepped closer. “You tell me what that is.”

  “I have no idea,” said Larry. “A coyote? A pair of mating ostriches?”

  The screech sounded again, closer this time, and even the disciplined biker cast a lightning-quick glance toward his buddy.

  “Best not be cagando me,” said the first biker. “Otherwise you gonna be in a world of hurt.”

  He nodded to his friend, and they both backed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them. It rang with a loud, metallic clang, plunging us into total darkness.

  “Great plan, Larry,” I said. “Great fucking plan.”

  “Hey, my plan worked fine until Wayne’s magic wore off unexpectedly.” Larry snapped his fingers, and his hands started to glow. “I mean, I saved Bill didn’t I?”

  Larry’s hands grew in intensity until I could make out the bounds of our prison. There wasn’t a single window to speak of, and the walls, floor, and ceiling were dark as midnight—not from paint, but from soot. A three-sided cinderblock grill stood in the center of the room. Wood had been piled high in one corner. Other than that, the place was empty.

  “Actually, Larry,” said Dawn, “it’s even worse than Lexie’s making it out to be. Your plan didn’t just suck. You didn’t even have a plan.”

  “And I suppose putting the glamour on Darragh was a happy accident? Give me a break.”

  As if on cue, Darragh stirred in Tank’s arms. “Whaza? Who’s ‘er?”

  Tank grunted. “Ruh grah grah.”

  “Oh, so you’re all ganging up on me, now?” said Larry. “Fine. Be that way. At least Bill’s on my side.”

  Bill laughed nervously. “Yeah, I mean. Thanks, old friend. Much appreciated. But we aren’t exactly out of the woods yet, are we?”

  The inhuman screech rang through the air again. In the distance I heard shouting. Someone screamed.

  Larry grimaced. “Admittedly, I have a feeling things aren’t as bad as they could be.”

  “Oh, shut up, Larry,” I said. “Stop trying to make it seem like this is all part of your master plan. You’re bumbling your way thorough this, same as you do with everyt
hing else. God! And to think at first I wasn’t sure what kind of help you needed when your spell brought me in.”

  “I’m not saying this was part of my plan. The screaming might be entirely serendipitous.” The warbling howl intensified, muted by the bunker-like BBQ cage. More shouts followed, then gunfire. A dozen shots. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s not a coyote.”

  Dawn cocked her head at the sounds. “Larry, what the hell have you gotten us into?”

  “It wasn’t me,” he said. “My plan was to get in and get out, not bring hellfire down upon the bikers. I have no idea what’s going on out there.”

  I sighed. “About that…”

  Larry’s jaw dropped. “Lexie? This is your doing?”

  “Of course not. Well… maybe a little bit. Yours, too, at least indirectly. Remember Tony?”

  “The guy on the phone?”

  I nodded. “He dropped by the house a couple days ago. Said he needed your help then, too. He showed up outside the truck while Tank and I were waiting for your signal. I have no idea how he got there, but he seemed pretty desperate for help.”

  More screams pushed their way through the concrete, followed by more gunfire. Lots of it. Dozens if not hundreds of shots, from automatic rifles, not pistols. The spine-chilling warble didn’t stop. If anything, it grew louder. Angrier.

  Darragh, hearing the sound, pushed himself free from Tank’s arms and dropped to the ground. He stumbled before vomiting all over the floor. “…da hell am I?”

  At the same time, a buzzing sounded within the room. For a moment, I feared we might be under attack by mutant wasps until I realized it was coming from Larry’s jacket.

  With Bill cradled under one arm, Larry reached into his jacket and flipped open his not-a-phone. “Frank! For Christ’s sake, took you long enough!”

  The cop’s voice shot from the two-way portal, gruff and unhappy as ever. “This better be good, Stuttgart. And by good, I don’t mean you wanting me to release the drug-dealing fairy to your custody.”

  “Melondrious is a moot point now,” said Larry, watching Darragh wobble and vomit some more. “What we need is backup. Lots of it. We’ve got bikers with machine guns and some inhuman horror terrifying everything for miles.”