Black Knight 02 - Back in Black

by Hartness, John G

  "Good morning, evening, whatever." She said, still watching Greg snore.

  I looked down at his gaping maw and chuckled. I reached down and pinched his nose shut, grabbing Sabrina's coffee in my other hand. I slowly poured coffee into Greg's mouth until he jerked awake, spluttering coffee everywhere. I handed the cup back to Sabrina and tried not to fall over laughing. Greg mumbled something rude about me and farm animals and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

  "That was mean." Sabrina said, hiding her laughter behind her coffee cup.

  "Soulless bloodsucking monster, remember? Now did you make more of that, or just the one cup?" I walked over to the counter and poured myself a cup. I got no nutrition out of coffee, of course, but nobody does. Caffeine, however, is just as important to a vampire as it is to most humans. That's why my coffeemaker cost almost as much as my television. Some things you just don't scrimp on. I poured a second cup in Greg's red "Interview with the Vampire" mug and left it for him. "Did you start the laundry, too?" I asked as I flopped onto the sofa.

  "I did, and sit up, you slacker." I did as she asked and she sat next to me on the couch. She picked up Greg's wireless keyboard and mouse and opened up the case files. Just then Greg came back out of the bathroom, grabbed his coffee and joined us in the den.

  "I built us a virtual case board last night after you went to bed." He said, reaching for the mouse. Sabrina tossed it over, and with a few clicks he had a full display up on our wall-mounted LCD TV. And here I thought we bought the thing for video games. "If we look at all the crime scene photos, you'll notice a few things show up in common at all of the attacks before Stephen's."

  "First, there is never enough blood for the injuries the victims have sustained, meaning that the attacks occurred someplace else, and the victims were dumped there." He clicked the mouse a few more times, and pictures zoomed in and out.

  "Secondly, there were no shoe-, foot- or fingerprints left at the scene, including the victims." More clicking and zooming, and my sleep-addled head was starting to spin a little.

  "And thirdly, each dumping took place in a public alleyway between eleven PM and two AM." He clicked a couple more times before I reached over and snatched the mouse out of his hand. I tossed it across the room and glared at him.

  "What do we know from all of this?" I asked.

  "Not much." He admitted. "The time of the body dumps is significant, because it was early enough in the evening that there should have been witnesses, but there weren't. I can't imagine a nine-foot monster carrying a bleeding dude down an alley and nobody noticing it, so there's something screwy going on there."

  "Do you think it was magic?" Sabrina asked.

  "Before a couple of days ago, I would have said no way, but those were the good old days, when I thought trolls only happened in storybooks and that fairy was just an insulting term for gay men. Now, I don't know." Greg looked at me with the sad puppy eyes, and I gave him back his mouse.

  He called up another set of images on the screen and said, "These are the first five victims. All male, all young, all in good shape, and all beaten to a pulp before they were found. They told police that they remembered nothing about their attacks, and that they had been assaulted right where they were found. Obviously this last part is a lie, based on the forensic evidence, so it stands to reason that they may have been lying about what they remembered as well."

  "So we're back to my plan." I stood up and went towards my room.

  "And exactly what plan is that, Jimmy?" Sabrina asked to my back.

  "We ask them what they remember."

  "And if they continue to lie?" She asked.

  "We mojo them." Why did I feel like my life was just the same conversation, over and over again?

  "And if your mojo doesn't..."

  I cut her off. "You don't want to know. Now if it's okay with you, I'll go put on pants."

  I closed the door as they shouted "Please!" in unison.

  Chapter 24

  We took Greg's car, because let's face it; it's just a cooler ride. We pulled up at our first victim's townhome a little after seven. After all I was always taught not to interrupt anyone's dinner with tales of fairies and troll attacks.

  "Victim Number One is Gerald, or Jerry, Smithson. Jerry is a mortgage officer at a bank, and has no partner that we know of. He had no visitors at the hospital and a sister from Wisconsin is listed as his emergency contact. He lives alone with his pug, Whitfield." Greg read from his iPad. I knew it was a mistake to let him bring that thing, he just couldn't resist showing off his new toy.

  "Stevie's partner works for a bank, do you think that's a connection?" Sabrina asked.

  "I don't want to dismiss it out of hand, but given that two of the five largest employers in Charlotte are banks, I don't think it's statistically significant." Greg said, looking back at his tablet. "Besides, none of the other victims or their partners work for a bank or are connected to banking, other than having an account or two."

  "Fair enough," she replied.

  We got out of the car and Sabrina knocked on the door. A balding man in his early thirties answered, sporting a reddish. He was wearing the official uniform of the off-duty banker, a polo shirt and khaki pants, with expensive shoes. He looked up at Sabrina and said "Detective Law, how nice of you to come by. Have you caught the monster that attacked me and has been assaulting other men around Charlotte?"

  "No, Mr. Smithson, we have not had any luck finding the person or persons responsible for your assault. But we have a few more questions for you regarding a new line of investigation. May we come in?" Sabrina asked.

  "Of course, of course, how rude of me. Please come in. And you are?" He asked me as Greg and I stepped into his home. I felt that funny tingle that I got whenever I entered a person's home. We really can't go in without being invited, but Sabrina had slickly wrangled an invitation for all three of us.

  I held out my hand and said "Jimmy Black, Mr. Smithson. My partner Greg and I are private investigators. We're assisting the police in this case."

  "Black Knight Investigations at your service, sir." Greg interjected, handing Smithson a card. I never carried the things. Probably for the best, since they all had my cell phone number on them and I kept leaving phones in the wrong dimension. We shook hands all around and Jerry showed us into his living room. Apparently the stereotype about all gay men having good taste was based in fact, because Smithson's place looked like something out of a magazine.

  "Now," Jerry said after he politely offered us all drinks and we all politely declined. "What new avenues are you exploring in the case, and what can I do to help you?"

  "First of all, Mr. Smithson, let's fill you in on what we know." Sabrina started with a glance to me. I gave her a tiny nod, letting her know that I was listening to Jerry's heartbeat to pick up lies or nervousness. "We know that you weren't attacked in the alley, that you were left there. We know what attacked you, and we know the secret of your nature. What we don't know is why you were attacked, and why you wouldn't tell us about it earlier."

  Smithson's heart was beating like a hummingbird's wings on crystal meth, and he reached over to an end table and took a long pull from a beer before he answered. He took a deep breath, looked straight at us, and shimmered slightly. Where seconds before had been sitting a mild-mannered banker who shaved his head to hide the fact that he was going prematurely bald, now sat a fairy with chiseled features, long black hair tipped in white and the pointed ears that gave their species away no matter how big the crowd. "Really, Detective?" he asked in cultured tones and a slight accent. "I was just going to tell you that I was beaten half to death by trolls and dropped in the alley. Oh, and by the way, I'm a fairy. How well do you think that would have gone over in the police station?"

  "I can see why you wouldn't want to go into all the details, but why so quick to drop the masquerade now?" Sabrina asked.

  "Well, my dear, you come waltzing in here with a pair of vampires and I have to know the jig i
s up, don't I? Now, are you going to kill me here, or are you taking me back there to do the deed?" He looked pretty calm for somebody who thought we were there to kill him.

  "Two things, Mr. Smithson." I butted in. "One, we aren't here to kill you, we really are working with the police to find who attacked you. And two, how is it that everybody with even the slightest bit of supernatural juju can spot us as vampires in the first ten seconds?"

  "Have you looked in a mirror lately, Mr. Black?" The fairy asked.

  "Not in almost two decades, thanks for the reminder." I snarled.

  "Oops. Forgot about that bit. Sorry. Anyway, you look like a vampire. Pale skin, dark circles under your eyes, a penchant for dark clothing. You're either a vampire or an office intern, and no office intern is calling on me after business hours."

  "Maybe you should be the detective." I said grumpily.

  "But if you're not here to kill me, then why are you here?" He was really confused. I guess I would be too, if I met me and knew what I was, then found out that I wasn't going to try and eat me. Wait, that didn't make any sense. Oh hell, you know what I mean.

  "We mentioned that, didn't we? We're trying to find out who's behind these attacks and put an end to them. So we wanted to see if you had any more information you hadn't already given us." Sabrina prodded.

  "Oh, I have it. I just can't give it to you. I'm sorry, Detective, but you're not nearly scary enough for me to spill those beans. Would you care for a beer? Because I certainly need another." With that, he walked to the fridge, only to blink in surprise when I was standing in front of him.

  "I think you're going to need to answer our questions, Mr. Smithson. Now I'd rather not force you, so please don't make this difficult." I said very slowly and distinctly. I like to make sure I speak clearly when I threaten people.

  "There's nothing difficult about it, Mr. Black. I can't answer your questions, and you can't force me. Your compulsion won't work on the Fae, and I have certain other things at my disposal as well." He looked down, and I followed his eyes to the pointed wooden spike he was holding pressed up against my chest. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I was on a beer run." I got out of his way and went back to sit next to Greg. Jerry returned with a beer for everyone, and we all drank.

  "Now, that's much more civilized, isn't it? I am truly sorry I can't help you with your investigation, but you have to understand - I lived through one encounter with those...people, and there are no guarantees that I will survive a second."

  "Is there anything you can tell us about your attackers? What if they come back? What will you do then? Why are they targeting gay men? Anything?" Sabrina almost pleaded.

  "I cannot tell you anything other than what I have already let slip. I have it on good authority that they will not be back, and in case you haven't noticed, I have healed with no lasting effects. It was an unpleasant experience, and an uncomfortable healing process, but those things that do not kill us, leave us stronger for the experience." Smithson sipped his beer calmly as Sabrina got up and paced around his den.

  "Great," I muttered. "A Nietzschian fairy, that's all I need."

  "And they aren't attacking gay men. They're attacking fairies. They don't care who we sleep with; it's what we are that gets them interested. I happen to be attracted to women, not that it is any business of yours." Smithson looked a little perturbed as he finished off his second beer.

  Sabrina had stopped dead in her tracks, though. "You're straight?"

  "As the proverbial arrow."

  "So this isn't a gay-bashing." Greg's grasp of the obvious was still one of his greatest assets, apparently.

  "I think it cannot be, as I am not gay." Smithson replied.

  "Then all the victims must have been Fae." Sabrina said. "Greg, call up all the victims' photos on your iPad. Mr. Smithson, do you know these men? Are they fairies?"

  He looked closely at the iPad. "What a marvelous device! I must get one. But yes, in answer to the more pressing question, all of these men are Fae. I do not know them all personally, but have seen them at one time or another. Several of them happen to also be gay, and many of us are mistakenly labeled as such, which seems to have confused your investigation. Now, if there is nothing else?" He stood, motioning us toward the door, and it was obvious that our conversation was over.

  "Thank you, Mr. Smithson. You may very well have been more help than you intended to be." Sabrina said as we walked to the door.

  "I sincerely hope not, Detective. Not only would it not go well for me if I were discovered to have aided your investigation, but it would not do well for you to be too successful in this endeavor. I truly hope you fail in your search; it will be better for your health. And Mr. Black?" He said, ushering us out into the night.

  "Yes, Mr. Smithson?"

  "Your invitation into my home, and Mr. Knightwood's, is hereby revoked. Begone from this place." I felt a barrier slam up in front of his door, and an unseen force pushed me back as he closed the real door on us.

  "Well, that was new." I said.

  "Not really, we've been thrown out of better joints than that." Greg replied.

  "Yeah, but we're sober now."

  "Oh yeah. Good point."

  Chapter 25

  The rest of the victims were even less helpful, if that's at all possible. Victims Two and Five had left town, Victim Three slammed the door in our face and screamed "Rape!" until we left his apartment building, and Victim Four offered us a very tasty red wine and told us absolutely nothing. At least we got a decent glass of wine out of that stop. It was a dispirited bunch that trudged down the steps into our apartment in the early morning hours, and we were all getting cranky and hungry. Sabrina had made us drive through McDonald's after our last stop, and my mood was not improved by having to smell those glorious fries all the way home. Can you imagine smelling McDonald's fries for decades and never being able to eat one?

  I hung my coat and guns in the closet and trudged over to the fridge. "O, B, or A?" I asked Greg.

  "One of each." He yelled from the bathroom. I told him not to order the milkshake, but he's never gotten the sugar craving out of his system. I tossed his bags of blood on the coffee table and bit into a bag of B-negative. The cold blood wasn't terribly appealing, what with the anticoagulants and plastic taste, but I needed to fill the void. Besides, if I closed my eyes and sniffed hard enough, I could almost pretend I was eating Sabrina's fries.

  "You want one?" She asked, holding out a sliver of salty potato nirvana.

  "Not worth the stomachache," I told her. "I'll stick to liquids. Well, Mike, you gonna say something or just lay there on my couch all night?" I said to the priest, who had been unsuccessfully hiding in my den when we came in.

  "You knew?" He asked, impressed.

  "I'm hungry. I smelled you from the top of the stairs. Been biting your nails to the quick again?"

  "An old habit I revert to in times of stress." He answered.

  "And this case has you stressed? That's sweet." I said.

  "I do have other things in my life, James. As much as it may amaze you, I do not live solely to be your daytime errand boy." There was an odd note in Mike's voice, but he waved aside my concerned look. "Don't listen to me; I'm just an old man up past my bedtime. But I am an old man with information."

  "Well spill, old man, let's hear about your fact-finding mission to the Witch's coven." I finished off my pints and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

  "You're not going to leave those on the counter, are you?" Greg asked as he sat down in the den.

  "Of course not." I said, taking the blood bags I was going to leave on the counter and throwing them away. That led to me realizing that the trash bag was full, which after a look from Sabrina led to me tying it up and putting a new bag in the can. Then, because by now all three of them were watching me and obviously judging me based on my domestic capabilities, I took the full bag upstairs to the dumpster behind our caretaker's cottage. After all that, and amidst much grumbling about th
e fact that Batman never had to take out the trash, I finally sat down with my warming beer and looked expectantly at Mike.

  "Well?" I asked. "You said you had information?"

  "Sorry. I had almost forgotten it, what with all your detours." He and the rest of the peanut gallery enjoyed a few yuks at my expense while I waited impatiently. After the chuckling had died down, Mike continued. "Anna and her friends have noticed an increase in magical energy in recent weeks, much of it centered north of Uptown."

  "There is a disturbance in the Force," I intoned gravely. Mike and Sabrina shot me a look and I shut up. At least Greg laughed.

  "Anyway," Mike went on. "According to the witches, there has been a great deal of powerful magic in use, and by several powerful practitioners. They fear that something dangerous may be on the horizon."