I raised an eyebrow and Alex laughed at me. "Remember, Mr. Black, fairy, not pansy. I know my way around a pistol."
"Noted." I said with a grin. All geared up, we split into separate cars and headed out for a little party crashing. Just before I walked upstairs, I reached back into the closet and grabbed Milandra's sword. It had come in handy once already, no sense in leaving it behind.
Chapter 28
We got to the meeting place a couple of hours early and split up according to the plan. Stephen and I got into Greg's car and rolled slowly into the parking lot, while Sabrina and Greg went in the front door on foot. Not for the first time, I wished for those snazzy in-ear two-way radios that you see on all the cop shows, but as it was, we just made sure our cell phones all showed roughly the same time, and then went for it. The big roll-up door at the loading dock was open, with a pair of trolls flanking the opening. They weren't dressed like the other ones we'd seen here, in normal clothes and long coats. These guys were decked out in full leather armor, with chain mail pieces, helmets, giant battle-axes and war paint. It looked like some comic book version of what a troll warrior was supposed to look like. They would have seemed ridiculous if they weren't nine feet tall with wickedly sharp axes.
I got out of the car and walked up to the steps beside the dock, Stephen in tow. The smarter-looking of the two trolls (and let me tell you, that's a race to the bottom if I've ever heard of one) held out a hand and reached behind his back. I tensed and put a hand on my Glock, but relaxed when he brought out an iPad. "Are you on the list?" he rumbled. In his giant mitt, the iPad looked like a Barbie phone, but he managed to scroll down a list of members or something.
Seriously, does everybody have an iPad except me? I gotta start charging more, or eat a Best Buy manager. "Probably not. I brought the fairy you've been looking for." I gestured back at Stephen, who did that shimmer thing and revealed his true form. "Now, let me talk to your boss."
"No way, vamp. Give us the fairy, and we won't crush your head. But you don't get to see the boss." The dimmer-witted troll (and that’s a race to the bottom if I’ve ever heard of one) was looking very confused by all this talking, and he started forward, axe in hand. His partner waved him back and said "Gorton wants to smash you. Give me the fairy, and I won't let him."
"As much as I appreciate you looking out for my well-being, I think I'll pass. Now call your boss and I won't blow off anything you're fond of." I pulled my Glock and pointed it at an area just south of his belt buckle. He got the point, but his friend Gorton didn't. As soon as he saw the gun, he raised the axe and charged. Stephen suddenly got over his fear of firearms and put five shells of double-ought buckshot in the troll's chest, and it went down in a spray of green flesh and black blood, axe clattering across the pavement. That wouldn't kill a troll, no matter how much I could wish, but he'd be out of the fight.
"Now," I said, keeping the Glock trained on the other troll's most prized possession. "About that whole 'seeing the boss' thing?"
He looked over at Gorton, then back at the pair of us, and motioned for us to follow him into the warehouse. Since no one else had come running when Stephen went all Rambo on the troll, I figured Sabrina and Greg had taken care of the rest of the guards. I nodded to Stephen, who had finished reloading, and we walked into the dark warehouse after the troll.
I paused just outside the door to listen for heartbeats, breathing, guns cocking - anything that would give away that somebody on the other side of the door was going to put a couple rounds in my head as soon as I crossed the threshold, but I heard nothing. Our guide led us through a maze of shelving to a big open area where a cage had been set up with bleachers and lights all around it. I looked around in a circle, trying to reconcile the arena-sized interior of the building with the warehouse-sized exterior.
Stephen saw my puzzlement and chuckled. "Magic, Jimmy. The building is bigger on the inside than on the outside."
"How?" I asked. "That doesn't make any sense?"
"I did mention magic, didn't I? It never makes any sense except to the spell caster, and they're all a little bit crazy. Keep your eyes open, this is going too well."
"That's what I was thinking. I hope the others are okay." Just then the troll reached the far wall of the open area, and knocked on a door. The door clicked open, and he gestured for us to go inside.
"Boss is in there. I gotta go help Gorton pick buckshot out of his lung. That wasn't very nice, shooting him." He looked at Stephen reproachfully.
"It wasn't very nice of him to try to cut me in half." Stephen replied calmly.
"He's not very smart. He saw guns and got angry. It happens." The troll shrugged a shoulder the size of a VW bug and walked past us back the way we came. I looked at Stephen, who looked back at me and shrugged himself. That seemed to just about cover the situation, so I shrugged back at him, and walked in the door.
We stepped into an office that looked nothing like anything I expected. It looked more like a cross between a library and an armory, with melee weapons of all shapes and sizes on stands and on hangers all over one wall, all showing signs of heavy use. Two walls were taken over by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled with books that all looked very old and leather-bound. The books also showed signs of heavy use, and the room even had one of those rolling ladders on a track circling three walls to provide access to the upper shelves and the highest weapons. The fourth wall was taken up by a bank of flat-screen televisions, some showing news feeds, some showing movies, and several showing closed-circuit security camera feeds from around the building. I pointed to one screen that showed Gorton lying on the loading dock while his compatriot picked buckshot out of him with a pocketknife. Of course, a troll's pocketknife would be a human short sword, so it wasn't a simple operation. Somehow I still couldn't find it in myself to feel bad for the guy.
Seated in one luxurious chair in front of the bank of television screens was the last thing I would have expected. Sipping on amber liquid from a crystal glass was a fairy. He wasn't nearly as good-looking as the other fairies I had met, with pinched features and beady dark eyes, with slightly greasy hair pulled back into a tight ponytail but he was unmistakably a fairy. The chiseled jawline, ridiculously high cheekbones and angular slant of the eyes would have been clues even if I didn't see the pointed ears right away. He looked a lot like someone took everything that made the Fae so annoyingly attractive, and then dropped those features on a third-string mobster. Great, I thought. We get to bring down the Joe Pesci of the fairy world.
I didn't say anything, and neither did Stephen. I just walked over to the wet bar behind his little seating area, poured myself a drink, and took a seat. Stephen passed on the drink, but sat in a chair off to one side. After a long few moments, our host finally looked over at us and said, "You two have cost me a great deal of money, and two trolls. That bill will have to be settled." He looked at me and his dark eyes glittered. "I have heard of you, vampire. I am not impressed."
"Sorry to disappoint. If I'd known I was meeting fans today, I would have put on clean socks." I finished my drink and continued. "Nice Scotch. Now stop hunting fairies."
"Or?" The greasy Fae asked, one eyebrow shooting north almost to his receding hairline. I've always wanted to be able to do that, but regardless of the hours spent practicing in the mirror, I can never get only one eyebrow to go up. Of course now I can’t even practice in front of a mirror, so for all I know I mastered the art years ago and just don’t know it. I somehow doubt it. So instead of looking bemused, or sardonic, or some other fifty-cent word, I just end up looking surprised.
"There's no 'or'," Stephen answered while I was contemplating eyebrows. "Just stop. Simple as that."
"Well, my dear ballerina, I fear there is nothing simple about it. You see, gentlemen, I make a great deal of money from our little enterprise here, and as I rather like money, and what it can buy me, I doubt I'll just decide to stop out of the goodness of my heart. Besides, I enjoy it." He leaned back in his chair, a
nd picked up a remote control. "Take a look, you might find yourself hooked." He pressed a few buttons on the remote, and the lights in the room dimmed. A projection screen lowered from the ceiling, and images flickered to life.
We sat there as a greatest hits montage of fairy/troll combat rolled across the screen. I saw all the beating victims in one state of combat or another, from standing triumphant over a fallen troll to bouncing off the canvas with blood oozing from eyes, ears and mouth. In every shot one thing was constant - the crowd was going absolutely nuts. No matter who won, the crowd screamed with a frenzy that one usually only sees at NASCAR crashes.
Our host spun back around and looked levelly at us. "As you can well imagine, there is a significant amount of money wagered on these events. And no matter who wins the fight, the real winner is always the house. As I am the house, I do not intend to give up that revenue stream. So it seems we are at an impasse. And if you are not here to fight in tonight's event, it seems I must go recruit another combatant."
"Like your monster tried to 'recruit' me?" Stephen spat.
"Precisely. Given our recuperative capabilities, had you been a little less resistant, we could have knocked you unconscious, brought you here and put you through a full bout without anyone ever being the wiser. Now look at all the problems you have created." He put down his glass and steepled his fingers. "What could I ever do to convince you that it would be in your best interests to participate in tonight's event? Oh, I have an idea!"
I didn't like the sound of that. I hate it when the bad guys have ideas. I hate it even more when they smile about those ideas. Our nameless little friend picked up his remote again, and the screen withdrew back into the ceiling. On the center monitor was exactly what I was afraid I'd see - an image of a troll carrying an unconscious Alex in through the loading dock door. Our host looked up at us, wearing a smile colder than the winter wind outside, and asked, "Now, what weapon would you prefer?"
Chapter 29
Stephen drew both daggers and started for the fairy behind the desk, but I held him back. "I don't think that's going to do Alex any favors."
"Quite correct, Mr. Black. What has this world come to when a bloodsucking fiend is the voice of reason? Now, Stephen, our bout begins in just a few hours, so I suggest you go to the locker room and prepare yourself. I think for tonight's meeting, we shall showcase the unarmed fighting skills of the Fae." He leaned back and smiled again, reaching for his glass.
His hand never got there, freezing as an enormous crash echoed through the warehouse. Gunshots and screams rattled the walls as the cavalry appeared on the monitor, Greg and Sabrina blasting their way through a horde of trolls on their way to rescue Alex. Our oily friend reached into his pocket, but I was behind the desk with one hand on his wrist and the other lifting him by his throat before he could withdraw his hand. Stephen stared at me, mouth open. I'm fast when I need to be, and this was his first time seeing it. "Take your hand out of your pocket. Very slowly. And if it's not empty, I'm going to rip it off and drink you dry from the shoulder."
He looked down at me and I don't know if it was the fangs or the look in my eye, but he complied. I was a little disappointed; having developed a taste for fairy blood over in Never-NeverLand that I figured was now never going to be sated. I looked back at the monitors, then at Stephen. "Go ahead, kick a little troll booty and rescue your husband. No point letting the cop and the bloodsuckers have all the fun." He turned and ran out to join the fray like a kid running into the living room on Christmas morning. I wondered for a second how his new bloodthirst was going to go over with the other guys in Nutcracker, but then turned my attention to the matters at hand.
I dropped the fairy into his chair and sat on the edge of his desk. "Now that we're alone, I don't have to be nice."
"I wasn't aware that you were on your best behavior when you threatened to rip my arm off." He replied, rubbing his throat.
"If I wasn't on my best behavior, I wouldn't have given you the option to keep the arm." I knocked back the last swallow of his scotch, then continued. "What's your name?"
"Not that I owe you anything, vampire, but I am called Leonard."
"Okay, Lenny, who's your boss?"
"I am."
"You know I can hear your heartbeat, right? I know when you're lying." I leaned in like I was listening close. "Yup, big old fibber. Now let's try this again." I punched him in the chest, cracking a couple of ribs in the process. "Who. Is. The. Boss?"
He coughed hard, and rubbed his chest where I'd just left a handprint as a souvenir. "I run the show here."
"That's not what I'm asking," I said, as I backhanded him, hard. Both lips split and a thin line of blood arced out to splatter on the desk blotter. "I'm asking who is the boss. And I'm going to run short on time soon, because my friends don't approve of me beating people up. So stop dancing around, and just tell me what I want to know." This time I punched downward, breaking his nose and sliding it sideways across his face. Blood poured down the front of his shirt and I was really starting to have trouble not eating him when I heard him mumble something.
"What?" I said, yanking his head up. He grinned at me, his face a mask of blood. "What's so funny?" Having a little trouble speaking, he stretched out a hand and pointed behind me. I turned, and let his head drop as I caught sight of the monitors. The fighting was all over, with Stephen and Alex sharing a tender moment and Greg and Sabrina high-fiving. But that wasn't the only thing on the monitors, and it wasn't the most important thing, either. In the center monitor, coming through the front door, was a pair of fairies that looked like stereotypical martial arts movie bad guys. They had the long ponytails, long coats, no shirts, and most importantly, they had pistols pointed at Mike's back as he preceded them into the warehouse.
"Crap." I said, letting go of Lenny's ponytail. His head bobbed loosely for a second before he regained control of himself and stood up. He was recovering pretty quickly - I guess fairies do heal fast.
"Crap, indeed, vampire." He turned his head to the side and spit a gobbet of blood onto the floor. "Now I'm going to have to clean the carpets. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of carpets?"
"You should ScotchGard. And yeah, I know exactly how hard it is to get blood out of carpets. Try hardwood sometime, you never get everything out of the cracks." I got a smile out of him with that at least. Then I realized that he wasn't smiling because I was funny, he was smiling because he had a very large pistol pointed at my chest.
"Have you ever wondered whether anything other than a wooden stake through the heart could kill you, vampire?" He asked with a nasty grin. Then he shot me in the left leg, and I went down like a scrawny sack of potatoes.
I lay writhing on his floor for a minute before I looked up at him and said, "this isn't going to help with your cleaning bill."
"I'm pretty sure they'll give me a rate just to do the whole room." He said, still smiling, and shot my other leg, this time through the calf, because I was hunched over my thighs. It felt a lot like I'd imagined getting shot would feel. In other words it hurt. A whole lot. It felt a little bit like getting smashed in the leg with a hammer, if the hammer drove a burning coal all the way through my leg.
Lenny was standing over me by this point, and he used one foot to roll me over so I was lying flat on my back. He put one foot on my right shoulder to hold me in place, and then sighted along the barrel. "Now," he said, "I asked you if you'd ever wondered whether anything other than a wooden stake through the heart could kill you? I mean, legends are old, and there probably weren't guns when the legends first came about. So maybe we just need to conduct a scientific experiment. I know! I'll shoot you, right through the heart, and if you heal, then it will take a wooden stake. If you die, then the legends are wrong."
He stretched out his arm and I thought about how many vampire legends were wrong - garlic, holy water, churches - all that stuff dead wrong. Sunlight did in fact burn like a champ, but we'd never experimented with the stake or fi
re thing. Same with decapitation - we just figured those killed pretty much anything, so no reason to think we were exempt. Now it looked like I was going to find out the hard way. The greasy little fairy reached up, crunched his nose back into place, spat another big glob of blood onto my shirt, and then shot me right through the heart.
Chapter 30
I woke up hanging from the ceiling of the warehouse, hurting in places I wasn't even really sure were places. I tried to look around, but moving my head made me want to puke, and I thought that barfing while swinging from my wrists might be a bad idea. And it certainly wasn't going to do any favors for my poor wardrobe, which was already blood-soaked and perforated. When I was finally able to lift my head, I saw Greg hanging opposite me, with Stephen also swinging from the rafters across the room. Sabrina and Mike were tied back to back on the floor, and Alex was tied to a folding chair. All of them looked to be in some state of disrepair, and I had a brief flash of fierce pride in my friends knowing that we didn't go down easy. I heard the rumble of a crowd outside the room we were in and knew we were still backstage at fight night.
Black Knight 02 - Back in Black Page 14
