The Eville Protection Plan

by Holand Peterson

  “That’s the spirit!” Serene slapped the depressed man’s shoulder. “Now go clean up and change. Time to get this show on the road again.”

  Chapter 29- Let’s Make a Deal

  “And just where did you pick this up?” Alex stood in the motel parking lot, wearing his suit. Vega had explained earlier that he would ditch the stolen car. It never occurred to Alex that in the process the wily detective would steal yet another to replace it. This new vehicle appeared to be expensive, something of a luxury car, which actually made sense if they were to be posing as businessmen looking to ship illegal goods. “You know, I’m beginning to wonder about you, man.” Alex laughed as he entered the car. “Were you some kind of master criminal before joining the UEL?” Vega winked playfully, handed Alex his journal and started the engine. On the page before him was a list of instructions explaining who they were supposed to be, what not to say and the general plan in dealing with the trolls. Alex read over the notes several times as Vega drove along the streets, sometimes repeating certain things aloud.

  “Yeah, I think I’ve got it.” Vega had just given him a slightly concerned look. “I’ll just … uh … follow your lead.” The detective gave Alex’s shoulder a confident slap. “Hey, listen. I don’t know exactly how to say this … but … well … we’re really jumping into the deep end here. I mean, I love her and all, but I’m not so sure Serene’s stuff will work. Actually, there’s a good chance this crap melts skin or something even worse. This could be a really, really bad idea. In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, virtually all of Serene’s ideas are terrible. What if this whole thing goes south? What if this plan backfires and we find ourselves in the middle of troll-ville with all hell breaking loose?”

  Vega thought for a moment, sucking his teeth, then reached for the journal. With the book on his lap, Vega began to scribble on the page, his eyes darting to the road and then back down again. Alex read the messy words as the journal was handed back to him: “sometimes all can do trust friends, hope for best”. Alex nodded pensively, wondering if that was too much to ask when your leap of faith comes down to the creation of an unreliable madwoman.

  Before long, Vega pulled into a large, gated industrial complex on the outskirts of town. Two trolls stood guard at the entrance, but waved the vehicle forward after a quick look-over, not even bothering to question the newcomers. Many dozens of large vehicles could be seen within, some unloading, others loading and a few heading out of the complex heavy with cargo. Forklifts buzzed about, a handful of men wearing hard hats yelled to speak to each other above the noise and numerous trolls lifted, pulled and pushed heavy objects within the large warehouses. The busy workers paid little mind to the visitors, accustomed to businessmen and women from far and abroad coming and going on a regular basis. Vega slowly weaved his way through the hustle and bustle, finally reaching a small parking area in front of what surely had to be an office. Alex looked over his notes one final time, took a deep breath and followed the detective out of the car and through the office door.

  The small room they stood in now was surprisingly clean, with a handful of seating options. Behind a desk sat what Alex could only assume to be a female troll. Fabio had been right: she had to have been one of the most unattractive creatures he’d laid eyes on. The troll looked much the same as the males of her species, except somewhat smaller. Instead of workman’s clothes she wore a bright blue muumuu. Splotches of white were smeared on her cheeks and lips, presumably a form of makeup, and a small pink hat rested on her large head.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” The troll’s voice had no traces of femininity that Alex could tell, but she at least sounded friendly and was easy to understand.

  “Um, yes … we wish to speak with Mr. Grundhulm.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. No we don’t. But ah … we have … come with a business proposition that he’ll definitely want to hear.”

  “I see.” The secretary looked Alex over quietly, then sized up the tall silent fellow standing next to him. “And might I ask for your names?”

  “This is Mr. Manuel Picasso, and I am his assistant, Clark Kent.”

  The she troll pressed a button on her desk. “Sir, I have two humans here to see you, a Mr. Picasso and a Mr. Kent. Shall I send them in?”

  “Go ahead.” A deeper voice than the she troll’s echoed out from a small speaker.

  “Just through that door.” She motioned with a massive, three-fingered hand.

  “Thank you.” Alex bowed slightly and opened the door for Vega, allowing him to enter first.

  The two men walked down a handsomely carpeted hallway of earth tones. To the right and left great stones sat atop low pedestals. Onyx, amethyst, citrine and other quartz clusters glimmered under the meticulous lighting, like crystalline bouquets flowering out of priceless natural vases. As they approached the end of the hallway a door opened and they stepped into Mr. Grundhulm’s office. Here they saw the most impressive pieces of the troll’s collection, great slabs of sparkling rock stretching from floor to ceiling. The fossilized remains of bizarre creatures stood frozen in time, trapped forever in wall-mounted blocks of stone. In the center of the room sat a massive desk of petrified wood, polished to brilliance, and behind it a matching chair, far too large for a man.

  “Mr. Picasso, Mr. Kent, welcome.” The imposing troll sitting behind the desk possessed a voice so deep that a faint tremor shuddered through the room as he spoke. He gazed at the visitors with keen, intelligent eyes, betraying the oafish form of a troll. A handsome vest of gold barely covered his wide, heaving, bare chest. “I am Grundhulm, lord and master of everything that you see in this forgotten corner of the earth. You will notice my guard, Krandock, there in the corner who will help you remember this fact, lest you forget.” Grundhulm’s large hand slowly motioned to his troll bodyguard, an especially large specimen of the species. “You come before me to speak of a business proposition.”

  “Yes … yes, sir. That is correct.”

  “Please, sit down.” Grundhulm motioned with his hand again and the guard lifted two short stone stools and placed them before the desk, opposite his master. “Can I offer either of you a drink?”

  “Oh … um, no thanks. I’m good.” Alex looked over to Vega who also motioned “no” with his hand.

  “Your boss is a man of few words,” the troll stated.

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Picasso is unfortunately unable to speak, but that has not … um … hindered his ambitions.”

  “And what, pray tell, are Mr. Picasso’s ambitions … and how might they profit me?”

  “We need to have something shipped to Nanthera, quickly and discreetly. We have come to you specifically because Mr. Picasso believes you are the best in this particular line of work.”

  “That I am. And what is this ‘something’ which you need me to … discreetly transport for you?” Grundhulm looked at Vega as he asked the question, examining the Spaniard’s face closely. The detective merely stared back, emotionless.

  “We have … uh … live cargo. They must be handled with care and reach their final destination … as good as new.”

  Grundhulm leaned back in his seat unfazed. “We frequently transport such merchandise. But as you say, such cargo requires extra care. Living things are harder to conceal. More wheels may need to be greased along the way. Such a task would cost at least 75,000 UEL ‘souls.’ Is that going to be a problem?” Again the troll directed his question to Vega. The Spaniard smiled back slyly and pulled a handful of papers out from his coat, handed them to Alex and then motioned toward the troll. “I take it this is a problem, then?”

  “Well, that depends. We think you’d be very interested in these.” Alex handed the papers over and sat back down quickly. “This is something even better than 75,000.”

  Grundhulm took his time looking over Serene’s formula. How much of it he understood there was no way of knowing, but the troll did not appear overwhelmed. With his bulky, three-fingered
hands, Grundhulm flipped back and forth between the pages, grunting softly from time to time. “Well, this makes for extremely fascinating reading.” The troll carefully placed the papers atop his desk, then laid his hand down, pinning the pile with one of his fingers. “I can only assume that you have stolen this formula, which matters little to me. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing how many eyes have seen it before mine. For all I know a dozen other companies are producing it as we speak.”

  “This was taken directly from … from the individual who crafted it. We have not shown it to anyone else. I swear. If you can help us get our … package to Nanthera, Mr. Picasso is willing to give you this formula outright. It’s all yours. You could make millions off it in no time.”

  “Interesting.” Grundhulm stared at Vega, slowly thumping his finger on the formula. “Your merchandise must be valuable indeed if you are willing to part with this so easily—assuming that it works as promised. I almost wonder if the risk is worth the trouble. Unlike your little friend here, you are a difficult man to read, Mr. Picasso—which is certainly not your real name. Nor are you a businessman by profession. Yes, I know a UEL man when I see one, make no mistake. It’s a stink that cannot be washed off. You must be hard-pressed to come to me for aid, walking so brazenly into my domain. In fact, I’m willing to wager that a very fine profit could be had for you … from the right sort of people.”

  Alex felt his knees begin to wobble and saw in his mind everything falling apart before him. Without turning his head he glanced over to Vega. The detective remained as calm as always, making no effort to refute the accusation. Finally the man smirked, and reached into his coat. The troll bodyguard began to move forward, arms outstretched. But it was no weapon that Vega now held, but the jar of clear liquid. Confidently the detective stood up, never taking his eyes away from Grundhulm, stepped to the desk, placed the jar atop it and with his index finger pushed it to the center. Standing up, Vega’s eyes were now level with the troll’s, who looked back at him with great amusement. Grundhulm chuckled softly and rose from his chair. Now towering over Vega, he stared down at him with an intimidating stance, finger thumping the desk with a steady, unnerving thud. And there they stood, motionless, a man before a giant. Seconds ticked away and neither backed down. Finally the troll began to chuckle again, which grew into a great laugh, rattling everything in the room.

  “You have a spirit hard as granite, silent one. I have never met a man such as you. UEL or not, business is business.” Grundhulm placed a finger on the jar and pulled it toward himself, eyeing it with interest. “I can provide what you need. But first … I need a demonstration. Come here, Krandock.” As the guard lumbered over, Grundhulm pushed the jar back across the table and in front of Alex. “You will do it.”

  “Um … what?” Alex sat with his mouth open wide.

  “You shall administer this … potion.”

  “Oh … oh … sure. Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Alex picked up the jar and glanced at Vega, who offered no help.

  Slowly he walked around the desk to stand before Krandock, the jar held gently to his chest as if it could shatter with but a bat of an eyelash. The guard troll stood more than twice his height and who knows how many times his weight. “Hey there. How’s it going?” Alex smiled sheepishly at the menacing head high above. He could feel the hot exhalation from the creature’s nostrils blowing down onto his face. “So … like … I’m assuming you want this on the top of your head? Yes?” The troll did not reply. “Right. Right. In that case I’m going to need you to get lower. A lot lower, actually.” The troll eyed Alex suspiciously, and then sat down with a thud. “Okay, good. This is good. Right.” The troll’s mouth was so large that it could bite Alex’s head off with one chomp of its yellow teeth.

  “Do not use the entire potion,” Grundhulm commanded. “I want at least half of it left for my people to study.”

  “Okay. Yeah, no problem. A little goes a long way and all that.” Alex laughed nervously and began unscrewing the jar’s lid. “Do we have a sponge or something to apply this with?” He looked again to Vega who simply waved his hand in a nonchalant manner to start pouring.

  “Is something the matter, Mr. Kent?” Grundhulm asked impatiently.

  “No, no. I’ll make do. Just didn’t want to stain the floor, you know. You have such a nice office here.” Alex turned to look again at the sitting troll, who now appeared rather put out by the whole affair. “I’m still a bit short here. You know, why don’t you lean toward me and put your head down more toward the floor? Yeah. That’s great.” Gingerly Alex ran his unsteady fingers along the top of the troll’s dry, scaly crown. “Here goes. And as a bit of warning … this may sting a little.”

  Even with the troll bent down as it was, Alex had to stretch on his tiptoes to get the jar sufficiently high to begin pouring. One big breath and he poured out a small splash of the liquid. As soon as the deed was done, Alex stepped back, screwed the lid back on and waited for all hell to break loose.

  “Do you feel anything?” Grundhulm asked earnestly. The guard troll did not reply, but simply sat there with an expectant look, eyes rolling back and forth. Slowly it lifted a hand and tapped its head lightly, feeling for some manner of change.

  “To be honest, I’m not one hundred percent sure on how long it takes for the effects to kick in.” Alex took two more steps back. “You might even need more than one application to see the desired effects and all that.”

  “You are not leaving this office until I see results,” Grundhulm growled.

  “Wait!” The guard troll held up his hand. “I feel something. It tickles.” Along the scalp where Alex had poured the solution thick foam began to form. The froth grew thicker and thicker, rolling down the troll’s face, sputtering and popping. For a brief moment a great smile formed, only to quickly descend into a howling rage. The troll bellowed and thrashed about the floor, hands clawing the top of his head in agony.

  “You lying sons of harpies!” Grundhulm stood up and pounded his fist against the desk. “How dare you come before me bearing this poison, lying to my face!”

  “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Alex squealed, circling around the writhing troll. “Oh my god! I said it would sting, right? Oh man, oh man. I’m sure the effects will pass really soon. Just hang in there a bit.”

  The troll pounded its fists into the ground, roaring wildly. Either the pain began to subside somewhat or his anger grew stronger, because the creature stopped, reached forward and grabbed Alex with one hand. He lifted the young man off the ground and began shaking violently. “I’ll crush every bone in your body, you filthy maggot—”

  “Stop!” Grundhulm commanded. The great troll no longer appeared angry, but instead full of wonder. “I’ll be damned. Put that man down, Krandock.”

  Alex toppled to the ground as Krandock released his grip. Sprawled on the floor he gazed up in a panic. Grundhulm leaned over his guard, running two great fingers back and forth along his head. Sure enough, a patch of sickly yellow-green weeds had begun sprouting from the medicated area.

  Finally wrenching his attention away from the miracle before him, Grundhulm clapped his hands and laughed. “You men have yourselves a deal.”

  Chapter 30- Crated

  With Grundhulm convinced that a veritable fortune had just landed in his lap, the great troll was more than willing to assist the two men. In fact, accommodating their needs turned out to be much easier than he originally let on. Grundhulm made deliveries direct to Nanthera at least twice a week, depositing goods at a lucrative black market. Early tomorrow morning a truck would swing by the rear of the motel and load up the “live cargo,” along with “Mr. Picasso” and “Mr. Kent” who would ride in the back with the “merchandise.” After arriving at the Nanthera black market, all they would need do is acquire some manner of transportation, which Vega seemed little concerned about. Finally, the entire group could head directly for the first UEL checkpoint and their journey would come to an end.

  Upon returni
ng to the motel, Alex explained the plan to his friends while Vega took off in search of a crate large enough to hold the inventor, hunchback and goblin. The detective didn’t return until very late that night, bearing a sizable wooden crate with thin spaces between boards, allowing the passengers to breathe while also concealing their identities. Unfortunately, the crate’s previous cargo must have been some manner of bird, as the interior was littered with black and grey feathers, as well as a distinctive, unpleasant odor. Adding to the pungent aroma, Vega placed part of an old mattress on the flooring to provide at least a minimal amount of comfort. Additionally, the dimensions were such that Moody and Fabio could stand up straight or stretch out on the floor, but Serene would have to remain seated or curled up for the entire trip. As expected, a great deal of complaining issued from all destined to be trapped inside, but there were no other options and eventually each became resigned to his or her fate.

  At 4:00 in the morning Serene, Moody and Fabio trudged out of the motel room and piled into the crate. To simulate the natural day and night cycle, despite the fact that the town was deep underground, the majority of the lights in the area were dimmed or turned off altogether. Plenty of darkness concealed their activity behind the motel, and Vega’s sharp senses did not detect any unwanted onlookers nearby.

  “Vega says we should be there in four or five hours, but just in case you get hungry …” Alex handed Moody a bag containing the last of their food and a canister of water. “Just don’t eat or drink too much. We won’t be stopping for bathroom breaks.”

  “You don’t say?” Moody grunted, shoving her face into the bag to see its contents.

  “Well, um … we’ll be right next to you guys at all times … so … everything should be, you know …”

  “Oh, chill out, little man. And don’t even think of getting all mushy on me. It’s way too early in the morning for this crap.”