by J. E. Keep
Despite his earlier pace, he suddenly seemed quite eager to stop and talk to her.
“What? Ya want an invitation to tha latest party? Is that it?” he asked. Giving a snort, he reached up and rubbed at his chin. “Well ya ain’t my type, but if yer so insistent maybe we could head out on a date somewheres...”
She rolls her eyes, moving away in the direction that he had earlier been glancing in.
“Fuck you,” she snarled, loud enough for him to hear as she muscled through the crowd. God damn it why didn't the people fear her like they should? Should have killed him right then and there, but she had things to do. Her stupid boss to protect.
With her stomping off towards the center of town, the strange looking orc paused before tromping off after her, “Hey! Lookit me while I'm talkin'!” He was raising his voice loud—too loud—and the orcs who were behind him earlier all peered back now, much further ahead, and taking off at a quicker pace through the crowds.
Well, at least she knew she was on the right track — and right about how she should have shot him, fucking loud mouth prick.
She moved as fast as she could, butting people out of the way with her shotgun and elbows, hating the feel of the bodies pressing up against her.
The orcs ahead of her were pumping their thick legs fast, putting on a good chase. But fortune was gradually, begrudgingly, favouring her. The big, blocky orcs were smacking into a few too many others, slowing their progress gradually until she was nearly caught up with them.
The crowds were too thick to shoot safely quite yet. She cursed the fact that people not rushing out of her way as they should have. The orcs wore big, long trench coats that only added to their blockiness and she quickly suspected they were hiding something beneath their coats.
She kept up her pace, not bothering to shout out to them. She snarled and sneered as she made her way through the crowd. She came closer, within firing distance, but she still didn't pause until the shot was sure. Her shotgun only held two shots, but if she was careful and could get to her pistol quickly enough, she felt confident she could take out all three, then go back for the shirtless one afterwards.
The shot rang out through the streets, so many of those around ducking or running out of the way at the sound as finally the crowd reacted to her presence. Screams and yells echoed out as the bloody impacts came. One of their heads became bloody pulp, then her gun aimed towards the next. That shot went a little awry as the orc veered away, but it clipped the top of his head enough to tear open his skull.
He was done for.
She tossed her spent shotgun down and went for her pistol. It took time to aim for the remaining orc, because he was weaving through the crowd. Thankfully most of the bystanders knew to get down and duck out of the way, but not all got the memo and so she kept waiting for the right opportunity...
And then the final orc fell to the ground, bleeding out quickly from another shot to the head. For all that Zwi was, an excellent shot was top of the list.
The three orcs, headless in the streets before her, toppling down in bloody messes.
A stray orc woman seemed to catch a bit of shot in her leg, though judging by the way she yelped, it was nothing serious. Collateral damage.
She moved towards the corpses, not giving much of a glance to the poor woman caught in the fray. Instead, she tugged the body of the nearest orc over onto his back, opening his trench coat to see just what he had in mind for the morning.
The orc woman — and the others for that matter too — all slowly seemed to go back to their usual doings. She was still well within her section of the city, and even those who didn't know her by name, knew by looks to stay out of such enforcement business. Pulling the one orc over and searching his trench coat, she found strapped and bulging from the inner pockets, explosives. Crude, makeshift pipe bombs in abundance.
She rolled her gaze over his body, cursing slightly. She should have brought a bag to dispose of them in. It wouldn't do to have someone else get pissed off and take them. She slowly went about the careful business of disarming them, breaking them down into bits and taking the important pieces with her, bundled in one of the stolen trench coats, to dispose of along the way. She wondered if there were more.
Other than the strangely coloured orc that was, who was nowhere to be seen amid the ruckus.
She saw nothing more out of the ordinary amidst the throngs of people on their way to work. The sun was well up now, and businesses were opening along the trashy street, young kids beginning to spill out to play along the sidewalks.
Another job well done with no one to thank her for it.
Chapter 6
Zwi was beginning to feel slightly at ease or, at the very least, bored. It was hard for her to tell at this point. She started back toward the apartment complexes, having reloaded her shotgun and readying herself for any other visionaries.
The crowds began to thin a little again as people arrived at work and began to busy themselves with such things. Nearing the building the slight clack of hooves could be heard again, however, and Zwi let out a sigh of frustration.
“Hey!” the soft sound of the boyish voice was heard, “Hey lady!”
She turned around to look at the boy with a distinct look of annoyance.
“I already gave you money, kid. You can't bleed me dry,” she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. There was no gratitude there in her tone for the information he’d earlier provided.
Waving a hand in the air the boy pushed through to her, looking a bit excited. “Did'ja catch up to 'em, lady?” He might be the only member of her fan club.
“Yea,” she said, “They're dead. So make sure not to try to piss me off, alright, kid?”
The guy’s oval eyes widened, their dark grin awash with awe.
“Dead? So that like... means I'm sort of, ah... like your deputy, huh?” He grinned up at her, a slight hint of two sharpened fangs there.
“Yea,” she sneered, “Best paying gig in the city. So. Deputy. Anything else going on I should know about?” She figured that was the easiest way to get him to relax and stop pestering her.
Stepping up beside her, the new deputy swung and coiled his dark little tail about.
“Deputy Dwate, ma'am,” he said with a light laugh. “And well,” he reached up, scratching at the side of his head, “Nothin' yet. But I'll keep my eyes open for ya, you can be sure of that!” He seemed quite pleased with his new role.
“Yea,” she paused, looking down at the youngling as though it were the first time, her eyes drinking him in slowly as she gave him a nod. “If you get me something that pans out, I'll see what I can do for your sister, alright?”
He did help her get the orcs. Well, she would have found them anyways, she told herself, but that way was faster.
His smile became a wide, open-mouthed grin, sharp little teeth showing as he looked up at her excitedly. Brushing some of his thick, shaggy hair from his eyes he nodded sternly.
“Yes ma'am! You can count on me.” Leaning in close, he muttered a little quieter, “Folks say all kind of things around me, truth be told. I don't think they give a crap what I know.”
“Well, why would they?” she said, less of a question, and more of a statement. “Go see what you can rustle up. Try to earn some money on the side, too,” she said lightly.
Dwate nodded to her again, “Always do, ma'am!” he said, clip-clopping away with a slight skip to his step, much cheerier after their latest talk it seemed.
She looked toward her apartment complex, wondering if the elf had taken off yet. Or if he disappeared in the dead of night, disappointed at his whoring abilities.
Always discuss payment before orgasm.
Instead of checking on Hugh, however, she went towards the bar with her shotgun held loosely at her side.
The place was not particularly crowded. Sure, there were the usual early morning drinkers, many of whom would also be the midday drinkers, the afternoon, and even evening drinkers. The bartender wa
s a slender fellow, a mix of the bronzed natives and perhaps elf, though the elf was minor if that's what it was. He had a dark skin, short black hair, red eyes and busied himself with tidying up mostly, the drinkers at this hour mostly moving slowly.
Aside from him, the only other noteworthy or familiar face was the self-proclaimed Gremlin, Frellen, back in a booth at the far side of the establishment, dressed same as ever, looking quite alert.
She looked toward Frellen, then to the bar, moving up into the stool. She was a familiar face there, of course, and she liked to think she could draw attention when she needed to. She cleared her throat, resting her shotgun on the bar, her finger near the trigger.
“I need a beer and some information, not in that order,” she said gruffly. She wasn't really even interested in the beer but, well, information wasn't free, of course.
The bartender, she knew, didn't own the place. Nobody but the big shots really owned anything in the city. He gave her a once over, taking his time cleaning a mug before moving to one of the brass spigots and beginning to pour her a beer.
“You'll have to be more specific,” he said in a dry tone.
“Anyone talking about anything this morning?” she asked, grabbing the beer with her opposing hand, looking at him with a scrutinizing gaze. “Any violence taking place?”
Shooting her a curious look from beneath his ridged brow, he shook his head slowly.
“I only just opened up, truthfully. Business is a bit slower'n usual. Which is rare. But it's not by a lot.” Waiting by her, he held out a hand, expecting payment.
She sighed in annoyance, moving between her breasts and taking out the appropriate change — no tip — then taking her beer and her gun over to Frellen's table, sliding into his booth and giving him a long look over,
“Did you sleep at all?”
Frellen, the tall man that he was, let his narrow eyes move to her casually. He always seemed keenly aware of what was going on. Upon close inspection, his white shock of hair that sprang back between his ears at an upward angle, looked nothing like hair at all. It was more like thin tubes, resembling bamboo shoots, appearing hard and bristly as they came to their tips.
His nose was a little flat along the bridge, but came to a triangular tip, and his grey face seemed to show traces of old, faded light-teal tattoos, all giving him a very unique appearance among the people of the city. His voice was almost attractive, deep and rich, very velvety, but it was tinged with a bit of a displeased sound.
“I don't believe in sleep. Cuts into your profits,” he said. If it was a joke, he showed no signs of laughing or smiling at it.
“Yea, you look like you're making a fortune in here,” she said, taking her first sip of the sludge, making a face. She bet her boss didn't need to drink anything that tasted so much like urine soaked mud. She put it back to the table with displeasure, her eyes looking along his.
“You disagree with my actions last night?” she asked. It was mostly just conversation — she didn't really care if he did or not — but she was bored and had never taken the time to talk to him before. He stayed out of her business, she stayed out of his.
His eyes — narrow and almost rectangular with their odd shape — moved to her, the blackness of their gaze studying her closely.
“You'd be surprised how early people start looking for my services in this place,” he said. Taking a moment, he shrugged his shoulders beneath his thick leather duster. “You got rid of that pompous ass, so job well done, I suppose. No complaints.”
She nodded, giving him a brief once over, pushing her mug around the table idly. “Anyone looking for any services today?” she looked him over briefly, then rested on his eyes. “Anyone looking for violence this morning?”
Arching a hairless brow, he gave her a strange look.
“I don't deal in that kind of service. Don't you know?” He asked her with some tinge of surprise that pierced his normally professional facade.
Her brows furrowed back at him.
“Well, I haven't need for your services. You just looked like the most likely person in here that'd know what was going on this morning.”
Shrugging, he looked away, peering out over the bar a moment.
“Well if you haven't need of my services, then you're perhaps alone in this whole rotten city. And I normally keep my head down, mind my own business.”
She rolled her eyes. “You certainly didn't seem to have your head down last night,” she retorted.
Peering back at her, he managed to crack a light smile with his thin, greyish-white lips.
“Well, even the best of us find trouble crosses our path now and then, no? All the more reason to mind our own business the rest of the time. Was as fair a game as any, besides. Can't blame me for the fellow’s misfortune.”
“I'm sure I can't,” she said, offering him the mug. “Well, hope you make some cash today.” She shifted out of the bench as easily as she had slid in.
As she rose up, however, he reached an arm up from under the table, a hand pushing out across the surface.
“Hold on.” His fingers were long — a tad longer than normal — and he strummed them on the table another moment. With a shrug of his head gesturing her back into the seat he waited.
She looked at him, considering for a moment before she slipped back down into the bench.
“Yes?” she asked.
Maintaining his casual facade he continued to speak to her quite normally.
“You've never meddled with me, so consider it a token of my appreciation.” He glanced to her, those nearly pure black eyes bored into her.
She stared back, a few strands of her long white bangs threatening to drop into her view but never daring to.
“Go on,” she said softly, her voice less gruff than usual.
“There was some talk earlier. A few early shows, a band of orcs. Four of them. One looking quite odd. They seemed intent on causing mischief.” He pursed his lips and waited for her reaction.
She nodded, and her face lightened slightly. Hey, valid information was valid, even if it was a little late reaching her. At least she knew she could trust his information.
“Do you know where the odd one lives? He from town?” Zwi asked.
“Lives?” he asked, shaking his head a bit, “No. But he, like everyone, buys from me. I could maybe find a way to let you know of when he's been by. But it will have to be done carefully. My customers won’t stand for knowing I'd rat them out.” Pausing, he eyed her over, “On second thought. That's likely too great a risk.”
“Of course,” she said, moving from the bench once more and offering him a rare, tight lipped smile, “All gotta make a living. If anyone else feels rioty today, though, I'd appreciate if you tried to talk'em down.” She pulled her shotgun off the table, “Thanks for lettin' me know what you have already.”
Giving a slow nod to her, his eyes flicked to a tall, lanky troll waiting off to the side. Unseen before now, he seemed fidgety, anxious, and obviously waiting to see the strange, pale man she was speaking with. Eager for his time and whatever services he was offering didn't seem to describe his apparent lack of ease.
“Of course. Good luck with your enforcement.” Frellen gave her a sardonic smile.
“Good l—” she paused, ending off at that and giving him a nod, moving toward the door as the troll scurried to take her place. Breaking out into the harsh light of day, she squinted against the brightness, inhaling the fresher air.
Chapter 7
Back out into the bright, hot desert sun, she saw the streets were a little slower, lunch approaching. Her little cloven-hooved informant sat up against a wall across the street, tin pan in one hand as he waved to her with the other.
“Making any money, kid?” she asked.
Shaking his head, his long shaggy hair rustled about his dark brownish-red skin.
“Nah, everyone's tight with their coin today... tighter'n usual!”
He smiled up at her from his position sat upon th
e ground, back pressed to the wall as his long, slender, hooved legs were pressed out at the knees to the side around the tin he held there.
“Seems everyone's upset about some new increase.”
“They'll get used to it before you know it. Don't worry 'bout it,” she said, though she didn’t know why she'd bother reassuring him, “I'm gonna patrol around. Stay outta people's way.”
“How'm I gonna earn any coin like that?” he called after as she set off.
She shrugged, smirking to herself for a moment before wiping it away and squaring her shoulders. Another few hours of this and she'll get some sweet time alone. Maybe her boss would even give her a bonus. She did save him from being blown up, after all...
She tried to blink back the thoughts of him 'rewarding' her, but it was never far from her mind.
The next few hours proved rather uneventful — or as uneventful as days ever seemed for her. Sure, there was the usual crap, the harmless scuffles that were normal among such brutes, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary until passing by one of the shops and saw two orc women shoving and seeming to pull at a loaf of bread together. But as she came in sight, the one gave her a hard glare, which seemed to distract her long enough for the other woman to take the bread and run. Upon closer inspection, it was the woman she had hit with some shotgun spread earlier.
Zwi took in a deep breath. No use causing hate for her where there needn't be hate. She frowned as she moved closer to the orc woman, sizing her up quickly, her shotgun held at her side.
“Your wound alright?” Zwi asked.
The woman gave an irritated grumble, sputtering a bit as she limply chased the other woman, shouting, “Gimme back that bread, Larga!”
Zwi shrugged her shoulders, unfazed by it. Hey, if bread was more important than she was, all the better. She moved onward to her patrolling.
Chapter 8
The afternoon went by swiftly, evening approaching as she patrolled around. Sunset indicated the city would mostly be winding down from work, and the bars would fill again, and alcohol would likely lead to trouble.
