by Martha Carr
“Smile at it, Hagan. Let it know you’re friendly.”
Hagan did his best version of a smile, resisting the urge to pull his weapon. The troll trilled and mirrored his smile at him.
“Clearly, Mickey is not attached to my emotions and is not always good at reading the room. Geez, is that what I look like when I smile?”
The troll leaped out of Leira’s pocket, grabbed Hagan’s moustache, and started licking his face.
“Holy crap!” yelled Hagan, not sure how to get the troll to let go. “What the fuck is it doing?”
“Yum, fuck,” said the troll, then dropped down on the seat, sitting between them.
“What you get for smashing doughnuts in your face. I think Mickey licked off the rest of the icing for you,” Leira smiled.
“That’s not his real name, you know.”
“What, you have a better idea?” She asked, glancing over at him.
“Yeah, it’s obvious,” he shrugged. “It’s Yumfuck. Look, he loves it!”
“He loves the doughnut.” She couldn’t help herself, smiling at the troll, who was happily licking his little paws.
“Yumfuck Tiberius Troll. That’s his name,” Hagan said, satisfied. “What? Gives it a little polish. Who doesn’t love James T.?”
“You are too much,” said Leira. Worry quickly returned to her face. “I need to research Somers without getting caught before I go on leave. Any thoughts on that?”
“When are you taking off? You only have a couple of days left and you don’t know where he is right now. He’s in this world, right?”
“Yeah, that’s why they needed me. Non-magical detective for hire. Apparently, their magic doesn’t translate very well here. Magic leaves a trace they can follow, humans don’t. Go figure. They needed a professional who knows how to detect the non-magical way.”
“There’s the whole getting caught and not being human part too,” said Hagan. “That has to have crossed their minds.”
“You’re not quite buying all of this, are you?” asked Leira, glancing at him as she pulled into the precinct’s parking lot.
“Hard to completely deny with the small green-haired friend here. But, not entirely wrapping my arms around the idea that there’s a whole other world and my kids’ movies with flying carpets is real. Was there a little mermaid too?”
“I didn’t see a carpet or a mermaid but I’m not the expert on Oriceran. Frankly, they got tired of my questions pretty quickly.”
“When you ask the Captain tell him it’s a family thing. You need a few days off. Be vague,” he said, waving his hand.
“Vague,” squeaked the troll, waving arms in the air.
“I think Yumfuck likes you,” said Leira, scooping up the troll, wrapping him back in her underwear, and sliding him into her jacket.
“Oh joy, my usual level of fandom. Come on, why underwear?” He looked up at her. “I have to ask,” he said, sliding out of the car, remembering at the last moment to grab the pink box. He looked inside and saw small bite marks in the Grape Ape. “Not cool, Yumfuck! Not cool,” he said, and slammed the door.
A muffled, “Vague yum fuck,” came from Leira’s pocket and she took a slow, even breath.
“Sounds like a rock band my son would like,” Hagan told her.
“What kind of family thing could I bring up,” said Leira, walking across the hot parking lot. “Austin in winter messes with my head sometimes,” she said trying to change the subject.
“It’s a warm spell. You grew up here, you know this. We dress in layers year-round except for summer when we wear as little as possible,” said Hagan. “Shit, sorry about that, kid. Right, what family? You claim that bar owner who leases you the guesthouse out there as some kind of relative, and all the regulars. Think about them when you’re saying it. Then, not so much of a lie. Will come off more believable.”
“You don’t think the Captain will remember I don’t have any family?”
“Aw, come on. Lots of people have some distant cousins tucked away somewhere that they’d show up for their wedding or a funeral or something.” Hagan stopped and shook his head. “He’s not gonna ask you a lot of questions. It’s the Captain. Details of our private lives are not his thing. How it affects the job is his only concern. It’s one of his finer attributes.”
“Completely agree,” said Leira, looking back to see if there was anything unusual around the Mustang. The fireball was already well hidden in the engine, waiting for her return.
“Geez, I’m still hungry,” said Hagan. “Maybe I need some protein or something. Think I still have that jerky in my desk Rollins gave me for my birthday.”
“I think Rollins meant that as a joke and that’s faux food, Hagan. Worse than a doughnut.”
“Meh, before it was processed it started as real meat. That’ll do. Lasts forever. Oh, hey, wait a minute.”
Detective Hagan fished around in his coat pocket and pulled out a short strip of jerky, brushing off the lint and a few crumbs, turning it over to inspect it for anything else that might be clinging to it.
“Huh,” he said, satisfied, tearing off a piece with his back teeth.
“You think food is supposed to be that hard to chew?” asked Leira, trying to look away.
She felt the troll move around and poke its head out of her pocket, sniffing the air.
Her partner looked down. “Look at that! Little fellow has a pretty good sense of smell. Here, you want a piece?” asked Hagan, holding out the jerky. The troll lunged forward, sinking its claws into the jerky, snatching the whole piece and dragging it back into the pocket.
They could both hear the gnashing and tearing followed by more than one long slurp.
He shook his head in wonder. “You should just burn those underwear at some point, Berens. Lost cause.”
“Good tip, Detective. Do me a favor. Try not to engage in conversation with Yumfuck while we’re in there. And no food references either. None,” she said firmly, as they got to the door.
He smiled. “Anything to avoid bringing down the Feds over something smaller than my…”
“Don’t go there,” said Leira, screwing up her face.
“Not in front of you,” said Hagan, scowling. “I was gonna say my hand. All this time we’ve been driving together and you haven’t noticed that I keep it pretty Mr. Clean, for the most part. I know I swear less than you. Fuck this, fuck that. You have a potty mouth, Detective.”
Her pocket squeaked, “Fuck yum!”
“Don’t say that word either,” Leira whispered, as they headed down the hallway.
“We’re going to get caught and interrogated in some subterranean site where everyone wears black and has no sense of humor,” mumbled Hagan. “Hey, how’s it going,” he said to an officer passing them in the hall.
“Stop watching TV after a lot of pizza.” Leira turned around long enough to give him the dead fish look.
“That look is still oddly comforting,” he told her and glanced up the hallway, “Eyes front, Captain incoming.”
“Berens, you wanted to see me. Now’s a good time,” he said, turning for his office without waiting for an answer. She was used to his style of leadership now. Assume everyone already agrees with you. At least it was efficient. Leira liked that much about him, anyway.
Never asked her how she was feeling or wanted anything resembling a conversation. Just the facts, in and out, and on your way. Leira was counting on that today to get her out before anything jumped out of her pocket.
“Shut the door,” he said, as he took a seat behind his desk, checking his phone for messages. He looked up when Leira didn’t move to sit down but stayed by the door.
“It’s really not that big of a thing,” said Leira, her right side turned toward the door.
“Okay, well, you rarely ask for anything so it’s some kind of deal. Take a load off, act like you’re in the room.”
Leira took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, picturing the sweet tackle of a suspect from last
week where she had to keep pace with him for well over a mile, waiting for him to get tired. It made her relax, even almost smile, to think about the nervous glances he kept throwing over his shoulder, checking to see if she was still at his heels.
She thought he was going to just give up and stop at one point but he got a second wind and kept going just as Leira closed the gap and caught him round the waist, knocking him to the ground. Yeah, that was a good one, she thought.
She heard soft purring from her pocket. That’s new.
The hum of the air-conditioning masked the sound.
“I uh, I have a family kind of thing. I need a few days off starting tomorrow so I can travel to… uh, where they are, and handle it,” she said, haltingly. Lying was never her strong suit, at least outside of an interrogation room. There it was a necessary tool.
Breathe, Berens.
The Captain looked away from his computer and held her gaze. Leira kept talking, hoping there were no questions coming her way.
“I checked with Hagan, and he’s fine with it. We have no major cases right now and nothing headed to court for at least a couple of weeks.”
“You never take any time off,” he said, still looking directly at her.
“No, that’s true.” She admitted. “Not very good at down time, I suppose.”
“Geez, it’s about time. Take an extra day. Go to a movie or something.”
“Great, okay, well, great,” she said, slowly rising from the chair. “So, good talk. Okay, well, you have my contact info if you need me.”
“Leira, these days we can track you no matter where you go or what you do. You’d have to leave the planet,” he snorted.
Leira almost tripped over her own feet. “Right, leave the planet, sure.”
Her pocket squawked. The Captain arched an eyebrow but Leira wasn’t sure what he’d noticed.
“And even then,” he said, “you’d need to get out of the range of the satellites flying over our heads before we couldn’t pinpoint your location. Once you log into the internet and get yourself a smart phone, your chances of being a no-name hermit are over.”
Leira gave him a curt nod and stepped through the door, ready to escape. The Captain was being chattier than his normal five words that equaled an entire conversation.
Bad timing.
“Good to hear you’ve got some family,” he said, as he went back to his computer.
It caught Leira off guard and for a moment she froze, remembering again she was only twenty-five but had no real tribe to go and celebrate with or complain about to friends.
Enough, she thought, as she left the Captain’s office. “Not even true. I have a tribe, of sorts.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What’s the word from the Captain?” asked Hagan as she sat down at her desk.
“I got the time. Was easier than I expected,” she told him, reaching for a pen.
“I was beginning to wonder. You were in there a little while.”
“Yeah, he was saying something weird about how easy it is to track anybody. You know, he’s right. A possibly dangerous wizard-to-be terrorist is a good reason to use Travis County resources to track down a suspect, right? The more detailed the background, the better.”
“How will you know when you’ve found the right Bill Somers, archaeologist? It’s not like you brought back fingerprints or background on him,” said Hagan.
“Remember, I saw him do it. That virtual world in the hereafter. I know what he looks like.”
“What are you going to do once you have him? They give you some kind of magical saying to yell or a magical burner phone to get in touch?”
“All good and also weird questions. They said they’d know. They’re very big on tracking things in this world or the other,” she said, typing in the physical description, approximate age, profession and the name, Bill Somers. It didn’t take long for his driver’s license photo from Chicago to appear on the screen.
“Got him! He’s a professor at a university in Chicago. Look, easiest thing I’ve done all day. There’s his address.”
“Found him on Facebook,” said Hagan, slipping on his reading glasses to get a better look. “Posts a lot about Egypt and something he calls green sectors, or something. No pictures of his food, I like that about him.”
“Too bad about the killer thing,” said Leira.
“Yeah, that’s a major strike against him,” Hagan agreed. “Look, be careful. This guy looks as nervous as a virgin at a prison rodeo but he managed to get the drop on a magical elf. No elf on the shelf either, from your description. Don’t drop your guard, don’t take too many chances, and don’t do anything that will end up getting you arrested. It’d be a tough one to explain. Just find the necklace and click your heels together three times or blink really hard and hand it over, so you can come home.”
“You know, Hagan, the easy part is going to be finding him. It’s everything after that that will be a bitch to pull off.”
“In just a couple of days,” said Hagan. “I’ll hold down the place while you’re gone but if things go south I’ll be on the next plane north. Don’t let me find out you didn’t know how to ask for help,” he said sternly.
Leira thought about giving him a hug but rejected the idea as a little too dramatic and instead ended up patting him on the shoulder.
“I’m touched,” he said. “Oh yeah, if that troll operates off of your feelings, you’re screwed. You have basically one channel. Hunker down and get it done.”
“Not a bad channel.”
“Does make me feel better that you’ll be taking an insta-grow guard dog with you in your underwear pocket, there. At least I know if some weird shit breaks out and weapons from one world or another are drawn, you have some firepower on your side.”
“Thanks, Hagan. I’ll call you when I hand the necklace over.”
“Let me know how you contact them. Maybe it’s some magic word shit.”
“Fireballs, glowing fireballs. I’m pretty sure that’s how they do it.”
“Like an iPhone one thousand.”
“Something like that, yeah. I’m going to go home and pack, and hit the road. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to chance flying with a magic troll in my pocket who doesn’t do well in angry situations. There are no friendly skies these days. Cover for me, okay?”
“Let me know you got there safely. No phone blackouts.”
“Sure,” she said, as she waved goodbye and headed down the hall. She managed to get out to her car and on her way with no more troll incidents.
Leira found a spot on Rainey Street just a house down from Estelle’s and walked through the side gate to the guest house. The lunch crowd was just finishing up and the regulars weren’t there yet, leaving the streets fairly empty for a few surrounding blocks.
At the other end of Rainey, the food trucks were still going strong, serving the tourists plenty of brisket and barbeque, tacos of every kind, Thai or Indian food, alongside oversized cupcakes with cream fillings, or shaved ice. There was even a vegan truck doing a steady business selling raw smoothies.
Leira thought of it all as her grocery store.
“Hey honey!”
Leira would know that raspy voice anywhere. The tiny Estelle, owner of the establishment and her landlady, was sitting at the outdoor bar that stretched across the back of the patio, smoking a cigarette. The smoke swirled around her teased red bouffant that gave her a few more inches.
“What are you doing home so early? Shift’s not over yet.”
“You keep track of my work schedule?” Leira asked, digging for her key in her oversized purse. She balanced it on one knee, tilting it toward the sunlight.
“Somebody has to. You don’t look sick. You forget something?”
“Taking a few days off. Driving up to Chicago. You watch the place for me?”
“Well, it’s about damn time,” said Estelle, taking a long drag on the cigarette, squinting at her. “Though why you have to go so far away to hav
e a little fun is beyond me. Chicago,” she mused. “I suppose that’s a certain kind of fun. I’d say I’d water your plants but we both know you’re not into roommates of any kind.”
Leira tried to smile as she turned to unlock the door.
“Bring somebody home from Chicago. Let us vet him, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re like family. We’ll give him the stinkeye and ask all the wrong questions. It’ll feel more like home,” Estelle called after her. Leira waved and shut the door.
She dropped her purse on the red velvet chair by the door. In the bedroom she dug out her old blue suitcase from the closet, hoisting it onto the bed. She gently worked her way under the underwear in her pocket, scooped out the troll, and set both on the bed next to the suitcase where she could keep an eye on him.
“Yumfuck. The name suits you somehow.”
He opened one eye and stared at her.
“I’m going to ignore the side eye and get packing. We have a long, strange trip ahead of us, straight up the middle of the country.”
It was going to be a seventeen-hour hard drive from here to there and the sooner she got started, the better.
She hunted through her small, narrow closet for every sweater she’d ever owned, and anything else that looked like it could add warmth. Leira had spent her entire life in Austin and wasn’t even sure what a Chicago winter would feel like, other than very cold.
“Uh, not these,” she said, pulling out a handful of tights in every color that she got years ago when she was going through a phase. “Ugh,” she said, and she threw them into her suitcase. “Not sure what I’m going to do about a real winter coat. Never needed one before. Where’s that ugly scarf Estelle’s niece made me?”
She went to the living room closet and dragged out the milk crate shoved to the back. “Here it is, along with this,” she said, trying on a grey knit hat with a large red pom-pom on the top.
“This I can do something about,” she said, pulling off the hat and biting the yarn that held the pom-pom fast, grinding the stitches between her teeth till it fell off. “Much better.”
She dug further and found an old pair of nice leather gloves that Craig and Scott, two regulars from the bar, had given to her a couple of Christmases ago.
