Toxic Influence

by Voss Foster

  Swift took one and handed me the other. "Can you port us out? Corner of Tenth Street and Avenue D in Manhattan."

  The ghoul waved her hand and, not a foot in front of us, the air shimmered.

  Swift nodded. "Thanks Rothiel."

  "Be careful." Rothiel, the ghoul, turned her attention back down to the table and what looked like a slightly better version of the gas masks we were carrying at our hips now. "I only made three protypes of the mask. I don't need to lose any."

  "Don't forget the restraints!" Unna handed us each a set of wood and metal handcuffs. More carvings bedecked them, the same loose curve and swirls as on the guns. "For god's sake, hurry but don't be foolish."

  "Right." I held the gas mask to the side and rolled my shoulders back. "Okay, then, let's go."

  Swift led me through the pretty pastels and neons and shit that didn't really distract me too much this time around, and then out into the middle of Alphabet City. Slightly run-down, slightly grimy, and all the way noisy. Cars bustling past, people bustling past, and one full city block to try and sift through.

  Swift pulled me to the side, against the wall of the nearest building. Simultaneously, he pulled out his phone and dialed something in.

  "Time for calls already?"

  He ignored me, raising the phone to his ear. "Kimmy. Yeah. Anything else pop up? More specific location with your protocols? Big ol' self-storage? Don't happen to have a unit number for us, do you? Right. Asking too much, don't fucking understand technology. Love you too." He hung up the phone and nodded to me. "We're hoofing it. Self-storage facility. Time to have some fun."

  We marched around the block, past a bodega, a dry cleaner, and some kind of weird…I want to say it was a church, based on the painterly Jesus staring blankly at me from the window, but a tiny one stuck in a strip mall type building. And then there was the storage facility. Anywhere else, I probably would have called it a mini-storage, but there was nothing mini about the multi-story beige behemoth.

  We walked through the front entrance, Swift nodding to the parking station attendant on the way past. Guess the handcuffs and guns were enough ID for him. Once we got to the base of the stairs, Swift moved to the side, out of the flow of any potential foot traffic, and reached back toward his waist. He pulled out a pair of the strange handcuffs. "Get these on the perp as soon as you can. Anti-magic. They'll be our best bet for not getting turned inside out." The stones embedded in the metal shined dully under the industrial fluorescents. "Unless we're dealing with a real strong motherfucker or an elemental, this'll keep them from casting."

  "Cool. I'll get those on right after I'm poisoned again."

  Swift chuckled and strapped on the gas mask. I followed suit, and then there was no communication beyond points and gestures. Sure wish we had those protective clothes now.

  We hit the second floor landing. Rows of miniature garage doors lined the cramped space. Swift gestured silently to the left and, once I nodded, he headed off in the opposite direction.

  My footsteps were the only sound for a long time, and that solitary, incessant beating against the concrete floors sent my heartrate straight through the roof. Didn't help at all when I finally heard voices. I checked for the restraints as I rounded the corner.

  A family. Not a one of them looked like anything other than human. And based on the boxes next to them—and the pants-crapping terror on their faces—they probably weren't involved.

  I slid my gas mask aside just enough they could hear me. "FBI. Get out now and go across the street. We'll tell you when we're clear."

  Thankfully, no one decided to argue. Swift and I met and headed another floor up. No one on the third floor, four families on the fourth. If anything did happen, we'd be clear, at least.

  At the fifth floor, I had to ask: "How do we know they didn't transport out after they were done?"

  Swift moved his mask aside. "We don't. Doesn't change our job."

  Like a little ray of darkness from hell itself, a figure in black came around the corner. All three of us froze. He was definitely a preet, though I couldn't get more specific than that. Ruddy skin, long drooping ears like Gutt's, but not nearly large enough to be a troll.

  Swift stepped right ahead of me. "Don't move anywhere. OPA." He still didn't sound angry or upset. Completely relaxed in spite of the tension yanking up his shoulders. "This kid behind me here? He's a hell of a shot. If you try to transport out, we'll see who's faster, and frankly, I don't love your odds on that one." He nodded. "Hobgoblins aren't known for their speed, am I right?" He shrugged. "Not a chance I would take.

  I didn't have my hand on my gun, and frankly I didn't want to shoot anyone unless we were sure they were dangerous…but I guess the black-clad hobgoblin didn't put any of that together, or was just so scared he wasn't ready to dick around.

  He nodded slowly, his broad doe eyes getting somehow even wider. "I…I'm going to move slowly." His voice sounded like it could have been the same person from the video, but I'd heard it for such a short time, through compressed audio no less, and heard this guy say all of one sentence, so there was no being sure of anything.

  Swift approached, sternly but also not overly fast, and slapped those cuffs on him. "Before we make a big mistake, you are the one who broadcast that video, aren't you?"

  No way in hell that was going to work. Why would you admit to it if you didn't have to? These weren't normal criminals who might feel guilty. Terrorists weren't going to just fess up and get arrested. They'd go down swinging before getting pulled in, and only reveal the truth if they thought the plan was too secure to be mucked with.

  "I-I-I was. Yes. I-I…"

  "I thought so." Swift tightened the restraints down around his wrists. "Dash, call in with Zar, get us home."

  Well…this was embarrassing. In front of our suspect, no less. "Sir…who's Zar?"

  "Red demon lady. Sleeps a lot. Just call in and ask for Remote Transport."

  "Yes, sir." I pulled out my phone, following along as Swift led our hobgoblin buddy back downstairs.

  "Agent King, OPA."

  "Agent King. It's Dash. I need connected to Remote Transport."

  "Yeah, sure. And I'll email you her direct number, too. Then you won't have to bother anyone else."

  She was peachy as always. I waited until the other line picked up. We'd made it back to the parking garage when someone finally answered. "Remote Transport, OPA, DC."

  "It's Swift and Rourke." We stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the storage facility. A small crowd of people stood, staring, across the way. "We need out of here. We're in front of a storage facility in Alphabet City. Corner of Tenth and D. And we're coming back to the office. Is that enough for you?"

  "We'll find out, won't we?"

  After a few minutes of standing around, a red, clawed hand appeared out of thin air a few feet away.

  "Guess that was close enough. Thanks, Zar."

  I hung up. Swift and the hobgoblin went through the portal. I looked at the crowd across the street, already larger than the handful of people we'd sent out. "An agent will let you know when the building is clear. Thank you for your cooperation." We'd have to place a call into the field office. Just because we pulled this one guy out didn't mean we'd for sure gotten everyone out who needed getting.

  As I stepped through the portal, I just caught sight of a news van whipping around the corner, heading our way. The media picked this one up fast. But probably not as fast as the cell phone cameras and Twitter feeds of the spectators.

  Swift and I stood in the viewing room, watching the black clad hobgoblin squirm in his own loneliness.

  "So…that's what a hobgoblin actually looks like?"

  Swift nodded. "I try not to judge, but they're…less than lovely, to be certain."

  "Well yeah. But the training info? Not very accurate on them. And I think you all provided that stuff to local PDs, right? May want to update it."

  "What do they say a hobgoblin looks like?"

&nb
sp; I stared through the two way glass at our suspect friend, comparing and contrasting to the image I had in my head. "He's a lot floppier than the artist's depictions. Floppy ears, that weird bulbous neck. According to what I learned off the official materials, hobgoblins are supposed to look more like elves."

  Swift quirked up one eyebrow. "Elves? Really? That must have been really old. Back before I was OPA, they didn't have much to go on for hobgoblins. They stayed mostly to themselves, you know?" He pointed lazily through the window to the very twitchy specimen in the interrogation room. "Believe it or not, he's got bones remarkably similar to an elf under all that. But he is bog-standard hobgoblin, no doubt."

  "So what, they based it off the bones?"

  "That was all they had to work with. Couldn't get a hobgoblin to come forward. It was a contentious time at the start of all this. Once they relented, we updated their info. Guess the new stuff hasn't filtered out to every police department yet."

  "I guess not." Because he looked about as far from elf as I could imagine. "Any word from NYC?"

  "Agents checked the whole building. Not even a residual magic signature in the whole place. Our buddy here was alone." Swift patted the window sill, then turned to me. "So, you want to be good cop?"

  "You really think I can pull that off? You did tell him I'd shoot him if he tried to do anything."

  "True, but I'm a big scary black man, and you didn't pull the trigger."

  "Considering he's not…well, human, he probably doesn't carry that kind of baggage with him. And I would have pulled the trigger."

  "Still, I just don't think you'd be quite intimidating enough. No offense. You're too…nice."

  "Oh, let me take that 'nice' and shoot it. Ninety-second percentile."

  Swift shrugged. "You're a nice guy who can shoot a gun. Just trust me: you'll do better being his friend than I will."

  And he walked out, leaving me with even less chance to argue. But I could still mutter under my breath, so that was something, I guess. "Friends with a terrorist, exactly what I wanted to do with my day today." I didn't immediately follow Swift into the room, instead stopping by to get three shitty coffees in Styrofoam cups.

  I carried them in and, to Swift's credit, there was already palpable tension filling the room. So yeah, maybe he was better at bad cop than I would have been. I cleared my throat and set the cups on the table. "I don't know if you drink coffee. I can get you something else if you don't."

  The hobgoblin nodded. "Black coffee is fine. Thank you."

  I sat in the chair opposite Swift. Since he wasn't talking, I took the lead. "What's your name?"

  "Eir…Eirbolg."

  Because it couldn't possibly be something I could pronounce and remember and everything. "Eirbolg. Is Eir okay?"

  He nodded. "That's fine."

  "Well, look, we just need to talk to you about some things. You good with that?"

  "Where am I?"

  "You're in Washington DC." Swift drummed his fingers on the tabletop, not actually looking at Eir. "OPA Headquarters. You know what the OPA is for? It's for keeping preets like you from doing any more damage than they've already done. Since I'm sure that was your next question."

  Eir nodded, clutching to his coffee cup. "I don't know what you're talking about. Can you just explain?"

  Not making eye contact, keeping a tight grip on that Styrofoam, ever so slightly twitchy. Yeah, something was definitely up with this hobgoblin. "You live in Manhattan?"

  "I do. Over in Alphabet City."

  "Well then, you know about the poison gas attacks that have been happening?"

  "Yes. I mean, I know from the news."

  I sighed and grabbed my coffee. "So look, Eir. Between you and me, I don't think you're involved in the poison. Not really, right?" He was too jumpy and nervous. And even if I was wrong, I was the "nice" one. I needed to pretend everything was all good between us. "I need you to cooperate so we can get to the bottom of what's actually going on, otherwise it looks really bad for you."

  Eir nodded, setting his coffee down with a shaking hand. "Of course. What-whatever you need."

  Swift decided it was time for another hit, apparently. "How old are you, Eirbolg?"

  "I'm…twenty years old."

  "And what Kingdom did you come from?"

  "Nedelwald?"

  "Are you asking me where you came from? You know, don't you?"

  "I'm from Nedelwald. I moved into New York just last year."

  Swift slowly reached for his coffee, brought it to his lips delicately. Somehow, he made his laziness intimidating. He didn't need to try and be scary to this hobgoblin sitting across from us. "What were you doing there today? If I check in with the management, am I going to find a storage unit in your name?"

  "I-I don't know. I have one there."

  "Oh do you?" Swift took another long, slow drink, just drawing this whole thing out. "What would I see in there if I were to get a look inside? Describe it to me."

  And I watched the whole thing happen in Eir's face. It contorted. His ears pulled up as he grimaced. His hands shook harder than before.

  "It's what you saw in the video. That was my unit." And it was like the flood gates just opened up on his mouth. "I'm…I'm broke, okay? And I got this anonymous message last week to read this script, that's all." Eir shivered. "I hated saying those things, but they offered me enough that I don't have to worry about rent for a year. You can't expect me to pass that kind of thing up."

  Swift sighed. "You know that taking that kind of money from these kind of people makes you responsible? You're a part of this, whether it was anonymous or not."

  Eir swallowed hard, his neck pouch waddle thing jiggling. His ruddy skin paled. "You…what? What was I supposed to do? I didn't know who they were. I still don't!"

  "You knew they were claiming to be behind the poison gas attacks, didn't you? That was in the damned script, Eirbolg. You read it out loud in front of a camera not one hour ago." Swift stood, shaking his head. "You had so many chances to come forward and do something, and instead you decided to stream the fucking video to get their message out in the world."

  "Hey, now." I figured it was probably time for a break. Yell and chide too much, you leave no room for them to actually be helpful to you when the time comes. "This is still a professional setting. Let's watch the language, Swift?"

  "You watch your fucking language. This idiot is helping the terrorists with their plan, and he's not even good at it, Dash. He's bad at being a criminal, but he decided to do it anyway."

  I made a good show of rolling my eyes—sometimes those teenage skills can come in handy later in life—and giving my full attention bac to Eir. There was a chink in his armor. Well, frankly his armor seemed to be mostly chinks at the moment. It was just a matter of hitting one and hammering away at it hard enough. "I don't know that there's any way out of this where you don't get prosecuted for this. It's bad, Eir."

  "I didn't do—"

  Swift sat back down, shaking his head, and crossed his legs. "You can't claim ignorance on this. No way in hell."

  "But you can try to help yourself now." I nodded as reassuringly as I could manage. "You admitted you did it. That's a good first step. You're cooperating. Now, can you show us the script? The message? The…payment records? Anything you have relating to this."

  He nodded almost immediately, so score one for the OPA. "It's on my laptop. I was…using it to stream. Can I get it out?"

  "You can relinquish it to us, give us your address, and we'll get it back to you. Assuming you're actually released on your own damn recognizance. No laptops in fucking prison." Swift nodded and rose, then drained whatever remained of his coffee in one fell swoop. "I'm going to make some calls. Dash, get the damn computer and meet me outside once you have it. I'm done in here."

  And out he walked, leaving me with my new hobgoblin friend. I picked up my coffee, leaned back in the seat, and shrugged. "He'll calm down. But you have to know this isn't good, don't you?"
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  "I know…but I needed that money."

  I nodded. Personally, I wouldn't have…but then, how could I say that when I was a privileged white dude from a well-to-do east coast family? Other than being a terrible protestant, I was a WASP through and through. Maybe his situation really was that bad. Unfortunately, my job wasn't to intervene in that way. Right now, it was just to get that laptop.

  "I wish I could take it back."

  Everyone did once they actually got caught. "Can't fix the past, Eir. But you can try to salvage some future. Let us go through the computer. And it'll be easier if we get all your passwords at the same time."

  He nodded and reached down into his bag, coming back out with a black, blocky laptop. Looked pretty out of date. "All of my accounts are logged in. And I'll give you any information you need. You just have to ask."

  "Are you on the Mundane internet, or the Kingdoms' network?"

  "This all happened in the Mundane."

  "Okay. This is good, Eir. This'll help you. I'm going to take this. Someone'll be in for you, okay? Do you need more coffee or anything before I head off?"

  He shook his head solemnly. Kid felt bad. Kid was probably looking at jail time, even with cooperation. And the way the laws were set up, he couldn't just disappear back to the Kingdoms, either. Not so long as this was an ongoing investigation.

  I walked out and headed for Kimmy's vault first. I dropped the laptop off with her. "Swift fill you in?"

  "He will. You got him, then?"

  "Yeah. Your algorithm thingy was good."

  She rolled her eyes. "My algorithm thingy. Of course it was good. I'm a master of algorithm thingies. That's why they hired me. I make the best algorithm thingies in the country."

  "I know. I read your file." I turned and walked before she responded and headed straight for Swift's office. "The computer's with Kimmy. She needs to know what she's looking for. Figured you'd want to do it."

  "I do. Run the whole team down on it. Good work in there, by the way." He rolled his shoulders back. "Like I said, you're nice."

  "And you scared the hell out of him."

  "Well, I was legitimately pissed off at him, so it was easy. Idiot selling himself off to help these bastards get along." He clenched and unclenched his jaw. "I tell you what, my old black ass ain't cut out for this kind of stress. I might have a heart attack."