The Black Knight Chronicles

by John G. Hartness

  “We’re all here, Sabrina. What were those questions you wanted to ask?”

  “There are a few. Let’s start with where did the troll come from?”

  “That’s an easy one,” I replied. “What is Faerieland, Alex? Can I have silly questions for four hundred?”

  “No, asshole. Why did it come here specifically? It seems pretty obvious that it was after Stevie, but why?”

  “Maybe he was here to make sure Stephen was dead, or dying,” I said. “Can you walk us through what happened when the troll first got to the hospital? I’m guessing it didn’t just show up all green and rampaging. So what happened before you called us?”

  “He looked human when we first saw him,” Alex said.

  “Yeah, he was dressed like an orderly, or a nurse. I can’t tell. He was wearing scrubs,” Sabrina agreed.

  “He came into my room, and seemed surprised when he saw that I was awake. When I looked at him, I could see through his glamour. It was like there were two of him. One was the orderly, and that looked fake, like a ghost image. And then I could see the troll underneath that, and I freaked out,” Stephen said.

  “And when Stephen freaked out, the troll dropped the illusion, and all hell broke loose,” Sabrina said.

  “That’s when some of us got thrown into bathrooms for our own safety,” added a bitter-sounding Alex.

  “I said I was sorry about that,” Sabrina said in her least sorry voice.

  “Okay, so what does that tell us?” I asked.

  “It seems that the troll didn’t expect Stephen to be awake, and when he was, he had to switch to Plan B in a hurry,” Sabrina said.

  “His Plan B sounds a lot like mine,” I muttered.

  “You mean ‘punch something a lot?’” Greg asked.

  “Yep, that pretty much defines my Plan B. And my Plan A, come to think of it,” I agreed.

  “But what does that tell us? And why did they come after Stevie and none of the other victims?” Sabrina asked.

  “How do we know they didn’t?” I felt a lump the size and shape of a brick settle in my stomach as a bunch of pieces started to fall into place.

  “What do you mean?” Stephen asked.

  “We don’t know that they didn’t go after the other victims, too, do we?” My eyes got wide as I listened to the words coming out of my mouth. “Oh shit.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Greg said.

  “It’s not. Whoever sent the troll here wanted to tie up Stephen as a loose end,” Sabrina said.

  I was still sitting there with my mouth flapping in the breeze as I realized what a hornet’s nest we’d stirred up this time. “That means they’ll be going after all their other loose ends, too.”

  “Oh shit,” Greg said, realization dawning in his face.

  “Yeah,” I said. “And I bet if you give that card a good sniff it’s going to smell like domestic beer and expensive cologne,” I said.

  “Why?” Alex asked, looking lost. “What’s going on? And is anyone else going to come after Stevie?”

  “Yes. They will come after Stephen again. And you too, now that you know about the trolls. The card will smell like beer because Jimmy gave it to the bartender at Scorpio, George. So since we talked to George, and we’re involved in this mess, George is hopefully being held hostage until he’s forced to fight in their next cage match.”

  “Why is that hopeful?” Stephen asked.

  “Because that means they haven’t killed him yet,” I said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go find all the other victims and get them out of harm’s way. If I’m not too late. Sabrina, I’m going to need you with me for the official authority. Greg—”

  “Stay here and make sure that anything coming in the room with ill intent ends up with a bad case of the dead.” My partner already had his pistol out and was checking the magazine.

  “Detective,” I said, holding the door for Sabrina. “We’ve got a town full of faeries to rescue.”

  We started at Scorpio, but before we got there Sabrina got a call telling us what we feared—the place had been trashed and George was missing. We pulled into the parking lot, and she badged us past the uniforms at the door. I looked around for Otto, but he was nowhere in sight. The club looked different with the fluorescent lights on, smaller and dingy instead of dark and mysterious. The carpet was threadbare, and the bar needed a good coat of varnish. None of this was noticeable when the dance floor was jumping, but in the midday cleaning lights, the whole vibe seemed a little sad.

  I took off my shades gratefully as we walked past the vestibule and away from the daylight.

  “You okay?” Sabrina asked.

  “I’ll live, but it’s not exactly comfortable. Even with the cloud cover, I’m getting a nice sunburn. And it’s hell on my eyes. My pupils are permanently dilated, so I can see in pitch darkness, but even the dim light out there hurts like a mother.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Can’t be helped. Looks like they took out the front doors and surprised George behind the bar.” There was a splatter of greenish-black fluid along the floor that I recognized as troll blood. That one was going to give the crime scene boys fits. Bar stools and bottles were strewn all over, George must have put up a good fight.

  I spotted a few small holes in the bar top and pointed them out to Sabrina. She flagged them for the evidence guys and then dug into one of the holes with her pocketknife. A little fishing around, and she dug out a misshapen lead ball.

  She held it out to me. “Shotgun.”

  “Yeah, I smelled gun oil on George last time we were here. He probably kept a twelve-gauge behind the bar.” I hopped over and knelt down, coming up with a cut-down pump shotgun. I held it out to Sabrina.

  She turned it and the pellet over to the crime scene guys and we moved into the office. A uniformed patrolman was already there, checking the surveillance tapes. I didn’t expect him to find anything, since magical disguises play havoc with technology, and I was right. Just about the time two large shapes appeared on the tape, it started to static up. The best we got was that there were two big guys, and after some flashes that I took to be George shooting at them, the two big shapes carried a smaller shape out. Then the tape returned to normal.

  “Weird. That’s gotta be the attack, but it’s like the attackers were tampering with the video somehow,” the uniform said.

  “Yeah. Weird,” I agreed.

  I motioned for Sabrina to follow me out, and we walked back into the main part of the bar. “We’re not going to find anything here.”

  “No,” she agreed. “These guys have been doing this for too long without notice to get caught by something as simple as a cheap surveillance system. We need to check on the other past competitors. If they’re tying up loose ends, then anyone involved is in danger.”

  “I assume you have the addresses?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll send uniforms to most of them, but this one is close. You drive. I’ll call in cars for the other victims on the way.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked, opening the door to her car.

  “The Arlington. You can find it?”

  “Wish I could miss it.” I slid behind the wheel and headed back toward downtown.

  The Arlington caused quite the stir when it was added to Charlotte’s skyline. In a city not known for terribly interesting architecture, a high-rise condo building with hot pink reflective glass in the middle of South End raised as much blood pressure as it did eyebrows. I’d never been inside one of the condos, and I didn’t know anyone who could afford one. But apparently one of our victims was doing well for himself.

  I took Freedom Drive to Morehead, then hung a left on South Boulevard to get to the fuchsia eyesore. The doorman came out waving his arms wildly and stretching his coat buttons to the breaking point when I parked right in front of the building, but one look at the gun in my hand and the badge in Sabrina’s silenced any protests he had.

  We took the elevator to the twelfth floo
r and knocked on the door of Benjamin Overcash, age twenty-six. Nobody answered. I checked the knob. “Locked.” I whispered to Sabrina. “Do you have one of those cool lockpick kits like cops on TV?”

  “No. Breaking and entering is still illegal on this side of reality.” She pounded on the door. “Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police! Mr. Overcash, are you there?”

  “Do you always have to say ‘Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police’ like that? Isn’t that a mouthful?” I asked. “You ready for me to kick it down yet?”

  “No. And yes. I mean, no, don’t kick the door down. And yes, I announce myself properly every time. At least the first time.” She banged on the door again. “Mr. Overcash! We believe you might be in danger. We want to help you. Please open the door.”

  From the other side of the door I heard a little dog barking.

  “Well, he’s either home or he’s been taken, too. No way a man leaves his dog behind,” I said.

  “Does that apply to yippy little dogs, too?” Sabrina asked.

  “Of course.”

  “That sounds like a dog crying for help to me, then. Kick it down.”

  I looked at her. “One day we’re going to have a talk about exigent circumstances and just kicking in doors for the hell of it. For the record, I prefer to kick the doors in for the hell of it.” So I kicked the door in.

  And found myself staring down the barrel of a revolver held by a very angry-looking man holding a very small dog. He was a trim white guy with short blonde hair, khakis and a pale purple polo shirt. He looked just like every other off-duty bank drone in Charlotte. I peeked around the side of his head to see if I could spot the pointy ears, but his glamour was locked down tight.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

  “Would you believe me if I told you we were rescuing you?” I asked, snatching the gun away from him. He didn’t look like he wanted to shoot me, and I didn’t want him to screw up and disappoint himself.

  “Most people who want to rescue me don’t kick my door in,” he said, backing away and pulling out a cell phone. “I’m calling the police!”

  “We are the police,” Sabrina said, holding up her badge. “Well, I am, anyway. This is James Black, he’s assisting the department with our investigation into the attack you experienced earlier this month. Now please put the phone down and come with us. It’s not safe here.”

  “Obviously not, with you barging in here like that. And I’m not going anywhere with you, especially now that my door has been destroyed!”

  He was starting to vibrate, he was so pissed. I would have normally found it amusing, but George was missing, and I felt responsible. It was my business card that brought the trolls to him, after all.

  “Cut the shit, pal. We know you’re a faerie, and that it’s not just a slur. We know about the fights, and the people that run them know we know. And they’re tying up loose ends. Permanently,” I said, stepping all the way into the apartment and closing the door behind me.

  Overcash turned as pale as a vampire as he processed what I was saying. He stood stock still for about ten seconds, then thrust the dog into my arms and said, “Hold Phoebe.” Then he turned and sprinted into what I assumed was a bedroom. He came back seconds later with a duffel bag in his hand and a backpack across his shoulders. He took the dog from me, took a look back into his apartment, then sketched a circle in the air between us. A glowing portal opened up, he stepped through, and Benjamin Overcash, age twenty-six, was gone.

  “Is there anybody in the world except me that can’t cast spells?” I asked Sabrina.

  “I’m still just a lowly human. You’re not completely outclassed by the cosmos yet,” Sabrina said. “On the bright side, I don’t think we need to worry about Mr. Overcash’s safety.”

  “True enough. But he didn’t give us any information we could use. Where are we headed next?”

  I pulled the door closed as we left the apartment and headed for the elevator. Sabrina started calling the uniforms she’d assigned to the other victims. Just as we got in the elevator, my pocket buzzed.

  My cell was thankfully intact after my trip across dimensions, and I read the screen. “Well, shit. You can hang up now,” I said to Sabrina.

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “Just got a text from Greg. Bobby called him to say that the announcement for tonight’s bout just went out. No location, but on the card is a twenty-person battle royal featuring all their former competitors plus a host of special guest combatants.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah. So it sounds like they’ve gotten their hands on most of the victims already.”

  “And I can just guess who they want for their special guest fighters,” Sabrina said as we got out of the elevator.

  “Well let’s get everybody together at our place and figure out how to ruin their plans.”

  “You drive, I’ll gather the troops,” she said, throwing me the keys.

  Chapter 25

  Two hours later there were six of us crowded into our increasingly cramped living room, sitting around the coffee table drinking the last of the coffee and watching Greg try to hack the encryption on the troll’s smartphone. Who gives a troll a four-hundred-dollar phone, anyway?

  “You got anything?” I asked again.

  Greg had been trying every trick in his MacBook to break into the troll’s phone, but couldn’t come up with the password. “No. Still. And the more times you ask, the less likely I am to be able to concentrate on this and actually do anything,” he snapped.

  “Sorry. Sounds like Mr. GrumpyPants got up on the wrong side of the coffin tonight,” I muttered.

  “You don’t really sleep in coffins, do you?” Stephen asked, a little confused.

  “Seriously? Dude, are you really six inches tall with wings and a tiara?” He ought to know better.

  “Well, I do have a tiara, but that’s a long story,” he joked.

  “I got it!” Greg suddenly shouted.

  “Got what?” I asked.

  “The password. I got it. Sorry it took so long, but there are a lot of random five-digit numbers. Now all we have to do is look at his inbox and see who the last few text messages are from, and we should be able to go from there.”

  Greg pressed a few more buttons, plugged in another cable that I didn’t recognize and a list of text messages popped up on the TV.

  “Who has he been texting?” Sabrina asked.

  “Well, there have been seven text messages since we killed him, all escalating in intensity. The last one reads ‘Where r u? Got to go tonight! Must have package. Contact me immediately.’”

  “Awesome. That fits with my plan perfectly,” I said.

  “You want to share with the rest of the class?” Sabrina asked.

  “Yeah. We pretend to be the troll and find out where he was supposed to take Stephen. Then we show up instead and bust the bad guys,” I said.

  Greg nodded and started typing on the phone’s small keypad, sending a reply to the phantom boss.

  “Wait a sec.” I handed him my cell. “Use this one. Tell him the troll’s old phone was wrecked in the fight and he just got a replacement.”

  “Good idea,” Greg said. He took my phone and started typing. “Sorry 4 delay,” he wrote. “Trouble @ hospital. Phone busted, just got new 1. Got package, send delivery address.”

  “What do you mean? Sent yesterday!” was the immediate reply.

  “Phone wrecked. Need address,” Greg typed after a second.

  “I thought that’s what you had Bobby for.” Mike said.

  “Bobby never gets the location until an hour before the show. If we can get there earlier, there should be less chance of civilians getting hurt.”

  A reply flashed on the screen. “1431 Toal. Be there by 11, show starts @ midnite.”

  I looked at the clock—7 P.M. “Okay,” I said. “We’ve got four hours to get there, recon the place where the ‘show’ is supposed to take place, figure out what the ‘show’ is, and ruin e
verybody’s entertainment for the evening.”

  “Well, I can help with some of that before we leave,” Greg said, typing more on his laptop. A new screen popped onto the TV with an aerial view of the address from the text message. “It’s not exactly NSA-quality stuff, but Internet maps and satellite views will at least give us an idea of cover and entrances and exits before we get there.”

  “And keep us from getting a nasty surprise,” I finished his sentence.

  “Exactly.” Greg said. “Now, it looks like this street makes a loop, and the warehouse in question is set a little back from the main road. We have loading dock doors on the right-hand side, and office doors on the front of the building. I don’t have a decent view of the back of the warehouse, but let’s assume that the traffic is going to be coming in from the loading dock.”

  “Why would you assume that?” Mike asked.

  “Because it’s hard to carry an unconscious person through a single door. Don’t ask me how I know that,” I replied.

  “Right,” Greg agreed.

  I stepped in and grabbed the mouse, using it as a pointer. “If we park here and here,” I indicated a couple of buildings around the corner from our target, “then Mike and Alex can keep the exits to the office park covered in case there are runners. Stephen and I will go in from the loading dock, while Sabrina and Greg slip in from the front entrance.”

  “Why am I going in the back way?” Sabrina asked.

  Greg spoke up with a grin. “Because Jimmy and Stephen are better suited to a frontal assault. You’re not as fast or as strong as either of them, so you should try for the sneak attack. I’m not the most stealthy, obviously, but I can keep my mouth shut, and Jimmy can’t, so he has to go in guns blazing.”

  I didn’t dignify my partner’s insult with a response. Besides, he was right.

  “Okay, everybody make sure you’re armed enough.” I stood up and lifted the lid off the coffee table.