Errant Knight

by George Wier

  He looked at the clock nearby and saw that it was hardly past nightfall. He had gone to sleep reading the dog-eared copy of Tennyson’s Idylls of the King.

  Getting into the armor by himself was no easy trick, but after some trial and error, he accomplished it. It felt a little loose, but that may have been because of the inches of fat he had shed around his frame. With the chainmail over him and cauled about his head, he felt of his abdominal muscles and noted a distinct ripple. The crunches he’d been doing for the last three weeks were beginning to pay dividends. Next came the breast- and back-plate, and these he managed to strap together mostly by feel. The leg-plates likewise offered a challenge, but he persevered and after some bending and twisting, managed to get them strapped into place. The arm-guards came next. He belted his scabbard into placed, donned his helmet and picked up his shield.

  “Let’s go, Squire,” he said.

  Squire barked at him three times. The dog was suddenly terribly excited.

  “Yes,” Shelby said. “I feel it too. Let’s go put some of this theory to work. What say you?”

  Squire barked again. She followed him through the labyrinth of Sheppard’s offices and to the front door. Sheppard kept a key outside under a brick by the lone elm tree in the front parking area, and so he didn’t have to worry about trying to keep one on his person. He suddenly realized there might be a problem looming in the future. If any cop demanded to see his identification, he would have to practically remove all of his armor to get at it. Then he remembered that Sheppard had a photocopy of his passport in his desk. Shelby fished it out, folded it over and tucked it inside the layer of steel covering the top of his left fist.

  He looked down at Squire, who was wagging her tail fit to beat the band.

  “You really want to do this, don’t you?” he asked.

  In answer, Squire began scratching at the doorway.

  “All right. Here goes nothing.” Shelby opened the door onto the night and stepped forth.

  Austin is a city of lights. Shelby emerged from the darkness beneath a mesquite tree and crossed beneath Interstate 35 from East to West along the commuter train tracks at 5th Street when the traffic cleared enough to do so without causing a spectacle. There would be time enough for spectacles in the near future.

  Beneath the overpass, he hugged the shadows and saw a homeless man sleeping within a yard of the track. He nudged the man.

  “Whad da...”

  “Move,” Shelby said. “If you roll over in your sleep, the train will take off an arm or a leg.”

  The man looked up at him with eyes wide. He moved, and rather quickly. Shelby continued on with Squire close at his heels.

  In the shadow of the last pillar, he waited for southbound surface street traffic to clear, and with the passage of the last car for two blocks, he crossed again and plunged into the heart of Austin.

  Shelby heard the distant sounds of raised voices, and angled toward the sound. Following the shouts, he turned to the north half a block in, passing alongside Waller Creek. Here the homeless slept openly on picnic tables alongside the wide cut of the stream. Shelby took the stairs down and Squire followed, her tail wagging.

  When he reached the promenade along Waller Creek, he saw two men and a woman cowering beyond. One of the bolder homeless brigands had the woman’s companion up against the stone embankment.

  “I said to give me the goddamned wallet!”

  Shelby had oiled his armor carefully after shedding it earlier, and had even added some padding where the plates were wont to clatter together. His footsteps, however, should have been unmistakable. But the robber was about his task, and wouldn’t be so easily distracted. He had his dander up and his eyes on his prize. The contents of the pedestrian’s wallet likely meant a meal, or at best, a fix.

  When he was within five yards of the two, Shelby unsheathed his sword.

  The brigand looked up. “What the fuck?” he said.

  The sword held out level, Shelby walked up to the man.

  “Let him go,” Shelby said.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “You speak of anatomical impossibilities,” Shelby said. “This sword is very sharp. It is, however, untested. I’ve been dying for a reason to try it out.”

  The point came to hover within inches of the man’s eyes. He looked to be in his early twenties, his shirt sleeveless and his clothes dirty beneath the sodium arc light twenty feet away. He was muscular and used to browbeating others with the threat of their use.

  The robber’s victim smiled. Here was hope in the form of a man in medieval battle dress. It was true what they said about Austin being weird.

  To counterpoint the utter absurdity of the situation, Squire barked. It wasn’t an angry bark, but instead a exclamation of sorts, as if to say “listen up!”

  The robber released his intended victim and the man ran to join his escort. He shouted “Thank you!” over his shoulder at Shelby.

  The robber turned to Shelby. “I’m thinking I might take that skewer away from you and shove it up your ass.”

  Shelby pressed the blade forward until the point touched the man’s chin.

  “Let’s see your wallet,” Shelby said.

  “Huh?”

  “The wallet,” Shelby pressed. A trickle of blood ran down the man’s unshaven chin.

  Slowly the young man removed a cheap plastic wallet that had seen better days. Shelby held out his hand.

  “There’s nothing in it, except my I.D.”

  “I know,” Shelby said.

  The moment the wallet was in his hand, Shelby flicked it into the center of the creek.

  “What the hell you do that for, you son of a bitch?”

  “Now you know how it feels to be robbed,” Shelby said. “I’ve got an excellent memory for faces, and I’ll never forget yours either in the light of day or the darkest night. You’re leaving Austin. Now.”

  “You can’t run me out of my town!”

  “I’m doing so. Now, in fact.”

  The youth moved fast. He ducked back and under the blade and tried to bowl Shelby over. Shelby took the hit and bent, more to keep the kid from braining himself on his platemail than to keep from falling down. He brought the pommel of his sword down on the back of kid’s head and the kid folded up face down on the concrete. Shelby stepped away. The kid moaned, rolled over on his side and brought his hands to his face.

  When he opened his eyes and looked up, the sword was again in his face.

  “I promise you, you waste of breath, I will kill you if I ever see you again.”

  The kid began crying. “But I don’t know where to go.”

  “You should have thought of that before trying to steal from someone. Now get your dirty ass up and get the hell out of my town.”

  “I’m going, you crazy asshole. I’m going.” The kid was still crying as he lurched to his feet and made his way to the stairs that led up to street level.

  Shelby watched him go. When the kid disappeared from view, Shelby turned to see Squire sitting by the creek, regarding him.

  “Was I too harsh?” he asked.

  As if in answer, Squire hunched down and put her head on her paws.

  Shelby laughed. “Come on. Let’s take a tour of the city.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Along Sixth Street, Shelby made the rounds of the bars. He got high fives from some of the revelers, and every time he tarried for more than a few moments he began to draw a crowd. Squire received several pettings, particularly from the girls, and she seemed to enjoy this treatment. To lighten the mood, Shelby quickly fell into the habit of saying, “Watch out for that mongrel. She’s mean.”

  At the corner of 6th and San Jacinto, Shelby encountered his first cop.

  The officer stood on the corner and turned at the sound of Shelby’s loud footfalls.

  Shelby waited for the policeman to say something to him, but the man simply stared at him. The crosswalk hadn’t changed, so Shelby stopped. He didn’t recog
nize the cop. He was too young to have been around in Shelby’s days on the force.

  “Officer,” Shelby said, and nodded.

  “Tin Man,” the officer replied and dropped a nod.

  The light changed and Shelby crossed, Squire close beside him.

  In the middle of the next block, Shelby stopped and looked down at Squire. “I’m thirsty. How about you?”

  He picked Squire up and walked into a bar. Eighties hard rock music blared from hidden speakers and colored balls rolled around on pool tables. Every head turned and watched Shelby and Squire.

  At the bar, Shelby took a barstool and ordered a coke. He set the shield down on the bar and levered Squire up and set her on top of the shield.

  “I saw you this morning,” the bartender said. “What are you doing?”

  “My name is Danel Artola. I’m the White Knight.”

  “You don’t say. Here’s your coke.” The bartender handed Shelby a plastic glass of coke.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothin’. On the house. In fact, any time you come in here wearing that getup, the cokes are always free.”

  “You might find me taking you up on that.”

  Shelby removed his helmet and set it beside the shield.

  “I was wondering how you were going to drink that,” the bartender said.

  “What’s your name?” Shelby asked.

  “Barliman Butterbur. Just kidding. The name’s Josh.”

  “Good to meet you, Josh. If you ever have any trouble around here, let me know.”

  “You take this knight business serious, don’tcha?”

  “Everybody has to do something,” Shelby said, and sipped his drink.

  “Here,” Josh said. He reached down and brought up a glass, filled it with water from the tap and put it in front of Squire. “Drink up, doggie.”

  “This is Squire,” Shelby said.

  Josh laughed. “Of course it is. We don’t get too much trouble around here. Haven’t had need for a bouncer lately, so I let the last one go. Overhead issues, you know.”

  “Understood.”

  “Still, there’s always the occasional fight, but the cops are usually pretty quick and get it all sorted out.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need my services.”

  “That I will. That I will. Making your rounds around the town?”

  “Yep.”

  Josh looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve got an office back there with a cot. When you get too tired of walking around in a hundred pounds of armor and shit, just say the word and you can have a rest.”

  “I may take you up on that one, too.”

  The cop Shelby had passed on the street appeared at his elbow. “Got a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Shelby said. “Do you want me to come outside?”

  “Naw. That’s fine. I just got a report that a guy wearing armor and with a sword, shield and a little dog just accosted one of the homeless people down in Waller Creek.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “The guy who was being robbed,” the policeman said.

  “Did he say that I accosted one of the homeless?”

  “No. He said that this armored man saved him from being robbed. Then they watched from around the corner as this same armored man took this would-be thief’s wallet from him and threw it in the creek. Then, this victim says, this armored man told the thief to get out of his town.”

  “Yes,” Shelby said. “That would be me. Am I under arrest?”

  “Hell no,” the officer said, and laughed. “But, there’s a report being made and a couple of officers are checking the creek for any sign of the wallet.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to verify who it was, although I’m already pretty sure. I’ve been trying to bust that son of a bitch for the past two months. This would have been his fourth robbery. Say, what’s your name?”

  Shelby very nearly slipped, but Josh intervened and saved him. “This is Sir Danel Artola. He’s the White Knight.”

  “The White Knight,” the cop said. “I love it. Seattle has got nothing on us, has it?”

  “I hope not,” Shelby said.

  “And who is this?” the cop ran his hand through Squire’s fur.

  “That’s Squire,” Josh said. “These two get all the free cokes and water they want whenever they come in here.”

  “That’s about perfect,” the cop said. “I’m officer Davis. Sam Davis. Let me know if anybody gives you any trouble.”

  “I’ll do that,” Shelby said.

  “Okay, I gotta get back out there.” Officer Davis chuckled. He turned to go, but turned back at the door. “You just made my whole shift, you know that?”

  Shelby raised his coke glass. “Cheers,” he said.

  “Lieutenant Quinn?” the soft voice called.

  “Yes.” Quinn looked up from his desk to see a face he hadn’t seen in a long time. He couldn’t recall her first name right off, but he knew her from years gone by. He could never remember the black ones. Whatever her name happened to be, the last he knew she worked down in the Records Department.

  “You asked for the personnel records of Shelby Knight?”

  “That’s right. I put in the request weeks ago.”

  “I understand, sir,” she said. “We can’t seem to locate Mr. Knight’s records.”

  “Come in, officer. Have a seat.”

  She did so.

  Quinn put his shoes up on his desk and tilted back in his chair. “I’m not sure I understand. Maybe they got transferred to archives.”

  “That’s just it, sir. Anything less than fifteen years old should have been here in the department on computer, but I looked and there’s nothing.”

  “I looked myself. I was sure they were in archives.”

  “I went to the storage facility and opened every box there. There’s a lot of boxes. He’s not in our records at all.”

  “There’s goddamned photos on the wall with him in them!”

  The woman jerked in her chair as if he’d bitten her.

  “I know. I know who he is.”

  “His personnel file, fingerprints, everything? The FBI keeps a database. At the very least I want a copy of his fingerprint card.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” she said. “Will that be all?” She got up as if to leave.

  “Yeah. Keep looking.”

  “But what if we don’t find the file?”

  “Keep looking until you do.”

  The woman left and Quinn began biting his thumb. He swiveled his chair to look out into the night and contemplated going home.

  At that moment the phone on his desk rang. Quinn turned back and grabbed it.

  “Quinn,” he said.

  “This is Agent Strongbow. I’m still minus that personnel file on Shelby Knight.”

  Quinn rubbed his forehead. “I hate to admit this, Agent Strongbow, but so am I.”

  “Come again?”

  “We can’t find the personnel file.”

  “Well, you should have something in your computer. I don’t have to have the original hard file. Just print it out.”

  “That’s gone too.”

  A silence ensued over the phone. Quinn’s eyes narrowed, then he lifted an eyebrow. He decided to be the first to break the foreboding quiet. “Which is awful convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

  “How do you mean?” Billy Strongbow asked.

  “Well, seeing as how you’re not actively looking for Shelby Knight—and I should know, because no one on my task force has talked to you about it—it sort of makes sense that his file should disappear. Or am I wrong about that?”

  Strongbow laughed. “Oh, if I wanted anything from you, Lieutenant, I would come and take it. And believe me, you would know about it.”

  “Is that so? Well, I have a few friends in high places in this state, and one or two in the federal government. Maybe it’s time I put in a call or two.”

  “Maybe you shou
ld,” Strongbow said. “It sounds to me like you have too few real friends at the moment. I mean, you tried to arrest your last one.”

  “I don’t think that—”

  The line went dead. Agent Strongbow had hung up on him.

  Quinn Thompson slammed the phone down on the receiver. He sat for a minute looking at the far wall and the picture of him posing beside former Governor—and now former President—George Bush. George was smiling in the photograph; a big cheesy grin that was completely out of proportion to Quinn’s own restrained, pursed lips. The truth of the matter was that the former President wouldn’t know him from Adam, much less take his phone call.

  Quinn sighed. He reached down, opened up the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a small, very old rolodex. Beneath it was a bottle of Jim Beem whiskey and a slightly dirty glass. He regarded these items for a moment, then reached for both of them as well.

  “Was that Quinn?” Rachel asked.

  “It was,” Billy Strongbow said. They were within a few miles of Rachel’s home. The traffic was light and there was a spread of clear stars above them and a full moon to the southwest.

  “It sounded to me like you hung up on him,” Rachel said.

  “I did. Mostly because he’s a prick.”

  She chuckled. “That he is.”

  “You two have a history, don’t you?” Billy asked.

  “I’m sure you already know something about that. I really don’t care to talk about it.”

  Billy shrugged and switched hands on the steering wheel. “Fine by me.”

  “The file you asked for. Quinn really can’t find it? Or he doesn’t want to find it?”

  “He’s not going to find it,” Billy said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because it’s in the trunk of this car.”

  Rachel began laughing. It was a good, hearty sound. After regaining her composure she said, “I think I like you, Billy Strongbow.”

  “I think I like you, too. But look here, Ms. Rachel Ward. I’m not attached and I don’t think you’re attached, but to be clear, I don’t mix my job with my personal life.”

  “Oh boy. You’re about to say something heavy, aren’t you?”

  “I am. I think you’re still in love with your husband.”