Rock Paper Sorcery

by L. J. Hayward

  “Not a lot. Some people think a brick fell on him. I guess something that heavy, dropped from a height, would cause significant damage.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think it was a brick.”

  She cocked a pale brow at me.

  “I think I saw it. Looked more like a statue or something. It was broken, but there was a definite face on it.” I described it.

  Erin shuddered. “Reminds me of that ghoul you introduced me to.”

  “Kermit? Yeah, could have looked a bit like him, but less odd. Not human, but not weird, either.”

  “A statue. Could it have been something like a gargoyle? Come loose from the building’s roof?”

  Although the building in question was well behind us now, I couldn’t help but look up. “Not many gargoyles in Brisbane, I don’t think. And I’m pretty sure there weren’t any on that building.”

  “I guess.” She sighed. “Whatever it was, it was obviously deliberate. Someone didn’t want him talking.”

  “Again, I have to ask. Monkeys? Who would go to this much trouble about monkeys? Even the cops don’t care about who took them anymore.”

  “The cops aren’t my client. As long as Thistlethwaite keeps paying me, I’ll keep looking.”

  We walked in silence for a while. I enjoyed it. It wasn’t often I spent significant amounts of time with other humans. Usually, it was just me and Mercy against whatever creature of the week someone paid us to kill. My friend, Roberts, occasionally tagged along, when he had nothing better to do and had forgotten the sorts of trouble we could get into. He, however, was currently embroiled in a passionate love hate relationship with a woman whose name I’d forgotten almost as soon as he’d told me, and didn’t have a lot of spare time to socialise. There was Jacob Whyte, owner of Vogon Books and local contact for the resident supernatural enthusiasts in town, but he actually had real friends, a proper life and didn’t often have room for a socially inept berserker. After I’d knocked back a few too many invitations he’d stopped asking me.

  The only other relationship in my life that could be mistaken for a friendship was with a succubus from Hell. But even she had more of a life than I did, sailing the southern seas with her boyfriend. We exchanged occasional emails but that was all.

  We’d covered a couple of blocks before I thought to break the comfortable silence.

  “What next?”

  “Follow up on who wanted Sean dead,” Erin said, not sounding enthusiastic about the prospect. “Could you get Mercy up to the top of that building? Maybe she could find a scent and follow it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Again, I reached down the link. This time, I didn’t even come close to touching Mercy’s mind. She’d put up a wall. A serious, don’t come near me wall. The sulking had kicked in and kicked in hard.

  “Um, not right now,” I muttered. “I’ll try again later.”

  “Is she... all right?”

  “Yeah, just pissed off with me for taking over her body like that.”

  “I thought she said it would be okay.”

  “She did. But now she’s not okay with it. Just like a bloody typical—” I cut myself off before I could say it.

  Erin, however, wanted it said. “A bloody typical what, Hawkins?” She had the tone of voice that announced it would have an answer, and have it now.

  I scowled. “All right. A bloody typical teenage girl. There, I said it. Now get your sexist-pig rant on and have at me.”

  But she didn’t. “Actually, I can see it. But don’t forget she witnessed a horrific thing tonight, Matt. If she’s freaking out, that probably had something to do with it as well.”

  Snorting, I muttered, “Most nights, she’s the horrific thing that happens to others.”

  “Just don’t discount it, okay?” Erin dug in her pocket and pulled out her phone, pulling up a number and hitting connect.

  “Who are you calling?” Why, yes, I am a nosy-parker, thank you for enquiring.

  “Courey. See if he can help me with anything about Sean’s death.”

  I carefully didn’t say anything. Detective Miles Courey was Erin’s contact with the police and he helped her out where he could. I suppose most people would find him a decent guy. He was Erin’s friend and very protective of her. I personally could attest to his protective bent. I had the brick-wall imprint in my back to prove it. We didn’t like each other, but we both liked Erin and that was all that mattered.

  While Erin waited for Courey to pick up, I scanned the streets around us. It wasn’t late, but it wasn’t early, either. There wasn’t a lot of foot traffic in this part of town but the street was busy. Through the passing cars, I glimpsed two guys on the opposite footpath. One was rather average in height, weight, looks, while the other was big, solidly muscled with huge arms, barrel chest and thick thighs. He was of Maori or Samoan stock and had a few streaks of silver through his short, otherwise dark hair. He shoved the other guy hard enough to push him into a wall. Seemingly stunned, the guy against the wall stayed there, hands held up as he clearly tried to reason with the bigger man. Big Guy wasn’t listening, bearing up for another go.

  As I watched, he stepped up and slammed a huge, hard knuckled fist into the second man’s stomach.

  I was dashing across the road before the thought of not doing anything even occurred to me.

  Chapter 5

  “Hawkins!” Erin shouted.

  Ignoring her and dodging cars, I made it across just in time to see Big Guy throw another punch, connecting with his victim’s jaw this time. The crack was clearly audible.

  “Hey!” I came up behind Big Guy, caught his arm before he could swing again.

  As the giant spun around to see who dared touch him, I knew I was in trouble. It’s not the work of genius to know you shouldn’t step between such an angry man and his hobbies, and while I wasn’t the dumbest kid in class, I do have a problem with thinking before I act.

  He was about my height, approximately three times wider and at least twice as crazy. There was a glazed, I’m-not-in-total-control look to his black eyes, an I’ll-grind-your-bones-for-my-bread twist to his lips and just plain old threat in the curl of his fingers into a big, meaty fist.

  I let his arm go and backed away, hands up. “Sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

  He snarled. “Someone else?” There was a slur to his words but I was close enough to notice no alcohol on his breath. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  The honest answer, I felt, wouldn’t do me any good here.

  “Sure.”

  Behind him, the other guy was glaring at me, making furious back-off gestures. So much for gratitude.

  “Then say it, tool,” Big Guy snapped. “Say my name.”

  Tool? Did he just call me a tool? The darkness I worked hard to keep hidden deep inside stirred. Normally it takes a bit more than lame name calling to get the berserker out of bed, but between the shock of Sean’s sudden and ugly demise, Mercy’s grumpy mood and simple old fashioned anger, I was raring to go. Teeth gritted against the rising tide of crazy, I took another step back.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” I didn’t sound it though, a low level threat entering my voice I was completely unable to suppress. “Let’s just drop it and go our separate ways.”

  “Henry,” the other guy said, his tone part warning, part pleading. “Let it go.”

  Henry ignored him, closing the distance between us again. “You think you can touch me? Try it again.” He held his hands out in the universal sign for come-and-get-it-bitch.

  “Hawkins?” Erin said from behind me and Henry’s gaze flickered to her, dismissed her, then came back to me.

  “Let’s just go,” Erin said. “This isn’t worth it.”

  I nodded. It was all I could manage with the hot, thrumming need to hurt something building in my brain.

  Henry laughed, harsh and short. “Going to hide behind a scrawny little bitch now?”

  Whoops. The button with the big, flashing ‘wrong’ sign ove
r it just got hit. No one, no one, treated Erin like that.

  My answering chuckle was cold and dark. “You wish.”

  He swung.

  Berserker rage fuelling my muscles, I blocked his punch. The look of surprise on his face said not many had ever managed that in the past. I took the moment of distraction and delivered a blow to his gut. Yeah, it was rock hard muscle under an insulating layer of fat.

  Henry grunted but showed no other sign of distress. He moved to hit me again, but I was gone, spinning away. With more room, I twisted and put my boot into his stomach. He felt this, doubling over.

  There was a red haze across my vision and the heat was growing. It was good to see him hurting. It would be better to see more.

  It was as if Henry was moving through molasses. He was sluggish to get his fists up, slow to see my blows coming. I landed blow after blow after kick and he barely touched me. Vaguely, I could hear Erin shouting at me but she didn’t understand. This thing had tried to hit me, had insulted her. It had picked a fight with a smaller man. It had to be taught not to do that.

  Then my nightstick was in my hand, snapped out to its full length. Seeing it, the bastard scrambled backwards, arms over his head, shouting something I didn’t care to hear. Rolling my wrist, nightstick glinting in the glow of passing headlights, I let him go. He limped and clutched at his guts, blood smearing his lips, dribbling from a cut over his eye. Erin was screaming, “Matt! Matthew, stop it!”, but it meant nothing.

  I cracked my neck, then took two quick steps, leaped and came down on the bastard. He went down hard, slamming into the pavement with a solid thunk, his head smacking with a sharp crack. I landed over him, crouched, perfectly balanced, nightstick raised.

  He whimpered, masses of white showing around his dark irises. Something in that involuntary sound of panic and fear stilled my hand. It wormed past the red anger and driving need to hurt and reminded me this wasn’t what I had to be.

  The berserker rage ebbed enough I got some control back. Slowly, careful of the potential to lose control again, I stood and stepped away from him.

  Henry lay petrified, soundly beaten by a man half his size.

  Before I could do something stupid like apologise, I turned and walked away. I was half a block down the street before I heard Erin coming after me, and another block before I thought to put the nightstick away.

  The building where Erin had her office was in sight when she finally caught up. She was quiet and tense, looking straight ahead.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  We were almost at the building when she said, “I know.”

  When we got to the steps leading up to the front doors, I stopped and closed my eyes, dragging in long, deep breaths. The lingering tightness in my muscles, the last of the darkness, eased away, leaving, as it always did, a mingling of shame and regret.

  This uncontrollable rage had been with me my entire life and ever since Mercy had come into the mix, I’d had varying degrees of success in managing it. There was the primitive, feral part of Mercy that spoke to my own darkness, called it forward with scary speed. Yet, she also gave me ‘safe’ avenues of working off the rage. Go up against a troll and you need the extra kick to make even a small impact. It was also quite effective against larger numbers of vampires. When acceptable violence wasn’t around to release the pressure, I’d learned, not without some protesting, several meditation techniques that were helpful.

  But sometimes, just sometimes, none of it helped and things like that fight happened. It wasn’t the first, and as much as I might wish otherwise, it wouldn’t be the last. I just had to keep finding reasons to stop before it got too bad.

  “You okay?” Erin asked, tone even.

  Erin had seen me like that a couple times. Once, she’d been on the receiving end of it. That she could still stand beside me now was testament to her personal strength, not my apologising prowess.

  “Yeah. He barely touched me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Opening my eyes, I met her gaze. “I know.”

  She didn’t flinch, but I knew she didn’t like what she saw in my eyes, either.

  I rolled my shoulders, working free of the tension, shaking out my hands. My knuckles were grazed but that was the extent of the damage. He really hadn’t managed to land a punch.

  That took the last of the wind from my sails and I sank down to the steps, elbows on knees, head in my hands.

  “Do you know who that was?” Erin asked, sitting beside me.

  “He seemed to think I should.”

  With a little exasperated sound, she said, “It was the Colonel.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t know who the Colonel is?”

  “That guy, obviously.”

  With a disgusted shake of her head, Erin said, “Henry Tanqueray. The Colonel.”

  When my glazed expression remained unmoved, she expanded.

  “Tanqueray. Tank. Sherman tank. Colonel Sherman Potter. Thus, the Colonel.”

  All logical and straightforward, but…

  Erin sighed and spelled it out for me. “He used to play for the Broncos. Came from the All Blacks? His mother’s Samoan, father’s Australian. There was a big scandal when he came from New Zealand to play in Australia. Played for six years with the Broncos, made a couple of Origin teams but was encouraged to retire after a few too many high tackles left him a bit rattled.”

  “Maybe I heard something about that…”

  “Jesus, Hawkins. This is part of your cultural heritage.” Then she eyed me like perhaps I had the plague. “You’re not an AFL fan are you?”

  “Isn’t that what the Broncos play?”

  Lips pursed, she muttered, “You must be feeling better if you can make such a bad joke.”

  I tried a smile and it seemed to work, earning me an exaggerated eye roll.

  “I know it’s not,” I assured her. “Just never was a big footy fan. Now, if it had been Craig Lowndes, this would be an entirely different conversation.”

  Erin sighed. “Because you would have gone all V8 Supercar fan-boy goo goo instead of berserk.”

  I winced at the reminder. “Yeah. How much trouble do you think I’m going to be in?”

  “You might be lucky and just get another round of court appointed anger management sessions.”

  “Shit.”

  A soft hand touched my arm. “Hey, it could have been worse. You managed to stop yourself. And you were defending that other man.”

  “Perhaps you could be my character witness.”

  “Maybe it won’t come to court. He seemed pretty drunk. He might just write it off as a bad night out.”

  Erin’s phone jangled and she fished it from her pocket. Looking at the screen, she ignored the call and tucked the phone away again. “Just Courey returning my call. I’ll catch him later.”

  I moaned, remembering the reason we’d been out tonight. “I should probably go find Merce. See if she’s amenable to some snooping yet.” I stood, stretching muscles going cold after the exertion.

  Erin stood and looked up at me, concerned. “You sure you’re all right?”

  I nodded.

  “Call me with anything you find.”

  Another nod. Finding the car keys, I beeped it unlocked.

  When the lights flashed on the big, silver 4WD Toyota Prado parked a couple spaces away, Erin frowned.

  “Where’s your car?”

  Meaning my black, late model Holden Monaro. Low slung, two door, high powered and way, way cooler than a hulking tank meant for off-roading which had only ever had smooth bitumen under its wheels.

  Grumbling, I said, “Roberts has it.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Apparently his latest girlfriend has objections to 4WDs in the city, so he’s pretending my car is his.”

  “And you let him take it?”

  Resigned, I admitted, “I may have offered it, in a fit of guilt. I mean, he came with me on a job. An old guy with a gh
ost. Except it wasn’t a ghost.”

  “What was it?” she asked carefully.

  “Backed up sewerage pipe. It wasn’t pretty.”

  Erin’s lips twitched, but that was all. “Okay. Call if you find anything,” she repeated, then added, “Or if you need to talk.”

  About to fob off her concerns again, I just said, “Thanks,” and headed for the huge car.

  “Matt,” Erin called after a moment.

  I turned. She stood on the stairs, hands on the railing, bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Is honesty still the best the policy?” she asked, harking back to a period of mine where I’d believed telling the truth about everything was the way to go.

  I’d pretty much given up on it after the big blow up with a Demon Lord. “On special occasions,” I hedged, wondering where this was going.

  She nodded. “All right. Then I think you should know, you did it again. You moved as fast as Mercy does tonight.”

  I let that sink in, then nodded. “Thanks.” The last time she’d told me that, she’d been scared of me. This time, I thought it was more scared for me. Both heartening and chilling.

  She returned my nod, then went up to the door, pulling her phone out as she went inside.

  I got into Roberts’ Monster Mobile and just sat for a moment. I was human, not vampire, despite my close attachment to one. Mercy was the one with the super strength and speed, the brawn to my brain. But, as adequately shown tonight, I had my own means of meeting preternatural threats on more level ground than most humans. It would be easy to dismiss the speed Erin had witnessed as part of the berserker curse, but it had only ever happened since I’d linked with Mercy.

  That’s kinda telling in my book.

  With a sigh, I started the car and hauled the tank onto the road. Mercy should be home by the time I got there. Another check down the link let me know I still couldn’t talk to her that way, so it would have to be face to face. Maybe some skulking would improve her attitude somewhat.

  Yeah, I could dream.

  Chapter 6

  Erin closed the door to the office behind her and leaned against it. She let out a long breath of air, the tightness in her chest easing.