Maggie Get Your Gun (2 page)

The lights were on in my house.

My stake was in my hand before I turned off my car.  Most
folks would call the police, but when you’re the person the police call when
there’s an issue… well.  A girl has a reputation to maintain. 

It didn’t look like anyone had forced their way in.  The
windows were intact, the door was on its hinges, and the roof exactly where it
was supposed to be.  Check giants, trolls, and ogres off the list.

I crept up the sidewalk, keeping my back towards the wall. 
Whoever was inside had drawn the shades, which was a fantastic indication that I
had myself a bright one.  I reached out and jiggled the door handle.  It opened
with my touch.

“Hello?” came the voice from inside.

Fucking elf.

“KILLIAN!” I shouted, putting my stake back where it
belonged, “
Did you want me to kill you
???”

He was opening up a can of cat food in the kitchen,
“Greetings, Maggie.  It is delightful to see you, too.”

He put the food down in the bowl for my fat orange tabby.  Mac
was positively smitten with the big blonde lug.  Dumb cat.

Killian came over, his merry blue eyes twinkling as he gave
me a hug.  As he wrapped his arms around me, I felt myself melting into those
muscles of solid rock.  He was warm and strong and smelled like sage and cedar,
but when I realized my thoughts had turned to how nicely I fit against him and
how well other things might fit, too, I jabbed him in the chest, "Turn the
glamour off, punk."

"You are welcome," he said with a wink.

He’s lucky he helped me take down the forces of darkness or
I would have staked him where he stood. 

For the record, I wouldn't have killed him.  Just stabbed
him. 

Fucking elves.

They live for a whole heck of a lot longer that humans and
collect the lady-folk like little kids adopt hamsters.  If you don't watch your
back, you'll find yourself talked into running around the woods, singing
hey-nonny-nonny and braiding flowers in each other's hair until you're old and
gray and they look like they just stepped out of
GQ
magazine.

“How the hell did you get in?” I asked, taking off my boots
and throwing my weapons in the basket by the door.

He wiggled his fingers, “Magic!”

I shook my head.  I was going to have to boost the security
on my place.  If an elf can breeze through the perimeter, I was in need of a
tune up.

I looked at him, all dolled up in an outfit Robin Hood
would have died for.  Green tunic, brown boots, and I was pleased to see he had
finally decided to give up the tights for a pair of legitimate pants.  Okay, so
maybe they were a little closer to jeggings, but it was progress. 

I gave him a smile, “It’s
good to see you.”

Killian went into the kitchen and brought me a beer.  I
knew there was a reason I put up with him.

I threw myself onto the couch and propped my feet on the
coffee table.  Killian sat down beside me.

“So, to what do I owe the honor of this surprise visit?” I
asked.

“I was in need of human companionship.”

“You’re lucky
I
wasn’t in need of human
companionship,” I remarked.  “I could have been bringing home a lucky fella and
you would have been in for an uncomfortable surprise.”

“I knew there was scarcely a danger of such likelihood,”
Killian grinned.  I punched him in the arm.  Wiseass.

“I have missed you, dear Maggie,” he said, gripping my hand
for a moment.  "I have also missed your television set."

"AH!  The truth comes out!" I exclaimed, grabbing
the remote control.

Killian was a good egg.  I had seen him only a couple times
since we had taken down the forces of darkness, and I gotta admit, I missed
him, too.  Sure, he was a pain in the ass and cramped my swinging singles
style, but we had gone through a war together and that was enough for a
permanent invitation to hang anytime he took a hankering.

I flipped on the TV, “Anything in particular you wanna
watch?  I think
Hovelers
has some old crone who’s never thrown out an
eye of newt…”

“I believe I have seen that one previously,” replied
Killian, settling in.

I flipped through the channels and stopped on this one show
with ghosts competing to see who can scare a mortal out of a building the
fastest.  I was rooting for Chuck.

The ghost theme brought to mind my gig for this weekend.

“Ever been to a ghost town?” I asked.

“I try to stay away from that part of the city.”

“Not THAT Ghost Town.”

The Other Side had a village.  It was filled with
specters.  They couldn’t hurt you, but they could scare the bejeezus out of
you, and they did, because what else are you going to do if you’re dead and bored? 

“There’s this abandoned mining village outside of Vegas. 
Some guy wants me to drive out there for this gig and my dad is AWOL.  Wanna
come?”

“Perhaps…” he replied as we both winced.  One of the humans
had turned around and rolled her eyes at contestant #2’s scare work.  That was
going to cost some points.  “What does it entail?”

“It’s a pretty simple open and closed case.  We just need
to go pick up an antique hair comb.”

Killian smiled, “Ah, someone is committing crimes of
fashion?  I never thought you, of all people, would someday cross that line
into the dark realm of smuggling, Maggie.”

“NO,” I replied.  Smuggling is where most world walkers end
up.  I, however, was not most world walkers and wasn’t about to have my
tracking licensed pulled because some fat cat on the Other Side needed a carton
of American Spirits.  “This old guy stopped by the office, said he worked
before with my dad.  He lost the comb while he was visiting Earth and just
needs us to see if someone dropped it at the lost and found.”

“It sounds very easy,” said Killian suspiciously.  “It is
not a trap?”

“It is probably a trap.”

“Is it illegal?”

“Do you honestly think I would be involved in something
illegal?”

Killian took a little too long getting back to me on that
one.

“Come on, Killian.  It’ll be fun.”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, “How much
will you be recompensing me?”

“Um… isn’t the opportunity to hang out in my presence
payment enough?”

From the look on his face, I gathered the answer was a
negative-on-that-one.

“I’ll give you my dad’s cut.”

Killian grinned and stuck out his hand, “Partners.”

Chapter 3

“Killian, put down the pop gun before I pop you one.”

Calico Ghost Town is an adorable little institution, a Wild
West extravaganza of fun for the whole family.

Unless your partner has never seen a pop gun before and has
decided he needs to test out every souvenir in the place.

“But look!  The cork goes 'POP' when you slide the handle
in and out.  It is attached to a string so you can repeatedly pop it.  See?  Like
this!  Why, a child could pop the cork all day in the woods without losing it. 
Like this!  See?  It pops!  Like this!  POP!” he beamed as he oh-so-kindly
demonstrated... repeatedly... for me. 

It was going to be a long day.

Killian had crashed on my couch after a marathon run of
terrible television.  The wee hours of the morning had come ugly.  I woke up
feeling like death warmed over and desperately in need of a caffeine
transfusion.  He woke up looking like he had swallowed a bucket of sunshine.

We hopped into my car at dawn and crossed the border to Earth
via the official portal in Hollywood.  We drove towards Nevada and made good
time getting to Calico Ghost Town.  The highway out that direction is two lanes
with almost no exits, so one stupid accident can cause a jam that will ruin
your whole weekend.  I had hoped to avoid such joys and we had done pretty
well.

The town itself is out in the middle of the desert, and the
mountains are all sorts of crazy shades of green and red and yellow from all the
minerals in the soil.  The layers were a geologist’s wet dream, folded up from
all the earthquakes and tectonic wiggles.  According to the signage, the name
of the town came from the hills being as colorful as a perty lady’s calico
skirt.   It had an old Boot Hill cemetery and a main street filled with saloons
and shops.  A couple of busses were parked in the dusty, dirt lot, but the town
was big enough to eat up the crowds.

“We’re here to pick up a package at the General Store,” I
reminded Killian, trying to focus my partner.

“…by that slushee popcorn stand?” he asked, hopefully.

He had already talked me into treating him to a
sarsaparilla and a tooled leather wristband.

“Not now, Killian… Afterwards, you can have all the
slushees and popcorn you want.”

“No, the General Store is by the slushee stand.”

I turned around and that fucking elf was right.  There it
was.  In all its adorable glory – the General Store next to a wagon refitted for
you to grab some popcorn or some frozen water in your choice of red or blue
flavor.  I looked over at Killian’s smug little face.

"Is that the General Store you were looking for?"
he asked, all full of innocence and Boy Scout helpfulness.  I could think of a
merit badge I'd like to give him.

“Come on.  The faster we get this thing, the faster we can
leave,” I said.

“I am enjoying myself thoroughly.  Do not feel you need to
curtail this trip on my account.  May I borrow $15 to purchase this ‘pop gun’?”

It wasn’t his account I was worried about.

We walked into the General Store.  There were waist-high
barrels of candy on the floor and shelves loaded up with old stuff lining the
walls.  The wood floors were uneven and the beams in the ceiling were covered
in desert dirt.  The place had never seen a lick of paint and the walls were
silver with age.  And yes, sure, it was a tourist trap with personalized belt
buckles and terrible postcards on one end, but on the other end were cabinets
with real things to buy – jewelry boxes and antique purses and hobnail oil
lamps. 

“Howdy!” I said to the shop lady in period dress behind the
counter.  Killian wandered in, slurping his slushee as he juggled his new pop
gun.  I wished him brain freeze.

“We’re here to pick up an item for Mr. Smith?” I explained.

The lady’s face lit up as she remembered, “Oh, yes!  He
called earlier to let us know you would be here.  We don’t get many phone
orders."

I tilted my head, “Right… phone orders...” 

"I told him we were happy to ship it to him, but he
said you were coming out this way for a visit.  How nice that you could save
him some money on postage!”

Mr. Smith's story about a dumb hair comb for his wife had seemed
fishy in the first place.  I figured Mr. Smith hadn’t dropped the item, but the
fact that he had lied to my face about being out here at all... this was
getting better and better.

“Lucky for him…” I smiled through gritted teeth.

She pulled out a paper bag with a receipt stapled to the
top, “Here you go!  Anything else I can help you with?”

“This’ll do me!” I replied.

I opened up the bag and reached inside to get a look at
that little hair comb Mr. Smith had been fibbing about.  I jerked my hand back
like I had been shocked. 

Because I had.

“Jesus.  What is in this bag?”

The lady’s brow got all frowny with worry, “Oh my, did you
give yourself a paper cut?”

I realized I was the only one in the room with an inkling
of the power in that hair doodad.  Ol’ Smith had played me.  Surprise.

“Yah,” I said, “Just a paper cut.”

I picked the bag back up and braced myself for the jolt. 
Fool me once…

“Thank you, again,” I repeated as I grabbed Killian by the
elbow and steered him quickly out of the store.  He looked like he could guess
what was going down.

“What is inside of the bag?” he asked.

I picked up our pace and kept pushing him in the general
direction of the exit, “Turns out this isn’t some comb some poor helpless dude
forgot.”

“I am shocked,” replied Killian drily.

“Funny that you should mention it,” I said, holding up the
bag, “Because I just was.  This sucker is on fire.”

Killian shook his head, “What do you propose we do with
it?”

“Besides drop it down one of these abandoned mine shafts?”

Killian looked around.  A busload of tourists had just
unloaded in the parking lot and we were going to have to swim upstream to get
to our car.

“Perhaps we could find some secluded location to assess the
object?”

“And where do you propose?” I asked.

“The Maggie Mine?” he replied, pointing his finger towards
a sign.