Unquiet Dreams (13 page)

“What can you tell us about this dwarf named Moke who runs the gang?” I asked.

Caught mid-drink, Cal almost choked on his laugh. “Moke’s no dwarf. He’s a nasty-ass troll straight from the Kingland. The only thing the T-Rats are afraid of is their own boss eating them.” He laughed and shook his head. “Moke a dwarf. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.”

I tried not to feel the heat in my face. Cal likes to know better than his little brother. Even after all these years, he could take something I was naturally ignorant of and make me feel stupid ignorant. “Why would dwarves answer to a troll?”

“’Cause he pays good money. Like I said, the T-Rats are hired fists. You run enough drugs down here, you need some strong-arm behind you. They are easy to buy.”

“Drugs? What kind?” asked Murdock.

Cal paused before answering. Murdock and I had seen that look before, the shuffling of the mental index cards deciding what to discuss and what to pass over. It did not make me happy that my brother had to play that game with us. I had to wonder how he had been spending his time these days.

“Fey stuff,” Cal said finally. “Small junk, mostly euphorics. Keeps him flush. The kind of stuff human kids go for instead of the hard stuff.”

“Like weed,” I said.

“’Xactly. Lots of cash in it. Small bills. Easy. A lot of competition, though.”

“Two nights ago there was a fight with the TruKnights,” said Murdock.

Cal’s eyes shot around the room as he hunched forward at the table. “Very nasty. The ’Knights are fairies and elves. The one thing they agree on is they’re better than everyone else.”

“Well, two elves ended up in the hospital. Would they have killed the kid to retaliate?” Murdock asked.

Cal shrugged. “Might’ve. The ’Knights aren’t afraid of anybody. I hear Moke’s poking at C-Note, and C-Note’s not happy.”

“C-Note?” Murdock said.

Cal got that look on his face again. He finished his drink and waved his hand in a circle over the table. The waitresses immediately came with a new round for everyone, including Murdock, who hadn’t touched his first.

“Let me get someone over here, see if he’s willing to talk,” said Cal. I felt him shoot a sending into the room.

Joe turned his head in the direction the sending went, then grinned. “I thought so,” he said.

A tall, thin man stumbled into a group of people near the pool table. He straightened up, flipping a head of curly red hair back, and bowed an apology. He continued toward us. I couldn’t help smiling as I recognized his essence. He dropped himself down in the empty chair and slumped.

“Well, well, well, the Grey boys together again. What’s it been, twenty years?” He had a grin that could only be described as jovial.

“Not quite that long, Clure,” I said. The Clure was an old buddy, a drinking one by definition. The Cluries are a clan of hard-drinking fairies, the friends of bars everywhere. The Clure was both name and title, though he didn’t insist on the “the” when you spoke directly to him. He led his local kin group, which basically meant he either started the party or knew where one was. We had gone on plenty of tears when Cal and I were in our twenties and not quite so at odds. “Clure, this is Murdock. Murdock, Clure.”

Clure extended his hand. “Felicitations, Officer.”

Murdock got annoyed again. He had to either drop the attitude or the clothes if he wanted to blend in. “Pleased to meet you,” he said.

Joe was lying flat on the ashtray now. Alcohol did funny things to him. He hung his head upside down off the side of the ashtray and smiled. “Fatla genes, Cluricane?” he said in Cornish.

The Clure smiled down at him. “Just fine, my little pysky friend.”

Cal pushed one of Murdock’s glasses across the table, and the Clure downed it with relish. “We were just discussing C-Note,” he said.

The Clure let out a whoop that made several heads turn. “Talk of the town, that one. That troll’s making trouble for everyone, including himself.”

Another troll. Interesting. Trolls are disagreeable and contrary by nature. Given their nocturnal habits, they tended to have friends in low places. For that matter, they were the low places.

“C-Note runs the Tangle,” Cal said with a low voice.

“And he’s trying to run a lot more,” the Clure added.

“He runs the TruKnights,” said Cal.

“What happened to Gandri?” said Murdock. The TruKnights were high profile enough that most cops knew some, and everyone knew their leader. Former leader, apparently.

“C-Note took him out without blinking a yellow eye,” said the Clure. “The TruKnights didn’t protest. They respect power. Are you drinking that?” He pointed to Murdock’s other drink. Murdock pushed it toward him. At the same time, I felt the Clure broadcast a sending for a table round.

Joe took that moment to flutter up and drift away toward the pool table. Nothing bores him faster than talking about things he isn’t the slightest bit interested in. Getting me and Cal together apparently was the only thing he wanted to accomplish, and that was done.

“What’s this got to do with Moke?” I asked.

“So, you heard about that, huh?” said the Clure. “C-Note’s looking to expand, and he stepped up on Moke in his own turf. Moke had to smack that back. He sent the T-Rats in for a good show. He’s also got the T-Rats hassling C-Note’s runners.”

“What’s the run?” asked Murdock.

“A few guns, not many. Not C-Note’s style. Or the Weird’s for that matter. C-Note’s pushing some drugs Moke’s not happy about.”

Cal slowly swirled the dregs of his drink. “Float,” he said.

The Clure nodded. “Yeah, Float. The kids love to dance with it,” said Clure. The waitress dropped a new round on the table. Clure raised a glass. “I prefer the gift of the gods!” He downed the shot and pulled Murdock’s over without asking.

“I’ve never heard of Float,” Murdock said, voicing my own question.

Cal cleared his throat. He swayed in his chair. He’d killed three shots in less than a half hour and had a fourth in front of him. I doubted those were the first of the evening. “You will. It’s C-Note’s stuff. Makes you feel happy mellow high, like you’re in a cloud. Strong shit. He’s practically giving it away to seed demand. He’s turning kids into evangelists. When they’re not raving about Float, they’re raving about C-Note.”

“So, what, Moke’s looking for a cut?” I asked.

The Clure shook his head. “Not with this stuff. C-Note’s controlling distribution. Rumor has it he’s even manufacturing the stuff. Moke’s more worried about his own operations going under.”

Murdock looked at me. “So C-Note’s provoking Moke. Moke gives back. Turf battles. The Farnsworth kid got caught in the middle.”

“But why was he in the middle? What would Unity be doing that Kruge didn’t want anyone to know?” I asked.

Murdock shot me a warning glance. “That’s just speculation.” I let it drop. Cal might trust Murdock on my word, but for Murdock, Cal and the Clure were too unknown for him to discuss cases in front of them.

The Clure stepped right up to it, though. “Kruge! Poor guy. Wouldn’t know fun if it bit him in the ass. He was C-Note’s thorn. Kept trying to mess up his drug running.”

Murdock played with an empty glass. “We’re not looking at that. I’m looking into the kid. The Guild’s taking care of Kruge.”

As the Clure shrugged indifferently, his eyes hesitated a second at something over my shoulder. I turned a casual look. Things seemed normal for Yggy’s, maybe a few more elves at the main bar than usual, but nothing I thought odd. When I brought my attention back to the table, I caught Cal and the Clure exchanging glances.

“Anything else I can help you with, Officer?” the Clure asked.

Murdock shook his head. I had a million questions, but I could tell Murdock wanted to drop it. I was willing to let it go. I could always hook up with the Clure later.

The Clure pushed back his chair, stood, and bowed. “Gentlemen, enjoy the show.” He sauntered off into the crowd. I noticed the first person he went to was another Clurie. Once you realize who they are, they’re easy to spot. They all look like brothers. Happy drunk ones.

And speaking of which, mine was hunched over, pondering his drink.

“You okay, Cal?” I asked. It was always a loaded question. Depending on his mood, Cal would either take it as criticism of his drinking or inappropriately personal. And still I ask it. We both have bad habits.

He frowned and grunted. Murdock gave me a look that said he was done. He began to get up.

“You know who this guy is you’re hanging around with, Murdock?” Cal said.

I compressed my lips. Cal was prone to listing a litany of my sins.

“A little bit,” said Murdock, lightly with a smile. He’s been around drunks enough not to take them seriously. “He’s a pretty good guy, I think.”

Cal fixed a watery stare at Murdock. “He’s a liar.”

“Cal…” I said.

He brought a wavering finger up to his lips. “Shhhh, little bro.”

“I have to be somewhere, Cal,” said Murdock. It was a nice try, but Cal wasn’t buying.

Cal waved him back into his seat. “Not yet. Not yet. I have to tell you about my little bro.” He took another sip of his drink, while Murdock gave me a sympathetic shrug. “When we were little, I found the box. Remember that, little bro?”

“Murdock doesn’t need to hear this, Cal.” Old aggravation settled over me. No matter how many years went by, the same damn story had to come up.

“Course he does.” He looked at Murdock again. “When we were little, I found the box. Now the box, Murdock, is a rite of passage for druids. I’m not going to tell you how they hide it because it’s a big druid secret, and I’d have to kill you or fry your brain or something, but I found it like I was supposed to, and I couldn’t get the damned thing open.” He wobbled his head at me. “Now this little guy, he comes in and sees me with the box. Remember that, little bro?”

I started getting that sick feeling in my stomach I get whenever the box comes up. “Yeah, Cal, I remember.”

He nodded, looking back in his drink. “Yeah, he remembers. He comes in pretty as you please and flips the box open.”

Murdock looked interested yet puzzled, and I couldn’t blame him.

“So I took the key out and brought it to our da,” he continued. “And Da said, where did you get this? And I said, I opened the box. And Da said, no you didn’t. And I said, sure I did, ask Connor, he was right there. And Da went to Connor and said tell me who opened the box. And Connor said, well, you tell him, Connor, tell him what you said.”

I refused to play this game. I just stared at Callin, wishing it never happened.

He shook his head. “Fine, don’t say.” He looked at Murdock. “He said, Callin did, sir. And Da said, are you sure? And you know what my little brother said?” A big grin split his face. “He said, yes, ’cause my big brother’s going to be the greatest druid ever.”

Callin slapped the table with a laugh, then downed his drink. He smiled from me to Murdock to me again. He reached over and pawed the side of my head. “He’s a liar, Murdock, but he always tells good ones.”

We sat in uncomfortable silence. I hated when Cal brought it up. Something broke inside him that day. Our da was disappointed in his lie. Cal idolized our da, and the disappointment crushed him. What made it worse was that Da blamed Cal for my lie because Cal knew I’d back him up. Cal never could get past the fact that I had been forgiven the lie because of my loyalty, and he had not because of his pride. Things only got worse as my abilities proved much stronger than his. It’s one of those moments in life you wish you could take back. Too many times, when I’ve had my own share of what Cal was drinking, I thought about that day and whether things would have turned out differently if I told the truth, whether Cal would have. But we’ll never know.

A commotion at the bar blessedly broke the moment. We all turned to see an elf pushing a dwarf repeatedly in the shoulder. Another elf took that as his cue to start in on a druid standing next to him. Both elves wore red leather jackets with black bars running down the sleeves. TruKnights colors. I scanned the bar and saw more of them, even a couple of fairies, and all of them hassling someone.

“I don’t think you want to be here anymore, Murdock,” I said quietly.

He looked away from the bar and did the same scan. Cops don’t run, but they’re not stupid either. His hand instinctively went for his radio. He was stopped by the hard, firm grip of my brother’s hand.

“Don’t,” said Cal, quiet and tense. I looked at him. The drunk telling stories suddenly looked suspiciously sober. Murdock started going for his gun.

“Wait, Leo,” I whispered sharply. I hardly ever call him by his first name, and it had the effect I hoped it would. He paused. Cal nodded back to the bar, and we turned.

The Clure stood swaying before the elf. “Gentlemen, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Take a walk, Clure, this isn’t your business,” the elf said.

The Clure leaned past the elf and picked up a full beer glass from the bar. He tilted his head back and drank in one gulp. “Ah, my friend, but you’ve made it my business. You’re breaking Yggy’s rules. Keep it personal. Take the gang stuff outside.”

“Those aren’t our rules,” said the elf.

The Clure smiled deeply as the bar became quiet. It was then that I realized that stationed in every nook and cranny of Yggy’s were a helluva lot more Cluries than I had first thought. “I don’t tell people rules they already know, my friend. I just remind people that neutral ground is Cluries ground, the rest is up to them.”

“TruKnights make their own rules, Clure. Mind your step, or we’ll mind it for you,” said the elf.

“Wrong!” The Clure cried with delight, his smile going wider. The elf did not see it coming. The beer glass came flying around with a roundhouse punch that threw him against the wall. In moments, every Clurie was in a frenzy.

Cal jumped up. “Nice seeing you, bro,” he tossed at me before he ran off into the fray.

“In the mood for some fun?” I asked Murdock. A chair whizzed over our table, and we ducked.

He laughed. “Nah, let’s go.”

By the time we made it halfway to the door, the place was a full-scale riot. Most of the tussle consisted of Cluries and TruKnights, but a few opportunists were getting their jabs in. My shields activated automatically, feeble and weak. They wouldn’t keep a bottle from beaning me, but at least it wouldn’t knock me out. Someone grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. Before I had a chance to react, a fist flew past me and into the face of the elf holding me. He sank to his knees, a deadweight.