Evil Dark (7 page)

  Neither of us had drawn our weapons yet – we wanted to talk to the ogre, not kill him. We could take him out if we had to – probably. My Beretta's load included silver bullets, and I knew Karl's Glock held sixteen slugs tipped with cold iron – he doesn't handle silver anymore. Either round will take down an ogre, but you have to get him in a vital spot. It's kind of what hunting rhinos must be like – you know your gun can kill the beast, but you'd better make the first shot count, or you're in for a world of hurt.

  But with a supernatural creature, just as with humans, lethal force is supposed to be the last option, not the first. The badge isn't a license to kill, and that's something I keep in mind. Besides, the paperwork is horrendous.

  I heard a sound from behind me, and saw that the uniforms had brought Leary back inside. They took him over to where I was standing with Karl, about twenty-five feet from the ogre and his new girlfriend. Then they beat it back out the door. "We'll go keep an eye out for the ambulances," one of them said to me. Yeah, yeah.

  "What the hell is
he
still doing here?" Leary said from behind me. "I thought you guys were supposed to be the big supe experts."

  "We are," I told him, "but even experts need information. Come over here, next to me."

  Leary's on the short side, with flaming red hair that's about half gone, bushy eyebrows, and more attitude than the Irish Republican Army. Some say he's got some leprechaun in him, and they'll get no argument from me.

  I wanted to be able to talk to Leary and keep my eye on the ogre at the same time. Never turn your back on a supe – unless he's your partner, who you'd trust with your life. Or maybe a member of your family.

  Leary was standing a few feet to my left now, so I asked him, "You get many ogres in here?"

  As soon as I said it, I realized my question sounded like the set-up to a supe joke – the dumb kind, like Lacey Brennan is always telling me. Lacey works the Supe Squad over in Wilkes-Barre. She's a good cop, and not bad-looking, either, but it's not like I have a thing for her.

  "Naw, this one's the first. I don't like havin' 'em around, but when something that size comes in and orders a drink, what was I gonna do?"

  "Serve him, I hope," I said.

  "'Course I did. Double shot of tequila. He put away that one, and eight more, in about an hour."

  "Then what?" Karl asked him. "He run out of money?"

  "Naw, I cut him off. He didn't take that too well."

  "You wouldn't sell him any more booze because he was drunk?" I asked.

  "Shit, he
had
to be. Nine double shots of Jose Cuervo – what would you expect?"

  "Yeah, but was he
acting
drunk, Leary?" I was starting to get fed up with this little jerk.

  "He was acting big and stupid, just like when he came in. I wanted to get him the fuck outta here before he started cuttin' up and caused some damage."

  I let my gaze wander around what was left of his bar. "Looks like you did a hell of a job," I said. "Leary, did you ever consider how much booze it takes to affect something that size?" It takes a lot more than nine shots of tequila to get an ogre drunk, unless he already had some on board when he came in.

  "I don't give a shit," Leary said. "I just hope the big dummy's been savin' his pennies, because I'm gonna sue him for every single one – once you guys do your job and get him the fuck out of here, that is."

  I shared a disgusted look with Karl, who asked Leary, "The waitress – what's her name?"

  "Why? You plannin' on puttin' a move on her or something? You're gonna have to get lover boy over there to turn her loose, first."

  Karl let a little bit of vamp show in his eyes as he said, "I just wanna know what to call her.
Now tell me her nam
e." Guess he was getting impatient, too.

  Leary actually took a step back. "Heather, her name's Heather. Heather Collins."

  "All right, Leary," I said. "That's all we needed. Wait outside while we finish up in here."

  He was at the door before I finished speaking.

  I lowered my voice again before I said to Karl, "Nice job. You're a scary motherfucker, I ever tell you that?"

  "Yeah, too often," Karl murmured. "You know, I might be able to do the same thing to Dumbo over there, if you want me to give it a try."

  "Better not," I said. "We don't want to spook him while he's got Heather in his fist, do we? He might forget what he's holding and squeeze real hard."

  "Yeah, you're right. Shit."

 

The paramedics showed up a few minutes later and wasted no time loading the three casualties onto the gurneys they'd wheeled in. If the ogre made a move on the ambulance crew, I'd have to shoot him and hope for the best. But he just watched them as they got the three limp forms ready for departure.

  Without turning my head, I asked them, "Those guys still alive?"

  "Yeah, for the time being," one of them said. "Looks like one's got a fractured skull. The other two don't seem too bad, though."

  Then they wheeled the gurneys out of the bar. I hoped that a doctor or nurse with some magical ability was working at the ER tonight. Hospitals try to keep a medical magician on hand 24/7, but people with that particular skill set are hard to find – even in Scranton, which has an awful lot of supes for its size.

  "Whadaya think, Stan?" Karl asked me. "Time to call SWAT?"

  The Sacred Weapons and Tactics unit is trained to deal with supe hostage situations. It was tempting to let them take over, but I wasn't looking forward to sarcastic comments from their team leader, Dooley. He's something of a prick.

  "Not yet," I told Karl. "Let me see what I can do, first."

  It wasn't just my pride involved in the decision – there was a tactical consideration, too. Since ogre was backed into a corner, there was no way to take him by surprise. And once he saw the SWAT guys, in their distinctive black uniforms, the big guy might panic. And panic could be pretty hard on Heather the waitress.

  I made eye contact with the ogre and spoke to him for the first time. "Hey, how ya doin?" I said. "I'm Stan, this here's Karl." I paused to give him a chance to process the information. Ogres aren't real quick, even when they
haven't
put away half a bottle of tequila. After a few seconds, I went on. "What's your name, pal?"

  Another couple of seconds went by. "Igor," he rumbled.

  I didn't let any of the humor I felt appear on my face — you learn quick, on the street, not to show what you're feeling. But
Igor
, jeez. Ogre parents aren't usually known for having a sense of humor – or maybe they just didn't see the irony.

  "Igor, listen," I said slowly. "Why don't you let the girl go? She doesn't look like she's having a real good time, you know?"

  Igor looked at Heather. Then he lifted her up, like she was a Barbie doll – a shrieking, terrified Barbie doll – until her hair was a couple inches from his nose and sniffed a couple of times before putting her back down, his big hand still around her waist. "She smells good," he said to me, as if that explained everything. Maybe to an ogre, it did.

  Some supes have senses of smell that will put a bloodhound to shame, but not ogres. Otherwise he'd have been able to smell the fear on her, too. To the right kind of nose it was probably a stronger scent than whatever perfume she was wearing. Maybe then he'd have let her go.

  "We can't all just stand here until tomorrow, Igor," I said in a reasonable tone. "We're all gonna get pretty hungry, for one thing."

  I hoped the suggestion would encourage Igor to ask for food. We'd get it for him, too. That's standard procedure in hostage situations. I'd order him the biggest pizza in town, including every topping known to man – along with a liberal dose of horse tranquilizer. That's standard procedure, too. Once Igor was in dreamland, maybe we could get a block and tackle set up in here to lift him out of the room.

  But instead of asking for something to eat, Igor said, "You gonna take me to jail?"

  No sense lying to him about that. Even ogres aren't
that
dumb. "Yeah, for a while," I said. "Until you make bail, anyway."

  Igor shook his immense head. "No! No jail. I
hate
jail." I guess he'd been inside before. "People there are
mean
."

  The idea of anybody, guard or prisoner, being mean to something Igor's size was hard to imagine, but maybe he meant they taunted him through the bars of his cell. There's guys who get off on that, taunting the powerful when they're helpless. They forget that the helplessness is usually temporary, and even ogres have memories.

  There's all kinds of cells in the supe wing of the county jail. Some of them have bars with bits of silver imbedded; others have got doors made of cold iron. They've got some ogre-proof cells, too. Those rooms have some kind of magical spell on them that prevents–

  
Magic
. Ogres are afraid of magic. There's some kinds of magic that it's smart to be afraid of, but ogres are notoriously skittish about any kind of spells, and those who can use them. Meaning witches.

  I brought out my phone, opened it, and acted like I was looking in the directory. "I guess you're leaving us no choice, Igor," I said. "We'll have to call in Rachel Proctor."

  The immense eyebrows came together as Igor tried to parse what I'd just said. After a couple of seconds he asked, "Who's that?"

  "She's the police department's consulting witch." That much was true, but nothing else I was about to say would be. "She doesn't care for guys who frighten girls like Heather," I said. "The last time I called her out to a scene like this, we had a werewolf who'd gone a little nuts and taken some hostages. Rachel turned the poor guy into a toad."

  Igor looked at me for a couple of seconds. "She can do that, this Rachel?"

  "Saw her do it with my own two eyes," I said. "And here's the funny thing – once we got the guy to jail and she was supposed to turn him back – it didn't work."

  The ogre's eyes opened wide. "You shittin' me?"

  "Nope, it's God's truth," I said. "Karl was there, too – he saw it."

  On cue, Karl nodded several times. "Very sad," he said. "Guy had a family, too."

  "Things didn't end up too bad," I said, lying the truth right out of town. "At least they found a home for him – in the Nay Aug Park Zoo. You go to the zoo much, Igor? You've probably seen him there. Excuse me."

  For obvious reasons, I had Rachel Proctor on speed-dial. I pressed the tiny icon next to her name and brought the phone to my ear. After a couple of seconds, I said into it, "Rachel? Hi, it's Stan Markowski. How you doing?"

  I paused to listen for a moment, then said, "Listen, Rachel, I've got a problem that might be right up your alley – or in your cauldron, as the case may be. See, there's this ogre–"

  That's as far as I got before Igor the ogre bellowed, "Wait, wait! I give up! No witches – I surround!"

  I was pretty sure he meant "surrender," although Igor was big enough to surround you all by himself, if he wanted to. Fortunately, I was right. He let Heather go, then put his hands up.

  I said into the phone, "Never mind, Rachel. The problem seems to be solved," and heard Rachel's voice say "…be back until next Monday. So wait for the beep, then leave a message."

  Fifteen minutes later, Igor was in the back of a police department prisoner van, his wrists bound by chains of cold iron, on his way to County. Heather the waitress was sitting in the back of an open ambulance, a blanket around her, drinking coffee from a thermos. I asked one of the uniforms to take her statement, once she was feeling more composed.

  As Karl and I left the scene, a couple of uniforms were cordoning off the area with the yellow tape that reads
Police Line. Do Not Cross.

  Leary stomped over, not looking any happier for Igor's arrest and departure. "What are they
doing?"
he yelled, pointing at the two cops.

  "Securing a crime scene until Forensics gets in there and does their work," I said. "If nothing else, they'll need to take a lot of photos. You might want to take some yourself, for the insurance people."

  "But what about my fuckin'
bar
?"

  I took a look through the open door of the tavern and the wreckage it contained.

  "Don't sweat it, Leary," I said. "I don't think you were gonna do much more business tonight, anyway."

  As we walked back to the car, Karl said, "Well, that ended with nobody gettin' hurt – apart from those dummies who tried to fight Igor."

  "Yeah," I said. "Maybe our luck is changing."

  After all these years on the job, I should know better than to tempt fate that way.

 

Doc Watson had left a message that he'd see us at 4am, and it was twelve after the hour when Karl and I arrived at his reception room. The woman behind the desk looked to be in her mid-fifties. A lot of vamps have night jobs, but I was pretty sure this one was human, more or less.

  "He's expecting us," I told her.

  The look she gave me would've done credit to Sister Yolanda, who'd made my life hell in eighth grade. Despite all the weres, zombies, and vamps I've had to deal with since then, Sister Yolanda was the one I still had nightmares about.

  "The doctor was expecting you
at 4 o'clock
," she said. I wondered if she had a big wooden ruler somewhere in her desk.

  I was in no mood for this shit, and I guess Karl wasn't either. He put his hands on her desk and leaned forward. The smile he gave her displayed his fangs nicely. "I'll make you a deal," he said pleasantly. "You'll tell the doc that we're here, and I'll try to forget that I haven't fed tonight and I'm
real
thirsty. Sound like a plan?"