Mark Del Franco - Uncertain Allies

A thumping sound came from the barrel, and I moved off my stool. I wasn’t afraid of rats. I was afraid of what a startled rat might do. They avoided people, but they had tiny brains and didn’t know the difference between someone trying to avoid them and a big scary mammal looming over them.

A crumpled ball of paper popped out, then an empty beer can. The barrel wobbled as something inside shrieked. I backed away as it fell over with a loud crash, newspapers and more cans scattering onto the ground. Heads turned at all the noise as a bright pink ball of essence shot across the floor and hit the wall.

“I’m trying to be inconspicuous here, Joe,” I said.

He rubbed his head. “There’s a big brown rat in there with the longest tail I’ve ever seen.”

I picked up a brown-paper shopping bag, rolled up and dangling its broken rope handle. “This rat?”

Joe made a show of dusting himself off. “It was dark.”

I tossed at him. “What the hell were you doing in there anyway?”

He straightened with dignity. “Looking for you.”

“In a trash barrel? What would make you think . . . never mind.” It took me a second, but I saw the setup.

Joe fluttered to the stool and sat down. “What are you doing here?”

“Pondering the meaning of life and the Wheel of the World,” I said.

He peered off at the dark bar. “Really? The beer’s that cheap here?”

“Yeah,” I said.

Joe banged his fists against his forehead. “Can’t you get drunk like a normal crazy person?”

I righted the barrel and glanced around. After the initial noise, the bar patrons had gone back to staring into space. “I don’t think I’d fit in this barrel.”

Joe pouted, letting his eyes grow wide with sadness. “I wish I could ponder life, too, but my hands are empty.”

“Would you like a beer, Joe?”

He grinned. “Why, yes, I would love to discuss philosophy with you, kind sir.”

A strange vibe swept the room, an air of tension that prompted people to look toward the exit. Drinkers at the bar shifted in their seats, leaning toward each other to whisper. Joe flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. “Ow! People need to tone down their sendings.”

“I’m not getting anything,” I said. I couldn’t do sendings anymore, but I could receive them. Whatever was happening, no one thought I’d be interested.

Joe shook his head. “Another fire. Big one over on the haul road.”

Ever since a quarter of the neighborhood had burned down the night of the riots, people had been jumpy. The bar was on the edge of the burn zone, and while some might argue not much was left to burn, that wasn’t a joke to people who lived and worked nearby.

“Is the fire department responding?” I asked.

“Lots. It’s a big one. Do they have nuts here?” Joe asked.

“Just one. Let’s go check out the fire,” I said.

Joe gave me a horrified look. “But the beer is here.” “We’ll get some later. Promise,” I said.

Outside, a muddy orange light smeared across the night sky, never a good sign when it came to fires. I hurried down the sidewalk, dodging puddles and broken cement and made it to the haul road in two short blocks. Thick smoke plumed off the top of a warehouse. From the number of units on the scene, the fire had gone to at least six alarms. On the corner, an elf in a green uniform stopped us. “This is a secure area. You need to move on.”

“I’m here on business for Eorla Elvendottir,” I said. It wasn’t quite true, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No one gets in. Move on,” he said.

I stepped around him, while Joe circled my head. “I’m Connor Grey. I work for Eorla. You can check with her or Rand.”

My body shield flickered on as I sensed the elf charging his hand with essence. In a blur, Joe had his sword out and in the guy’s face. “He said you can check with someone, got it? Or do I have to play tic-tac-toe on your face?”

The elf glared but dropped his hand. “I will remember this.”

“Good,” said Joe.

Flits were not to be underestimated, to be sure, but seeing such a large being back away from Joe was damned funny. We left the guard on the corner, glaring at us. “Tic-tac-toe?” I asked.

He nudged me with an elbow and winked as his sword vanished behind its cloaking glamour. “Yeah, good one, huh?”

“As always, buddy.” Joe liked movies. His taste showed in the lines of dialogue he picked up.

As I picked my way over thick yellowed fire hoses, I spotted Murdock next to an EMT truck. “Hey, Leo. I didn’t expect to see you down here.”

The fire lit his intent face in harsh yellow. “A call went out about a break-in. We’re still shorthanded, so I thought I’d back up uniforms if they needed me.”

Several fire trucks lined the front of the building. Every ladder truck was in service as plumes of water rained down on the burning building. A misty halo lingered in the air. “Is that Kevin’s unit?” I asked.

“Yeah, first one in as usual,” Murdock said.

The last time I had seen Kevin Murdock was on his station’s ladder truck the night of the riots. He was the youngest Murdock, and that night he looked like a lost boy, bewildered by the carnage around him.

Two firefighters appeared in the front entrance. They staggered a few feet, pulling off their helmets, then leaned on their knees, coughing, as EMTs rushed to their sides with oxygen. “Looks intense,” I said.

“They’re having trouble venting. Something about the insulation,” he said.

The granite front of the building was covered with elaborate carving that resembled a forest. Over the door, a damaged sign carved into the lintel indicated the building was a stone-quarry supplier. “Why would someone break into a stone supplier? It’s not like you can shove a slab in your pocket.”

“Won’t know until we question him. Best we can tell, he set the fire to cover his escape,” he said.

“He?” I asked.

Murdock shook his head. “He’s still in there. We had to pull our guys out when the fire started. Firemen are on search and rescue now.”

The radio inside Murdock’s coat screeched and garbled. He had it tuned to the firefighter frequency. I never learned to understand a word on those things. “What’s going on?”

Murdock lowered the volume. “They’re pulling out of a section of the building. Too much heat.”

“Did they find the guy?”

Murdock played with the radio tuning. “I think so. Sounds like it was some kind of fey. They’re talking about a shield blocking them.”

The wind shifted and dumped a pall of oily smoke down on us. My eyes teared up. The radio squawked. Murdock tensed as he adjusted the signal. “What’s happening?” I asked.

“Something collapsed,” he said. Firefighters in full gear stumbled from the shattered doors. He walked toward the confusion near the front of the building.

I followed him. “Why are they coming out?”

Murdock waved me silent as his scanned the firefighters. “Kevin has the perp. I don’t see him.”

He hurried to a group of men near the chief’s car. Words were exchanged that looked pretty animated. Murdock’s body tensed, and he thrust an arm toward the building. An argument ensued, several men stalking away in angry disgust. More followed them, pulling back from the building. Murdock shoved his way past them. I caught him near the front of the building. The heat from the fire pressed against my face. “Where the hell are you going?”

“The building’s destabilized. The chief won’t let anyone else in,” he said.

“But what about . . .” I stopped at the look on Murdock’s face.

“Kevin and two others are trapped in the back,” he said.