Mark Del Franco - Uncertain Allies

“I wonder why he wasn’t telling the truth about the landscaping either,” he said.

“It could be a coincidence, Leo. If he cut ties with Nar all those years ago, he probably doesn’t know anything,” I said.

“You know what I’m thinking?” he asked.

“You’re thinking that despite what Thekk said, he knows something about Nar, which means that until something more likely comes along, you will investigate this mysterious business deal that went sore between them until you can rule him out as a suspect,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “And what makes you say that?”

“You’re predictable.”

“I am not,” he said.

“Okay, now that I helped you with this interview, I have a favor to ask,” I said.

“Uh-oh,” he said.

“Shut up. It’s easy. I need a motorcycle,” I said.

“I want a pony,” he said.

“Seriously, I need something fast and maneuverable to chase down this blue essence in the Tangle. A motorcycle’s perfect.”

“The department would never approve it. They’re dealing with inventory loss from the night of the riots,” he said.

“I wasn’t thinking about the department.” Murdock’s brother Bar had a bike, but since I was persona non grata with the Murdock family, I didn’t think he’d loan it to me. His own brother, on the other hand, would have no problem.

Murdock laughed in disbelief. “I see where you’re going. I’ll ask, but don’t get your hopes up.” He pulled off the road and into a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot, parked the car, and leaned back. “Hurry up. I don’t want to get stuck in midday traffic.”

“Hurry up with what?” I asked.

He grinned. “It’s been over an hour since you had your coffee. You want another cup, and need to take a leak. You’re predictable.”

I laughed as I got out of the car. “Touché, my friend, touché.”

I grinned at the approaching sound of an engine. Murdock had come through with my request for the motorcycle. He coasted the bike to the curb in front of my building and cut the engine. I whistled in admiration. “When the hell did Bar get a Ducati?”

Murdock pulled off his helmet. “About six months ago, I think. I’m surprised he let me take it instead of the Harley. I think he sleeps with it.”

I trailed my hand along the front. “A Monster, right?”

“The S,” said Murdock.

The bike really was a beast. Even parked, the machine looked like it was in motion, stripped down to the bare bones, not a piece of chrome wasted. I circled around the back to check out the exhaust. “Man, I wish I still had the money for something like this.”

“Okay. I got the bike. What’s the plan?” Murdock asked.

“I can’t catch the blue-essence surge. I tried essence speeding the other night, but it kicked up a storm in my head, and my nose bled for an hour,” I said.

“Basically, you want to race around the Weird on a bike,” he said.

I tried to look innocent. “Well, I think the blue surge is related to the dwarf murders. It’s shown up nearby every time.”

Murdock smirked like he wasn’t buying it. He handed me a helmet. “Get on.”

“What? I thought you were dropping the bike off for me to use,” I said.

He shook his head. “No way am I letting you take this bike. Bar would scream if he found out. I didn’t tell him you wanted it.”

I pulled the helmet on. “This is so not fair.”

“You can always try running faster,” he said.

I grabbed his shoulder and swung my leg over the bike. “I’d leave you in the dust.”

“Left tap, slow down. Right tap, stop. I tap you, hang on. Every helmet bump costs a beer. Got it?” he said.

“Got it. Let’s check out the burn district first,” I said.

Murdock started the motorcycle as I gripped his waist. To show me who was boss, he tapped my hand and tore up the street. I laughed at my momentary panic at the speed, then settled in for the ride. It had been a while since I was on a bike. We tore up Old Northern, turning heads as we passed.

We cruised up and down side streets, keeping an eye out for a hint of blue essence. Its appearance was a nightly occurrence. Sometimes people vanished afterward, but not every time. Murdock looped through areas where the Dead were known to congregate, since I suspected a connection existed between the Dead and the surge. Every reported sighting I had checked out had faded Dead essence in the area.

“We don’t get a lot of calls about the Dead anymore,” Murdock said during a pit stop.

The Dead had been major trouble before Eorla contained the Taint. The Taint had heightened their propensity to violence. They had torn apart the Weird, causing mayhem and death. That Commissioner Murdock had been taking bribes to look the other way didn’t help, either, but that was something I wouldn’t say in front of Leo. “Since the solitaries learned how to fight back, I’m guessing the Dead have decided to keep a low profile.”

Murdock smiled around the mouth of a water bottle. “Yeah, a cop loves to hear vigilante justice works.”

I laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant. The Dead had to learn they have to get along here. They thought they could slaughter people like they did in TirNaNog, and the solitaries had to make them understand that things don’t work like that here. Think of it as a cultural conflict that worked itself out.”

“Uh-huh. At least we’re not finding decapitated bodies anymore. Ready?” he asked.

We donned our helmets and got back on the bike. I hadn’t ridden in a long time, and my butt was going to be complaining in the morning. Murdock turned a corner and tapped my hands. I grabbed his waist tighter as he picked up speed. Two blocks ahead, the blue surge swept across the road. Murdock raced the bike up to the turn. I bumped his helmet as he came to a full stop. The alley was empty.

“Missed it. That’s one beer for me,” he shouted over the engine.

“No fair. I didn’t know you were stopping,” I said.

“Pay attention,” he said. He gunned it up the alley. I tilted my head on the recoil and bumped his shoulder instead of his head. Ten minutes later, the surge appeared in the road ahead, moving away at a good clip. Murdock swerved around a car that had slammed on its brakes. I leaned in to the turn, trying not to think about the sandy grit in the road as the bike tilted.

Murdock righted the bike and ripped it up the street. The surge billowed ahead, dark indigo shapes flashing in and out of sight. It pulled away, gaining speed as we neared. It twisted across the sidewalk and plunged into a building. Plunged, as in vanished through a brick wall. Murdock hit the brakes hard. The rear tire kicked out, and I held on as the force almost threw me. Murdock killed the engine and whipped off his helmet. “What the hell is that?”

“A wall,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said.

I eased off the bike and approached the wall. It was an illusion. Someone had created a shield out of hardened essence. I touched the facing with my right hand, feeling the essence tingle like static under my fingers. “There’s a shield barrier here, a good one. This must be why I keep losing track of them. They must have barriers like this scattered all over the neighborhood.”

“They?” asked Murdock.

I looked at him. “They’re the Dead, Leo. I thought the surge was following the Dead, but it is the Dead. I didn’t realize until tonight that Dead essence fades faster than living essence. I was gauging the time frame for the faded essence wrong.”

“So you’re saying the Dead are kidnapping people,” he said.

“Looks that way,” I said.

He smirked. “Remind me again about that resolved cultural conflict thing you were talking about.”