Mark Del Franco - Unquiet Dreams

“Okay. Not much change. You?”

The waitress returned and dropped three tumblers of whiskey in front of us and a smaller one for Joe. We tapped glasses. While the three of us sipped, Murdock placed his back on the table. He wasn’t on duty, but I could tell by the way his eyes kept shifting to the crowd, it was not the kind of place he liked to drink in.

“I’m okay,” Cal said. “Been doing a little of this, a little of that.”

We always started this way. Wary. Not going too deep.

“Heard from Mom and Dad?” I asked. Safe, yet unsafe, territory.

He shook his head. “You know them. They’ll remember us eventually.”

I didn’t respond. Like all siblings, Cal and I have very different relationships with our parents. Cal sees their lack of contact as indifference. I see it as two people who get incredibly caught up in each other and their own lives. They care. Cal never realizes they call him more than me. But then, they worry about him more. If and when they return from meddling in Celtic politics, Cal will complain they won’t leave him alone, and I will pretend I don’t like their attention.

No one spoke for a long minute, while Joe hummed to himself watching us. I’ve got to give it to the little guy. He never quite gives up on getting the two of us back together.

“So, Joe’s led me to believe you travel in interesting circles these days,” I said.

Cal sipped his drink again, eyeing Joe. “Does he, now? Perhaps Joe might be more careful what he says where.”

Joe barked like a dog at Cal. It’s one of his nervous tics when someone throws a dig at him that lands. “I didn’t say anything about your buried treasure, secret harem, or wine cellar. I just told him you might know about gang stuff down by the Tangle.”

From the look on Cal’s face, I think he would have preferred Joe told us about women or money. I already knew about the booze. Cal downed his whiskey and nodded at the waitress. Not a good sign.

“Why would I talk about something I know nothing about with a cop?” asked Cal.

Murdock’s mouth went to a tight, straight line. Murdock hated being made as the law. Of course, Cal wasn’t stupid. Wearing a trench coat and tie in Yggy’s and not drinking a free shot were dead giveaways. I felt Murdock’s essence spike, and I could tell Cal felt it, too. He gave me a look that told me he found it odd. The waitress dropped him another drink on her way by.

“We’re just looking for background, Cal,” I said.

“Still don’t know why you’re talking to me.”

I sighed. Every time Cal and I encounter each other, the animosity starts. It goes back a long way. We’re never at outright war with each other, but there are too many issues between us for outright peace. “Look, Joe brought us to you. If you can’t help, fine. I’m not looking to cause you trouble.”

“Calm down, Con.” He nodded at Murdock. “You trust him?”

“With my life. I can’t say the same for him. I almost got him killed on our last case together.”

Murdock chuckled. His essence settled down, more human normal.

Cal leaned forward, not looking me in the eye. “What do you want to know?”

“What about the Tunnel Rats?” Murdock asked.

Cal shrugged. “Enforcers mostly. T-Rats don’t usually start something, but they’ve been known to end things pretty quick.”

Murdock leaned forward, too. “My info is they’re all dwarves, but we’ve got a dead human kid wearing their colors. Would they have killed him for wearing their colors?”

Cal shook his head, examining the swirling amber liquid in his glass. “No, they’re not that sick-petty. They might rough someone up for it, but it’d be odd for them to go that far.” He paused. “Oh, wait—did the kid have knots in his bandana?”

We both nodded. “That’s why. The kid had something he didn’t want his gang identified with, but the T-Rats wanted done. So, they let him wear their colors. Knots in a bandana are a heads-up that the kid isn’t a T-Rat but has their protection.”

“Sounds dangerous. If someone wanted to kill a Tunnel Rat, why would they care if someone was pretending to be one?”

Cal smiled. “’Cause they don’t know if they’re bringing double hell down on themselves. Someone might not be afraid of the T-Rats but scared spitless of an associate. Kill the associate, get the T-Rats and the associate’s gang in on your fight uninvited.”

“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.”