Black Knight 02 - Back in Black (19 page)

"Ok, everybody make sure you're armed enough." I stood up and lifted the lid off the coffee table. Under the tabletop was a cleverly disguised gun safe, with room for half a dozen shotguns and rifles, plus a dozen or so handguns. I went to the coat closet and put my guns back on, double-checking my ammo situation. I hadn't fired a shot in last night's encounter, but it's always worth another peek before you leave the house under-armed. Greg had a Beretta in a shoulder holster and a Mossberg shotgun. Sabrina had her department-issued Smith & Wesson .40 in a shoulder rig, and I saw her pick up a Glock 19 from the case and clip that onto her belt as a backup.
 

"I don't really know much about guns..." Stephen said tentatively, a little unnerved by the amount of ammo and gun oil floating around the room.
 

I handed him a belt with a couple of long daggers in it and said, "Use these for anything close. Grab that shotgun and point it in the general direction of anything you want dead. The buckshot will take care of the rest." He still looked a little shaky, but better nervous than dead. Mike, as usual, declined the use of a gun, but Alex picked up a .38 revolver, checked the cylinder expertly, and tossed a couple of speed loaders in his jacket pocket.
 

I raised an eyebrow and Alex laughed at me. "Remember, Mr. Black, fairy, not pansy. I know my way around a pistol."
 

"Noted." I said with a grin. All geared up, we split into separate cars and headed out for a little party crashing. Just before I walked upstairs, I reached back into the closet and grabbed Milandra's sword. It had come in handy once already, no sense in leaving it behind.
 

Chapter 28

We got to the meeting place a couple of hours early and split up according to the plan. Stephen and I got into Greg's car and rolled slowly into the parking lot, while Sabrina and Greg went in the front door on foot. Not for the first time, I wished for those snazzy in-ear two-way radios that you see on all the cop shows, but as it was, we just made sure our cell phones all showed roughly the same time, and then went for it. The big roll-up door at the loading dock was open, with a pair of trolls flanking the opening. They weren't dressed like the other ones we'd seen here, in normal clothes and long coats. These guys were decked out in full leather armor, with chain mail pieces, helmets, giant battle-axes and war paint. It looked like some comic book version of what a troll warrior was supposed to look like. They would have seemed ridiculous if they weren't nine feet tall with wickedly sharp axes.
 

I got out of the car and walked up to the steps beside the dock, Stephen in tow. The smarter-looking of the two trolls (and let me tell you, that's a race to the bottom if I've ever heard of one) held out a hand and reached behind his back. I tensed and put a hand on my Glock, but relaxed when he brought out an iPad. "Are you on the list?" he rumbled. In his giant mitt, the iPad looked like a Barbie phone, but he managed to scroll down a list of members or something.

Seriously, does everybody have an iPad except me? I gotta start charging more, or eat a Best Buy manager. "Probably not. I brought the fairy you've been looking for." I gestured back at Stephen, who did that shimmer thing and revealed his true form. "Now, let me talk to your boss."
 

"No way, vamp. Give us the fairy, and we won't crush your head. But you don't get to see the boss." The dimmer-witted troll (and that’s a race to the bottom if I’ve ever heard of one) was looking very confused by all this talking, and he started forward, axe in hand. His partner waved him back and said "Gorton wants to smash you. Give me the fairy, and I won't let him."
 

"As much as I appreciate you looking out for my well-being, I think I'll pass. Now call your boss and I won't blow off anything you're fond of." I pulled my Glock and pointed it at an area just south of his belt buckle. He got the point, but his friend Gorton didn't. As soon as he saw the gun, he raised the axe and charged. Stephen suddenly got over his fear of firearms and put five shells of double-ought buckshot in the troll's chest, and it went down in a spray of green flesh and black blood, axe clattering across the pavement. That wouldn't kill a troll, no matter how much I could wish, but he'd be out of the fight.
 

"Now," I said, keeping the Glock trained on the other troll's most prized possession. "About that whole 'seeing the boss' thing?"
 

He looked over at Gorton, then back at the pair of us, and motioned for us to follow him into the warehouse. Since no one else had come running when Stephen went all Rambo on the troll, I figured Sabrina and Greg had taken care of the rest of the guards. I nodded to Stephen, who had finished reloading, and we walked into the dark warehouse after the troll.
 

I paused just outside the door to listen for heartbeats, breathing, guns cocking - anything that would give away that somebody on the other side of the door was going to put a couple rounds in my head as soon as I crossed the threshold, but I heard nothing. Our guide led us through a maze of shelving to a big open area where a cage had been set up with bleachers and lights all around it. I looked around in a circle, trying to reconcile the arena-sized interior of the building with the warehouse-sized exterior.
 

Stephen saw my puzzlement and chuckled. "Magic, Jimmy. The building is bigger on the inside than on the outside."
 

"How?" I asked. "That doesn't make any sense?"
 

"I did mention magic, didn't I? It never makes any sense except to the spell caster, and they're all a little bit crazy. Keep your eyes open, this is going too well."
 

"That's what I was thinking. I hope the others are okay." Just then the troll reached the far wall of the open area, and knocked on a door. The door clicked open, and he gestured for us to go inside.
 

"Boss is in there. I gotta go help Gorton pick buckshot out of his lung. That wasn't very nice, shooting him." He looked at Stephen reproachfully.
 

"It wasn't very nice of him to try to cut me in half." Stephen replied calmly.
 

"He's not very smart. He saw guns and got angry. It happens." The troll shrugged a shoulder the size of a VW bug and walked past us back the way we came. I looked at Stephen, who looked back at me and shrugged himself. That seemed to just about cover the situation, so I shrugged back at him, and walked in the door.
 

We stepped into an office that looked nothing like anything I expected. It looked more like a cross between a library and an armory, with melee weapons of all shapes and sizes on stands and on hangers all over one wall, all showing signs of heavy use. Two walls were taken over by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled with books that all looked very old and leather-bound. The books also showed signs of heavy use, and the room even had one of those rolling ladders on a track circling three walls to provide access to the upper shelves and the highest weapons. The fourth wall was taken up by a bank of flat-screen televisions, some showing news feeds, some showing movies, and several showing closed-circuit security camera feeds from around the building. I pointed to one screen that showed Gorton lying on the loading dock while his compatriot picked buckshot out of him with a pocketknife. Of course, a troll's pocketknife would be a human short sword, so it wasn't a simple operation. Somehow I still couldn't find it in myself to feel bad for the guy.
 

Seated in one luxurious chair in front of the bank of television screens was the last thing I would have expected. Sipping on amber liquid from a crystal glass was a fairy. He wasn't nearly as good-looking as the other fairies I had met, with pinched features and beady dark eyes, with slightly greasy hair pulled back into a tight ponytail but he was unmistakably a fairy. The chiseled jawline, ridiculously high cheekbones and angular slant of the eyes would have been clues even if I didn't see the pointed ears right away. He looked a lot like someone took everything that made the Fae so annoyingly attractive, and then dropped those features on a third-string mobster. Great, I thought. We get to bring down the Joe Pesci of the fairy world.
 

I didn't say anything, and neither did Stephen. I just walked over to the wet bar behind his little seating area, poured myself a drink, and took a seat. Stephen passed on the drink, but sat in a chair off to one side. After a long few moments, our host finally looked over at us and said, "You two have cost me a great deal of money, and two trolls. That bill will have to be settled." He looked at me and his dark eyes glittered. "I have heard of you, vampire. I am not impressed."
 

"Sorry to disappoint. If I'd known I was meeting fans today, I would have put on clean socks." I finished my drink and continued. "Nice Scotch. Now stop hunting fairies."
 

"Or?" The greasy Fae asked, one eyebrow shooting north almost to his receding hairline. I've always wanted to be able to do that, but regardless of the hours spent practicing in the mirror, I can never get only one eyebrow to go up. Of course now I can’t even practice in front of a mirror, so for all I know I mastered the art years ago and just don’t know it. I somehow doubt it. So instead of looking bemused, or sardonic, or some other fifty-cent word, I just end up looking surprised.
 

"There's no 'or'," Stephen answered while I was contemplating eyebrows. "Just stop. Simple as that."
 

"Well, my dear ballerina, I fear there is nothing simple about it. You see, gentlemen, I make a great deal of money from our little enterprise here, and as I rather like money, and what it can buy me, I doubt I'll just decide to stop out of the goodness of my heart. Besides, I enjoy it." He leaned back in his chair, and picked up a remote control. "Take a look, you might find yourself hooked." He pressed a few buttons on the remote, and the lights in the room dimmed. A projection screen lowered from the ceiling, and images flickered to life.
 

We sat there as a greatest hits montage of fairy/troll combat rolled across the screen. I saw all the beating victims in one state of combat or another, from standing triumphant over a fallen troll to bouncing off the canvas with blood oozing from eyes, ears and mouth. In every shot one thing was constant - the crowd was going absolutely nuts. No matter who won, the crowd screamed with a frenzy that one usually only sees at NASCAR crashes.
 

Our host spun back around and looked levelly at us. "As you can well imagine, there is a significant amount of money wagered on these events. And no matter who wins the fight, the real winner is always the house. As I am the house, I do not intend to give up that revenue stream. So it seems we are at an impasse. And if you are not here to fight in tonight's event, it seems I must go recruit another combatant."
 

"Like your monster tried to 'recruit' me?" Stephen spat.
 

"Precisely. Given our recuperative capabilities, had you been a little less resistant, we could have knocked you unconscious, brought you here and put you through a full bout without anyone ever being the wiser. Now look at all the problems you have created." He put down his glass and steepled his fingers. "What could I ever do to convince you that it would be in your best interests to participate in tonight's event? Oh, I have an idea!"
 

I didn't like the sound of that. I hate it when the bad guys have ideas. I hate it even more when they smile about those ideas. Our nameless little friend picked up his remote again, and the screen withdrew back into the ceiling. On the center monitor was exactly what I was afraid I'd see - an image of a troll carrying an unconscious Alex in through the loading dock door. Our host looked up at us, wearing a smile colder than the winter wind outside, and asked, "Now, what weapon would you prefer?"
 

Chapter 29

Stephen drew both daggers and started for the fairy behind the desk, but I held him back. "I don't think that's going to do Alex any favors."

"Quite correct, Mr. Black. What
has
this world come to when a bloodsucking fiend is the voice of reason? Now, Stephen, our bout begins in just a few hours, so I suggest you go to the locker room and prepare yourself. I think for tonight's meeting, we shall showcase the unarmed fighting skills of the Fae." He leaned back and smiled again, reaching for his glass.

His hand never got there, freezing as an enormous crash echoed through the warehouse. Gunshots and screams rattled the walls as the cavalry appeared on the monitor, Greg and Sabrina blasting their way through a horde of trolls on their way to rescue Alex. Our oily friend reached into his pocket, but I was behind the desk with one hand on his wrist and the other lifting him by his throat before he could withdraw his hand. Stephen stared at me, mouth open. I'm fast when I need to be, and this was his first time seeing it. "Take your hand out of your pocket. Very slowly. And if it's not empty, I'm going to rip it off and drink you dry from the shoulder."

He looked down at me and I don't know if it was the fangs or the look in my eye, but he complied. I was a little disappointed; having developed a taste for fairy blood over in Never-NeverLand that I figured was now never going to be sated. I looked back at the monitors, then at Stephen. "Go ahead, kick a little troll booty and rescue your husband. No point letting the cop and the bloodsuckers have all the fun." He turned and ran out to join the fray like a kid running into the living room on Christmas morning. I wondered for a second how his new bloodthirst was going to go over with the other guys in
Nutcracker
, but then turned my attention to the matters at hand.