“Come on, kids,” I said loudly. “Clear off.”
“What? You his bodyguard?” Another piped up.
“Nah, look at ’em. He’s his boyfriend.” More laughter.
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, kid, if I had a dollar for every time I’d been called some bloke’s boyfriend, I would have a dollar. Enough of this shit. Get lost.”
So far, the girls were hanging back. The one with the scooter moved a little further away from the others. She had violently red hair and big, dark eyes further enlarged by thick eyeliner and impossibly long lashes. Her skinny body was barely clothed in denim cut offs so short the bottom of the pockets were exposed on her thighs, and a tight shirt with torn off sleeves. While the others all laughed she held back, watching warily. There was a bruise, livid purple and sick yellow, on her upper arm, as if someone had grabbed her hard.
Something like anger kicked me in the gut at that sight. Someone had hurt this little, fragile child. The headache spiked, but at the same time, it was washed over by a rolling wave of berserker.
Before I could make another mess, Dev muttered something. My skin rippled in a desperate escape bid at the nearness and immediacy of the sorcery.
A blast of wind shot across the street and pushed the big kid backwards. He staggered, falling into the side of the Monster Mobile, hair pushed back from his face, clothes flattened to his front. He looked like he was test driving a wind tunnel. A circle of dust was blown off the side of the car. An instant later, a larger gust of wind followed the first, tactical shot. It wasn’t as strong or as targeted, more generalised so it blew through the leaves of the hedges, ruffled the kids’ clothes and whipped their greasy hair into tangles. Then it died away, as if it had been a natural bit of weather.
“What the fuck?” The kid who’d accused me of being the boyfriend picked a leaf out of his hair.
“Best get goin’,” Dev said, his voice low and not threatening, but full of meaning.
It might not have been enough to get them on their way, and in fact looked to maybe be the something that got this rumble going in the wrong direction, if it weren’t for the redhead.
“Come on, Chop,” she said, scooter on the ground, one foot on it, ready to push off. “Let’s just get out of here.”
“Shut up, Feeble,” Chop, the big guy, snapped. He pushed off the 4WD and savagely pulled his shirt the right way around.
“No.” Though from the way she cringed as she said it, I guessed it wasn’t something she said often.
Yeah, that didn’t appease the berserker much. He rolled under my skin like a baby alien, wanting to be birthed in blood and gore.
Chop turned a glare on her. “What the fuck did you say?”
The other girl, perhaps a bit older than Feeble, stepped up. She was a big girl, as in played-hockey-to-a-high-degree-of-violence big, with strong arms and hands that could probably crush rocks. Pretty, though, with what you would call, on someone less likely to thump you into the ground, cute features. She had short, spiked blond hair and enough piercings in both ears to make me fear imminent lightning strikes.
“Come on, Chop. She’s right. We gotta find Scary. You getting into another fight isn’t gonna help us.”
“Yeah,” Leaf Boy muttered. “If we don’t find him, we’re in trouble, man. Come on, let’s go.”
Chop glared at them, then at me and Dev, then spun and stalked back to the herd. He mumbled what was probably threats before snatching at Feeble’s arm. His hand closed over the bruise like it was a matched set. Chop hauled her off the scooter and shoved her ahead of him.
“Then get the fuck going,” he snarled.
Stumbling, Feeble hit the pavement on her hands and knees. There was perhaps a heartbeat of time when, if she’d done anything other than pick herself up, dust off her bare knees and lift her head defiantly, I would have done something to have me back in prison.
“Don’t be a fucking dick,” the older girl snarled, shoving Chop from behind. “Leave her alone.”
“Watch it, Razor,” Chop snapped at her.
Razor bristled. “Or what?”
I’m all for a tactical retreat and, apparently, so was Chop. Dev and I didn’t bother him, but apparently Razor did. I didn’t blame him.
Scowling, Chop turned and brushed past Feeble. He fell into a forced-casual slouch-walk, clearly signalling his leaving was entirely his own decision. Fool. Abusive fucking fool.
Razor went to Feeble, making sure she was all right while the rest of the Tool Brigade slumped off after their master.
I was across the street before my brain could catch up.
“She all right?” I asked gently of Razor.
The blonde girl turned a dark look on me. “She’s none of your business, fucker. Piss off.”
Ignoring the open hostility, I looked at Feeble. “Are you okay? Do you need help?” This close, I could see the thickness of the makeup on her face, layers of foundation hiding faint discolouration.
The berserker thrashed in need and red tinged my vision.
“I said—” Razor began, but Feeble cut her off with a simple touch on her arm.
“I’m fine,” Feeble said to me, those big eyes earnest. “Thanks anyway.”
Something tightened in my chest at those words, brave and honest, and yet so fucking sad at the same time. “If you need anything… Either of you.”
“We’re good,” Razor snapped, but there was a bit less tooth that time.
Feeble smiled at me and collected her scooter. “Sorry about Chop. He’s just a bit upset today.”
I scrounged in a pocket for a card. “If you want help with anything, let me know.”
It was one of my cards for Night Call. I willed her to take it, and keep it, and use it if she needed. And if she did, maybe I’d have a chance to do something about Chop’s attitude.
Razor snorted and started walking away.
Feeble took the card and read it. “For things that go bump in the dark?” There was a healthy dose of scepticism in her tone.
“Yeah. I help out all sort of people with all sorts of issues. I also work free, for special people.”
“Move your arse, Feeble!” Razor walked backwards, watching us.
Feeble waved to her and tucked my card into her pocket. “Thanks, mister.” She put a foot on her scooter and pushed off.
“She’ll be okay?” Dev asked, coming up behind me.
“Probably not,” I muttered, watching her go.
“You did what you could, buddy.”
I snorted and we started back to the car.
Rustling in the hedge caught my attention. Turning, I studied the green wall. It came again and this time, I saw a flash of brown skitter through the green.
A piercing whistle split the quiet afternoon air.
Feeble had stopped several houses down the street. Fingers in her lips, she whistled again and from out of the bushes popped a monkey.
It clambered to the top of the hedge and paused, looking at me and Dev, little head tilted one way, then the other as it sized us up. From the top of the black furred head to the tip of its black-tipped tail, and all the golden-brown fuzz in between, it was not even a metre long—half of that tail—and probably weighed less than a kilo. The white fur on its face gave it a distinctly skull like appearance.
“Marcel! Come on, boy!”
The monkey perked toward Feeble, tail twitching. It gave us one last look, then scampered with monkey-like agility across the hedge toward Feeble. From the distance of several meters, it leaped at Feeble and landed on her shoulders. She laughed and patted its head. Tail curling around her neck, Marcel the squirrel monkey poked his tongue out at us as Feeble scooted off.
“Well,” Dev said, “you don’t see that every day.”
“No,” I agreed. “Only when a bunch of monkey’s got stolen from a zoo, generally.” Hauling out my phone, I called Erin.
“Sol Investigations, Erin McRea speaking.”
“I think I have a break in the monkey caper,” I announced, heading after the disappearing Tool Brigade.
They turned down a side street, Chop looking back to make sure the others were still following. I pretended I was just making a call, not following anyone at all.
“What is it?” Erin asked eagerly.
“I think I’ve found one of our stolen monkeys. It’s riding with the Tool Brigade.”
I could almost hear Erin’s eyebrow arching. “The Tool Brigade?”
“A herd of juvenile delinquents who have a less than average chance of reaching adulthood if they keep annoying sorcerers.”
Erin sighed. “Did you hit any of them, Matt?”
“Hey!” I made sure the Brigade was out of sight, then kept following. Dev trailed along with an expression that wasn’t quite long-suffering. “I didn’t hit any of them.”
There was a low level growl in my words that made Erin’s next silence deadly serious.
“Tell me,” she said in her PI voice.
I explained the confrontation in sparse terms, saving the details for my disgust for Chop and the appearance of the monkey. By the time I’d finished, I’d reached the corner. Not quite sneaking around it, I found… just another street of parked cars, houses and no Tool Brigade.
If they weren’t locals, they were probably still more familiar with the streets hereabouts than me. They could have disappeared off anywhere.
“Lost them,” I reported to Erin.
“You probably shouldn’t follow them, anyway,” she advised.
“They’re not that tough.”
“No, but imagine how it would look. Two grown men following a bunch of kids. We can track them down another way.”
Dev waited at the corner, clearly getting the point before I did.
I slowed to a stop, looking both ways up the relatively empty street. A car went past. At the far end of the block, a mailman on a motorbike whizzed between letter boxes. There were jacarandas along this street, the air filled with soft purple flowers. Scowling at the trees, I turned to head back to the car.
“Yeah, I guess. I might be able to coax Mercy out for a bit of exercise tonight.”
“That would be a big help. Could you and Dev come in to the office and give me detailed descriptions of the kids?”
“Sure. When would you like us?”
“Um, how about now? Do it while it’s fresh.”
“Let me check.” I explained to Dev and he agreed as we walked back to the car. “We’ll be there in twenty,” I told Erin.
“Oh, could you pick up food? Chinese would be great. Thanks!”
She hung up before I could protest.
Lonely and hungry. Not good enough for filing but apparently I was fine as a delivery guy.