“Why would the TruKnights kill the kid?” said Murdock.
Moke rocked his head. “Not all runners run for joy.”
Joy was the current street slang for drugs. “Are you saying the kid was delivering something else?” I said.
Moke’s hunchback rolled in what I took to be a shrug.
“Who was he running for? Kruge?” I said.
Murdock glared at me. I have to admit it was an amateur mistake, but the guy annoyed me.
“Yeah. Kruge,” said Moke. Of course he’d say that.
“All right, I’ll play. About what?” I said.
Again with the hunchback. “Kruge not like a lot. Not a lot like Kruge.”
“A name,” said Murdock. I could sense his essence start to spark up. Not a good sign. “Give us a name, or I’ll haul in half the T-Rats, and we’ll see how long the rest of your crew survives against the TruKnights.”
Moke growled and stretched his head toward Murdock, who had the good sense to step back. No telling what might come out of the troll’s mouth, or what might end up in it. Murdock unholstered his gun. Moke cocked his head at it, probably debating whether a bullet would itch or burn. It would take more than one to slow him down.
“Kruge hate C-Note most.”
No surprise there. “So do you. What makes you think I believe that?”
He worked his tongue over his teeth. “Croda knew. Kruge told her C-Note was trouble. Needed help.”
“What kind of help?” said Murdock.
Moke rolled his shoulders. “Maybe he had a goat needed eating.”
I smirked. I couldn’t help it. Not everyone gets to throw Murdock’s sarcasm back at him. “Where’s Croda?”
Moke shifted his eyes toward me. He made no other movement, but I could feel his disposition change, a sense of anger and fear enveloping him. Anger I was used to from trolls, but fear? Trolls feared little. They could take a bolt of essence to the face and keep coming. They had few adversaries who could match them in a physical fight. And their own innate ability to manipulate essence was not inconsequential. A fearful troll is not a good thing.
“Why bother Moke? C-Note trouble, not Moke.”
“We’re bothering you because a kid is dead, and we’re not happy,” said Murdock.
He shrugged again. “Go bother C-Note. C-Note kills. Moke just make people happy.”
“Sure, happy, and occasionally battered and bruised if they don’t pay for their happiness,” I said.
It was my turn to get the growl. Trolls love to growl. Between their odor, their looks, and their size, the growl makes the picture complete. My feeble little shields flared up around me like a warning system, only one that would not stop a troll bite. Unlike Murdock, who had a better sense of self-preservation, I stepped up on Moke. His face loomed over me, twice as wide as my own, a foul odor wafting out of his mouth. I clenched my jaw.
“Let me tell you something, Moke. I am going to go see C-Note, and I am going to bother him. But right now, I want to know where Croda is, or I will come back at noon and tear the door off your hidey-hole.”
Never underestimate the speed of a troll. Moke’s huge hands pinned my arms to my sides, and he roared as he lifted me off the ground.
“You dare!” he screamed, his voice reverberating against the underside of the bridge.
“Drop him!” Murdock yelled. He had his gun out, judiciously pointed at Moke’s head. Moke roared again and swung me at Murdock. I slammed into Murdock, and pain shot through my shoulder. Not such a good idea after all. Murdock went tumbling into a heap of trash as Moke stalked across the debris-strewn ground and shoved me against a support column.
“You want to see me kill? I show you kill!” I bit my tongue as he shook me. I could feel every bone in my body rattle. My head banged against the column, my shields screaming as they tried to soften the blows. With a futile effort, I tried to tap my essence, tried to reach deep within myself and breach the wall that blocked my abilities. A knife blade of pain sliced in my brain, and blood shot out my nose into Moke’s face. Not the counterattack I was hoping for.
He tossed me through the air, and I landed on a cardboard shanty. Something struggled beneath me and shoved me aside. A lance of pain pierced my shoulder as I rolled. An old man appeared from within the box and ran off without looking back. I dragged myself to my feet, holding my arm against my side to keep it from hurting. Murdock was searching the trash for his gun as he yelled into his radio for backup.
I backpedaled as Moke lumbered toward me. Turning to run, my ankles twisted, and I landed on my ass. I dug my heels into the dirt and tried to scramble away. No point. Moke was on me in seconds and grabbed me by the torso. Yeah, I screamed. I admit it. A troll lifts you and slams you against a retaining wall, damn, you scream. Black and red spots flashed in front of my eyes. Then I was in the air again. I plowed into a garbage heap. Stunned, I tried to will my body to move, but it wouldn’t cooperate.
I heard a shot. Murdock had found his gun. I shook my head to clear it as I heard him fire again. When my vision cleared, an unexpected sight greeted me. A thin young girl with short blond hair, dressed in fatigues and pink ski jacket, stood with her back to me holding her hands up to the oncoming troll. Murdock fired again, but Moke only flinched.
“Stop! Stop! Moke! Stop!” she yelled.
He was almost upon her when Murdock fired again. “Stop!” the kid screamed.
Moke skidded to a halt. For a moment, no one moved, the only sound the ragged breath of the troll. Murdock came forward, gun extended in front of him.
“It’s okay, Moke,” said the girl.
Breath still heaving, he turned his head toward Murdock. “Tell him to stop shooting me,” he growled.
Keeping one hand up toward Moke, she turned her other palm toward Murdock. “Please! Stop! I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
I stumbled to my feet. “You’re a little late.”
Murdock gestured with his gun. “Back off! Now!”
Moke did exactly that. He took two steps back toward his hovel, leaving a dozen feet between us.
The pain from my shoulder made me grimace as I walked toward the girl. She couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, cute and scared as hell. She started to drop her hand. “Keep the hands where I can see them, and no one will get shot. Who the hell are you?”
She ignored the question. “Please don’t let him shoot again.”
“I asked you your name.”
She held her hands out in front of her again. “Crystal Finch.”
Even if I hadn’t been fighting a faint, I would have rocked back on my heels. The last place I expected to find Dennis Farnsworth’s girlfriend was under a bridge forcing a rampaging troll to back down.
I flicked my head at Moke. “Do you really have him under control?”
She looked at Moke. “Are you all right, Moke? Can he put the gun down?”
Moke closed his eyes and stepped back against his makeshift door. “No gun. I stop. No gun.”
Murdock had not taken his eyes off the troll, sighting down his arm as he held the gun at Moke. “Connor?” he said.
I looked at Crystal, and she nodded. “As long as he doesn’t move, I’m cool with it,” I said.
Murdock backed toward us and away from Moke. He swung the gun at Crystal. “Open your jacket,” he said.
“I think she has a knife in her left front pocket, but otherwise she’s unarmed,” I said. All fey are sensitive to metal, mostly because it screws up how we use essence. I can feel it at close range if I let myself, and given the weak field projecting off Crystal, I knew she didn’t have a gun. Murdock leaned forward and pulled a small pocketknife on a key chain out of her pocket and slipped it in his own. Then he stepped back and holstered his gun.