The Last Smile in Sunder City (The Fetch Phillips Archives #1) - Luke Arnold Page 0,94

in a moment it was all wrong.

A few days earlier, when I’d kicked that developer out of my office, it had made me feel good. It might not have been big or brave or life-changing, but it was somewhere on the right track. This? What I’d just done? It was down in the weeds with the dead bodies and the dog shit.

The Roost was still closed. In some way, I was happy not to see Eileen. Not to have to explain what I’d been doing all day. But I wanted a drink. So I went to The Ditch.

I’d had a busy day. None of it had been good but the worst part had been knocking on the door to a Dwarven home and giving them the beautiful gift of blackmail. If there was one thing in particular I wanted to push out of my head with alcohol, it was that.

But there they were.

Every Dwarf that had just been kicked from their home was drowning their misery in my favorite watering hole. One head turned, then the others followed, until every bulging eye was fixed on my tired face. Sure, we’d already talked it out and cut our deal but that didn’t mean they felt happy about it. And it didn’t mean that after a few drinks, they wouldn’t want to stomp my head into a paste with their little boots.

I gave a weak, apologetic wave and turned around before they started throwing things.

Where had I gone wrong? I’d been a better man a few days earlier. Not good, just better than what I’d become. And what did it? Just the idea that something sweet could come back into my life? I was fine with having nothing. Nothing to hold onto and so no reason to do anyone else any wrong. But give me a little hope and I’ll show you who I really am.

A trash can was tipped over on the sidewalk, I booted it into an alley as I went past.

Maybe nobody gets better. Maybe bad people just get worse. It’s not the bad things that make people bad, though. From what I’ve seen, we all work together in the face of adversity. Join up like brothers and work to overcome whatever big old evil wants to hold us down. The thing that kills us is the hope. Give a good man something to protect and you’ll turn him into a killer.

I took a Clayfield from my pocket and chewed it as I stomped up the street. There was something important dangling in front of my mind but I couldn’t bring it into focus.

Baxter had said we were the same. Rye and I. Troubled souls who seemed to find some relief after the Coda.

But all it took was a little story to bring me back again. What about Rye? He’d heard a story too, hadn’t he? Sydney Grimes sent him a letter, telling him about some new monster that might have found the magic again. If Rye didn’t join the fight, then where was he? What had that little story done to him?

Two Vampires were dead but they must have received their information from the League. I didn’t know of any Vampires in town, other that the husk in the retirement village who wouldn’t be any help. There was someone else, though. A manicured messenger in fancy dress who really wanted to be part of their gang.

How had I lured him out last time? Just by going around town making a nuisance of myself. Finally, something right in my wheelhouse. I may be bad at almost everything but, if required, I can be a perfectly pitched pain in the ass.

Last time I went to Jimmy’s bar, all I got was a dirty glass of water and an up-close-and-personal introduction to a Cyclops’s right hook. I wasn’t expecting to do much better when I marched up the stairs through the black door again.

It was much the same as last time. Little bowls of nuts on round tables, nice lighting, a Gnome in a white suit on one of the stools and the ugly, one-eyed bastard behind the bar.

There were two Elves sitting in a booth and a Werecat in too much make-up trying to get the phone to work but too drunk to realize that the lines were down.

Nice. It was enough of an audience for what I needed to do.

All eyes were on me. I took a handful of nuts from one of the bowls and chewed them loudly,