The Goblin Hill Apartments were just like anything else in old Big City: overcrowded, dark and unimaginatively named. The small, dank rooms smelled of mothballs and mildew, while sounds of the building’s community echoed throughout its hallways and out onto the slick-shiny streets that bordered it on all sides into an uninspiring block of nowhere.

 

            Housing over a thousand tenants, the Goblin Hill Apartments was made up of a diverse community of working class goblins, humans, elves, and, lately, even vampires.  The whole area was known to be a dangerous place to go even during the daytime.  Tales ranging from horrifying urban legends to even more horrifying true stories crept out even to the suburbs of Big City, assuring that there would be no Daddy’s Little Girls hanging out in the decrepit shopping plaza or twenty-five year old Mama’s Boys in line at the liquor store.

 

            The majority of the lower class tenants were still goblins, recalling the days when the whole neighborhood of Goblin Hill was, according to its residents, its own city run by its own mayor, the Goblin Mob Boss: Oscar ‘Blade’ Hexter.  Hexter organized the neighborhood and protected it as well. Unfortunately, protecting it meant collecting from it.  The community had to engage some outside trade to other areas of Big City, giving up some of the privacy and personal comfort it had learned to enjoy back in the day when the rest of Big City was unconcerned about the goblin town. Now the older generations simultaneously praised Hexter’s service to the goblin community, while complaining bitterly to their younger family members about the non-goblins living in Goblin Hill.  They even perpetuated the very rumors that kept any money from being brought to the area, out of fear that the consumers would be mugged before they could spend it. This made for an angry racism that threatened to tear the Goblin Hill Apartments, in particular, to shreds.

 

            Especially after last Season.

 

            Therefore, Johnny Angel was always ready. Ready to fight, ready to defend and, most of all, ready to move. He was one of over two hundred elves that were relocated to the then-failing apartment complex after his previous one had burned down during the Holiday Season. Some said it was a human solstice tree or candelabra. Others thought it was the result of a spark igniting some vampire’s sleep box. Whatever the cause, the whole apartment building was burned to the ground and the residents had to relocate.

 

            Johnny was returning from another night of performing at the popular Mhalasia Club in uptown Big City. The nightclub was always standing room only to see a variety of acts performed by people like Johnny for the people who could actually afford see them.

 

They watched the comedy, the sirens and, in Johnny’s case, the crooner. They drank a lot of elven wine and smoked the trendy flower cigarettes that were being served through the Flower Bar. The Flower Bar was a conglomerate chain that had opened a dozen locations all over Big City at an alarming rate within the last five years. They even managed to get a counter in the Mhalasia Club.

 

            His night had been full of applause and the usual backstage party. The poor, but creative performers would have a nightly get together of their own, interrupted only by the performer’s turn to take the stage.

 

Tonight, one of the sirens had a new song for her audience. She had translated one of her ancient calls and created an brilliant, and quite alluring, song of longing.  While she got a good response from the crowd, she later admitted that she had sold herself out to singing what was basically aural porn.

 

She would probably go places…”make it big”.

 

Johnny wasn’t going anywhere but home and he wasn’t going to “make it big”; he wasn’t even sure he was going to make it walking through his neighborhood sometimes. He was, however, always greeted warmly by the Mhalasia’s audience and never had to pay for a drink.  But the night was over now. The audience had all said goodnight and returned to their secure homes out in Mistwood Heights, far from the grim realities that were waiting in the homes of their evening’s entertainment.

 

Not all of the audience left, though. The ones in Johnny’s head continued to follow him around and tell him how fantastic his show was…how fantastic he was. These phantom admirers always appeared to Johnny, during the quiet last stages of the high provided by his drug of choice: Anticipation.

 

The flattering hallucinations followed him all the way up to his apartment on the fourth floor. He had to ask them to quiet down so that he wouldn’t wake his sister, Rose, who would be sleeping on the living room sofa, waiting for him. As Johnny went inside, his hallucinogenic fans shushed each other.

 

As if she had heard, Rose sat up sleepily, “J’on?” she whispered, “Are you in?”

 

“I’m in.”

 

Johnny put his hand on her arm to let her know he was next to her before edging past his ‘fans’ to the kitchen. It was hard to stay quiet, as he knew from experience that the phantoms often wanted to talk over what real people were saying. And Rose’s hearing made up for her lack of sight. She would catch any rise in his voice.

 

“A good night?” she asked as she settled back to sleep.

 

“Yeah, real good,” said Johnny earnestly, “I’m pretty sure that Erin and I will be headlining next season.  We may even get to perform at other clubs around the city. Yes,” he continued quietly, “I do think so, so check us out before we go…” he stopped suddenly.

 

“What’s that mean?” Rose had caught that.

 

“Just thinking aloud,” said Johnny, pouring a glass of emerald colored fruit juice, “I do that sometimes.”

 

 Minutes later, as Johnny heated a TV dinner and Rose drifted back to sleep, one of the imaginary people said good-bye, a sign that things might be winding down for the night at last. He removed his pre-trayed food from the microwave and sat down to eat and talk briefly with his grateful public quietly, and in the privacy of his own head.

 

He barely felt the knife slit his throat and only had a few moments to choke on his own blood as the killer stabbed him to death.

 

Big City

“Anticipation”

 by Greg Twait

 

            Smiles Johnson always liked the idea of being a P.I, a Gumshoe, if you will. Not that he had any choice but to go private if he wanted to make a difference in Big City, but the idea had always appealed to him.

 

            He’d be in his office, some second story deal with his name painted on the window, feet on the desk with a bottle of bourbon consumed via coffee cup, when a gorgeous blond bombshell would slink through his door. Oh, she’d be coy at first, playing a little cat and mouse, before she finally broke down with a desperate plea for help. Oh, he’d be tough at first but then would agree to solve the mystery for his usual fee, plus expenses. The girl would slide over his desk and tell him how appreciative she could be…

 

            “Piggy Back Moons?” asked the waitress.

 

            Smiles nodded for her to set the plate down as he stubbed out his smoke. Tobacco. Not any of this trendy Flower Bar stuff.

 

            Across from him sat an older goblin woman. The waitress set down the woman’s Meaty Skillet. As Smiles looked over at her, he sensed that he had a painfully deep hangnail on his thumb.

 

            “So,” said Smiles, after the waitress left, “your husband has said that he’s been working late for, what, about a week?” The goblin woman nodded.

 

            “It’s been off and on for quite a while, a year maybe, but this week he’s hardly come home at all.”

 

            ‘So much for the picturesque P.I. bull.’ Smiles thought.  The Gobblin’ Goblin was hardly a corner office in an old loft. Even his actual office on the edge of Goblin Hill paled when compared to the fantasy. It was shut down while they sprayed for roaches anyway. The coffee cup was there, but full of coffee and Mrs. Kreslas was no looker and no bullshit. He pulled at his hangnail.

 

            “Okay,” nodded Smiles, “I’ve got a guy right now watching for him in the apartment building up in…” he checked his notepad, “Up in Goblin Hill.”  ‘Geeze,’ he thought, ‘I had to check that location by my notes? Not as sharp as we used to be, eh Smiles? Maybe I don’t deserve that corner office…’

 

            Mrs. Kreslas was unemotionally thorough, “So, you’ll have something for me when?” she asked, pulling a complex-looking hand held computer from her bag.  Johnson noted that the computer was an Official V12 Firestarter Pocket Lifebook featuring the trademark symbol of the car she drove. The very expensive and trendy car she drove. Smiles recalled that she had worn a T-shirt bearing an image of the car when she had first met with him yesterday. The hangnail seemed to concentrate an impossible amount of pain into that one small area.

 

            Mrs. Kreslas was still talking, “And how much will this cost me before I get any proof? You gave me the rates yesterday, but how much more exactly is usually meant by ‘expenses’?”

 

            Smiles shrugged and gestured to the food on the table, “This is probably a third of it.”

 

            “So,” said Mrs. Kreslas, “forty-five to fifty dollars a day for expenses?” She was pecking all this into her Lifebook, “We’re talking about almost fifteen hundred for a week…even if there’s no information..?” He salted his hash browns. A rogue grain stuck to the soft, red skin in his torn hangnail. It stuck there and burned, like his client’s voice in his brain.

 

*

 

Charlie Pickens sat in his car and played with a tear in the vinyl seat cover. He stared at the bleak apartment building, completely devoid of any architectural design of significance, just like the rest of the neighborhood. Goblins never really appreciated anything like that.

 

He was right in the middle of a thought about how the lack of form and decoration really was an art movement in itself, and was about to start appreciating the goblins’ philosophy about such things when an elf girl stumbled out of the building.

 

Things seemed to move more slowly for Charlie at times like this; it was like he always had plenty of time to react.  The more desperate the situation, the slower time seemed to pass. This was one of those times.

 

The first third of a second he noticed how pretty she was. Her short, black hair curved down her face hardly concealing her sharply pointed ears. She was wearing a light-colored, filmy sundress with old-fashioned roses on it. She was barefoot.

 

Which brought him to the second third of the moment in which he noticed her desperate stumble and the blood on her feet.

 

For the final third, Charlie noticed that she looked completely lost. She moved her arms around slowly and was speaking in a normal tone to, apparently, no one.

 

Feeling that he had lost a precious second, Charlie dashed from his car and ran to where she stood. As he neared her, he could hear her words: “Someone? Someone help? My brother’s being killed…” She was in shock.

 

Charlie put a hand on her small, pale shoulder and tried to speak like the help that she would want to hear, “I’m here to help you. My name is Charlie.”

 

“Someone’s killing my brother.”

 

“What floor? Room?”

 

“Fourth floor, first room.”

 

Charlie and the girl slipped into the foyer of the building. He moved her to a dark corner and told her to wait.  Looking up the gutted stairway to the upper floors, he felt for his revolver and his phone and called for an ambulance as he rushed up the stairs. There were elements of true hero stuff to be had here and he was going to check it out.

 

The first door on the second floor was open; a pale light crept into the hallway with some movement detected by subtle shadows. No noise came from inside. Charlie let his small gun slide into his hand via his arm holster.

 

This was the P.I. he wanted to be. Like the stories that his employer and friend, Smiles Johnson, had told him about his days with the BCPD and his old partner Stack Fury: Helping the Helpless. Investigating  the “Dangerous Unknown.” Coolly he let his pistol slide into his palm…This was much better than sitting out in that car.

 

Charlie stepped into the small apartment and saw blood in the kitchen, everywhere. The telltale shadows moving in the hallway could be attributed to a slowly revolving ceiling fan. He checked his corners and proceeded with caution. Everything moved very slowly.

 

As he peered over the counter into the kitchen, he saw the body of an elf crumpled against the cabinets, a large pool of blood still spreading out towards the rug in the living room. He had been violently murdered. His stare now mirrored his sister’s and saw just as much. He suddenly felt much less heroic.

 

A sound behind him in the hallway pulled him together enough to wheel around and take aim. A male goblin in his twenties put up his hands.

 

“Just next door!” shouted the goblin, “I didn’t see anything!” He began to step away.

 

“Freeze,” said Charlie calmly, “Who are you?”

 

The goblin spoke carefully, “My name is Vis’el. I heard noise. I thought the elves were fighting in here and I got out of bed to tell them to shut up.” Vis’el shifted his gaze to the kitchen, “But now I see that everything is all right, so I’ll just…”

 

Charlie lowered the gun, “Don’t move,” he said, “Just stay right there.”

 

‘This murder must have happened just moments before,’ thought Charlie. ‘There could still be someone in here.’

 

“Okay,” said Charlie quietly, “Take this.” He tossed his phone to Vis’el, while keeping his gun pointed towards the back rooms of the apartment, “Call the police and ask for Action and Fury.”

 

Vis’el started dialing, mumbling, “I don’t really want to get involved…”

 

Charlie thought he heard something fall in one of the rooms, “Detectives D’yen and Forray. Get them here…quick.”

 

As Charlie backed out of the apartment, Vis’el yelled at the police dispatcher about, “Some dead elf at the Goblin Hill Apartments.” Then Charlie heard a sob. He wheeled around to see the elf girl standing in the hallway, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had heard the Goblin. Charlie shut the door and led her outside.

*

Within the hour, Detective “Stack Fury” Forray arrived on the scene. As he pulled into the parking lot of the Goblin Hill Apartments, he noted a shadow lurking by the rear entrance. The figure was smoking and bent over the doorknob; Stack recognized the shadow as his over-zealous partner, “Needless Action” D’yen.

 

He’s probably already been all through the place, thought Stack as he approached Needless.

 

“What’s the story?” asked Stack

.

Needless looked up, his elven features looked uncharacteristically delicate compared to his barrel chest and muscled arms. He had been training to be a cop since he was in high school. His counselor told him he should be a model. That guy almost witnessed some Needless Action.

 

“The lab boys are up there, doing their thing,” said Needless, “I’m checking the outside first. This lock is designed for tenants only and it’s a tough one to crack. No one who didn’t have a key got through here unless they were let in.”

 

Stack nodded, “So either a neighbor or a friend,” he said, “How about the front?”

 

“No one came in or out for at least forty-five minutes before the event. Your boy Charlie Pickens happened to be staking it out and was the first one in.” Needless didn’t sound happy about this. He led Stack around to the front, rushing past the few reporters that had gathered behind the police line.

 

“Charlie say what he was checking out?” asked Stack.

 

“Typical infidelity stuff,” said Needless, holding up his badge to the officer at the door, “He’s still here. He claims he got in right away.” He shook his head, “An elf murdered on Goblin Hill. Lots of room for this to blow up into a racial thing, especially after the whole Elf Town Apartment fiasco.”

 

The huge Holiday blaze at the complex in Elf Town had left thousands homeless and desperate to get off the streets and out of the cold. Formerly sparsely occupied tenement buildings all over the city suddenly had to make waiting lists for needy families and individuals. The waiting list became a power trip to the landlords who bumped people off the list if they dared question the suddenly inflated rent or disagreed about anything in general. People who couldn’t afford the expensive and restricted leases found themselves in cramped apartments or out on the streets. The racism towards elves and vampires was fierce.

 

Needless filled Stack in as they entered the crime scene, “Victim’s name is J’on A’gel. Elf. Works over at the Mhalasia Club, uptown. A crooner. Looks like someone didn’t like the tune he was singing.” Needless crouched down by the body and pointed to the gored throat, “No more Johnny Golden Tonsils.”

 

Stack saw Charlie. He was in the back bedroom with a young girl and an attending paramedic. “Who’s the girl?” he asked.

 

Needless stood up, “That’s the sister, Rose,” he said, “She apparently witnessed the attack and went out to get help. That’s when Charlie got involved.”

 

“She identify anyone?”

 

“She’s blind.”

 

“She hear anything?”

 

Needless shook his head. “I don’t really know yet,” he said, “She’s in shock.”

 

 “Right,” said Stack, “You think about it: If the killer were a friend or neighbor, they would have known that she couldn’t I.D. them by sight.”

 

Needless smiled grimly, “A terrified blind girl is the perfect witness. She won’t be able to tell us that she knows nothing for at least a day or so.”

 

The lab technicians stepped away for a moment, and Needless began a search of the area around the body as Stack waved for Charlie to come into the living room.

 

 “She’s not cut or anything,” said Charlie, closing the door behind him, “I figure she was spared because she couldn’t see the killer.”

 

Stack produced a deck of cards from his inside pocket and began to shuffle, “You don’t think she just escaped?” he asked.

 

“Might have,” said Charlie, “It looks like a lot of intensity was devoted to butchering that guy. She might have slipped out. Though,” he continued, “She did have blood on her when she came out of the building, so she was there for the attack. She was saying that someone was killing her brother, not that he had been murdered.”

 

Stack looked around, “Where’s Smiles?”

 

“Not here yet,” said Charlie, “Maybe he can’t get in.”

 

“He can’t get in,” said Needless suddenly, “because this is police business.” He walked over to where the two men stood, “By the way, you got anything else to add?” he said to Charlie, “Because you have to leave soon.”

 

Charlie looked back towards the closed bedroom, “I’d like to stay with Rose. She’s really scared.”

 

Needless nodded, “Ride with her to the hospital. She says anything, you tell us.”

 

Stack glanced out into the hallway, “Who’s the pissed-off guy?” he nodded at Vis’el.

 

“Next door neighbor,” said Charlie, “He was coming over to complain about the noise when he ran into me.”

 

“Everyone seemed to react pretty quick to this,” said Needless, “Let’s get that guy’s statement again and you,” he said to Charlie, “Stay the hell away from reporters. The News would love to stir up a race riot.” He marched over to where Vis’el stood, yelling at the questioning officer.

 

Stack rolled his eyes and cut his deck of cards with a complicated four-step shuffle.

 

As Needless approached, Vis’el heightened his dramatics and loudly announced, “I have rights. I’ve told you everything…”

 

He was cut off by Needless’ forearm pushing him up to the wall, “G’luh-dammit, “ he hissed as he got into the goblin’s personal space, “It’s three in the morning. Your next-door neighbor just got murdered. I’ve got a headache. Shut the hell up.” Vis’el stopped, stunned. Needless lowered his arm and continued in a low voice.

 

“Anyone not like this guy? In this building?”

 

“I…I wouldn’t have thought anyone would have killed him,” stuttered Vis’el.

 

“So there were people who didn’t like him.”

 

“No one here likes the elves. Any of them.”

 

“So this could be a race related incident?”

 

“Yeah. Could be.”

 

“Don’t leave town,” Needless said, pushing him aside, “Okay everyone,” he said to the room, “Let’s do it. I need the body at the morgue within the hour. Pickens,” he said looking at Charlie, “Goodnight. Everyone else, stay away from reporters. If the EVUN gets wind of this, we’ll give that Elfnigma bitch a reason to make life in Big City a veritable hell, like she did last Season. Nobody wants that, right?”

*

Big City Morgue made no attempt to hide its business. Located three floors below the main level of the city hospital, it was a constantly cold and damp environment with the musty aroma of Grandma’s cellar after a thunderstorm.

 

Rather than reflecting the warm, sterile décor of the rest of the hospital, with its beige walls and recessed lighting, the morgue made its atmosphere obvious with the cement floors, cracked plaster and bare bulbs screwed into the wall sockets.

 

Stack and Needless stepped off the elevator and started down the hallway.

 

“You called the Medical Examiner already?” asked Needless, “He’s expecting us, right?”

 

Stack stared straight ahead as they marched to the office door at the end of the hallway, “She knows,” he said, and then: “The gloom in here just sucks you right in, doesn’t it?”

 

They reached the office door and Stack knocked. Through the screened opening in the door, they could see someone coming. A woman appeared, wearing a spotless lab coat, “You’ve arrived,” she said as she unlocked the door.

 

Stack stepped in, “Sioux, this is my partner, John D’yen.”

 

Needless nodded at the Medical Examiner. She was a vampire.

 

Sioux returned the nod, “Right this way, detectives, I have something to show you.”

 

They followed her through the morgue office and into the examination room. The feeling of melancholy that permeated the hallways leading to the morgue gave way to professionalism as she stopped at a gurney on the far side of the room.

 

“The victim was taking the drug Repan 59/75,” said Sioux as she pulled back the sheet, exposing the face of Johnny Angel. His eyes were open. She looked back up at the detectives. They looked equally blank.

 

She continued, “It’s a ‘party’ drug, also known as Anticipation because of the immediacy of withdrawal symptoms after the high is over.”

 

Stack nodded, “Right. Okay. Been on the news lately.”

 

“That’s because the drug is a relatively new one, at least here in Big City. The first victim of overdose was brought in here less than a month ago. I asked you in so that I could educate you on this; you can see the tell-tale signs right here,” Sioux pulled out her pen light and shined it in Johnny’s dead eyes, “See that glazing over the retina? It’s actually more like corrosion. Anticipation is administered into the eye via a dropper. The user will experience hallucinations while under the influence, some of which stem from the corroded particles…” Sioux looked up and smiled, “Are you getting all this, Detective D’yen?”

 

Needless had been staring at her. Her willowy figure combined with slow, purposeful movements bordered between aristocratic and creepy. Her almost transparent skin looked slick and shiny. The light seemed to catch her eye just so…

 

“Yeah,” said Needless, “just a little sleepy. Sorry, go ahead.”

 

Sioux smiled and gave him a slow wink before continuing, “The hallucinations are not reported to be psychedelic in nature, but rather much more real. The person under the influence reports visions of a person or people whom the individual actually wants to see.” She paused, and then said, “In at least one case, the person claimed to have a very meaningful conversation with his dead brother.”

 

Unseen, Stack looked at Sioux. A gear in his mind creaked out a turn.

 

*

“What do you make of that?” asked Stack as he and Needless walked out of Big City Hospital, towards their car.

 

Needless lit a cigarette and reached for his keys, “I don’t make anything of it yet, but we haven’t gotten any real answers.” He stopped at the door to the car, “What we need to do is learn more about the drug. Maybe it’ll turn up a motive other than race. I don’t know about you, but that’s what everyone else is going to believe, especially now, after all that happened last Season.” Stack nodded as they both got in the car.

 

Needless looked at his watch and said, “You know who’s going to be up already with this story? Laura. We’ll let her know that we think it may be drug related and need more information. Hopefully, she’ll use that as her spin for the Herald.”

 

“And maybe that’ll help influence the News,” said Stack, “Damn, I’m going to get home late. Early, really. You know this means we’re going to be pulling an all nighter.”

 

“And an all dayer. Let’s stop for coffee.”

*

Laura Medrano could smell the bug spray all the way down in the lobby. By the time she reached Smiles’ office, she was used to it. Which, she thought to herself, probably was not good.

 

Smiles had told her to meet him here, as Charlie had been at the scene of a murder a few hours earlier. She had files pulled for a local nightclub and for the Goblin Hill Apartments. Other than that, she’d heard nothing yet about what exactly had happened, which worried her. While she would certainly be getting the better story, someone else was out there right now getting it first.

 

She knocked on the office door and went in. Smiles was at his desk immersed in a cloud of cigarette smoke, hat pushed back on his head, looking like he hadn’t shaved in days, with one hand on coffee and the other one scribbling notes; he got up when she entered. She always marveled at his ability to be gritty and polite at the same time.

 

“You want some coffee? Yeah, you do. I’ll get it for you.”

 

“What’s the story?” she asked, handing over her files.

 

“Normally, I wouldn’t even care about a case that I wasn’t being paid to care about, but Charlie was first on the scene and Stack and Needless are the detectives in charge, so there’s your official source for information. There was a murder of an elf over at the Goblin Hill Apartments.” He held up a file from the Arts & Leisure section for a singer named Angel, “This guy,” he said, “was killed. He and his sister were casualties of that whole price gouging thing that went down last Season, you remember that?”

 

“Oh,” she said, nodding, “The racial profiling of the homeless elves and vampires by the goblins and humans.” She knew he wouldn’t like that.

 

Smiles shook his head, “You see,” he said, “and that’s what a lot of other people are going to think of, which is why I bring it up.”

 

“Okay, so you don’t think that. What’s your angle?”

 

“This is more a class bias than a racial one, you know, the upper class screwing the lower, but Charlie made it clear that this could get big and riotous quick. We want to ask you to take your lead for your story in any direction except race, at least until we can get more information.” He saw a roach scuttle across the floor. So much for that.

 

“Charlie feels this way too?” asked Laura in disbelief, “Where is he, anyway?”

 

“He’s at the hospital with the sister. She was kind of in shock and he was the first person on the scene. If she says anything, he’s going to go to Stack and Needless with it.” A sharp beeping sounded in the room. Laura jumped to dig her pager out of her bag. Smiles didn’t move. He hated those things and was often the only one in a crowded room who didn’t flinch when one went off: he always knew it wasn’t his.

 

Laura looked at it, “That’s them. They probably want the same files you have,” she looked up at Smiles, “I won’t tell them you talked to me if you don’t tell them I was here.” She got up to leave.

 

“Think about what I said, though,” said Smiles, “I’m certain the elves are that close to taking action. Remember that transmission last Season?”

 

*

That Season transmission was all Laura thought about on her way to the Gobblin’ Goblin. It was in response to the weeks of News play about the vampires and elves that were moving into segregated neighborhoods after the big fire.

 

It came on during the Only Losers Don’t Watch Wednesdays on channel 5. Two hours of sitcoms proceeded by an hour of game shows and leading into an hour of drama, followed by News, then the late night talk shows which totaled about seven hours of prime television viewership. It started breaking in during Bet You’ll Lose, continued to attempt a transmission throughout Ted and Sylvia, finally broadcasting and hour later during News. 

 

It was said to be EVUN, the Elf Voices Union but no proof could be established to connect the vocal lobbyists to the act. The only one who appeared in the three-minute transmission was a disguised woman claiming to be “Elfnigma”. She was impassioned and spoke well. She rallied for a change. She wanted to unite all races and break apart all outdated thinking. She called out the offenders by name.  The Goblin Hill Apartments was especially blasted for its poor treatment of the homeless elves and vampires who had been forced to seek lodging there.

 

Laura was instantly converted. She wore her intolerance for racism on her sleeve. She even saw that movie with that cute guy in it about the vampires’ struggle for acceptance. She would talk to Stack and Needless but she would not back down from her fellow creations. She would not hide from the inevitable changes that would take place no matter how long everyone else tried to smooth it over.

 

She was about driving through Goblin Hill when she heard the radio crackle. She tuned it to catch better reception, then she realized: This could be it. She caught voices under the static. They were doing voice checks.

 

“Check One. Check. Check.”

 

‘Oh god,’ she thought, ‘they’ve heard. It’s going to start.’

 

Laura began to panic. She began to notice elves out on the streets more as she sped toward the diner where the two detectives would be waiting for her.

 

What if the television has already carried a broadcast? she thought, why else are they all out?

 

Now she was scared. She was, after all, human. And a woman. And alone.

 

As she pulled into the diner, she saw, with relief, that Stack and Needless were already there and heard, with more relief, no more crackling on the radio.

 

It all seems like a good idea until you’re alone and in it, she thought.  Maybe I will keep the story soft.  At least for a day or two.

 

*

 Charlie was there when Rose moved from shock to hysterics. The doctors thought it would be best to sedate her. She was crying and pleading for Charlie to believe her. He held her hand and listened as she fell asleep. By the time he stepped out into the hallway, he was concerned for the girl and disheartened about the case as it stood now. He pulled out his phone, dialed Smiles’ office and hoped he was still in. He was in luck.

 

“Big City Eyes.”

 

“Yeah, uh, it’s me. I’m going to go talk to Stack and Needless. Thought I should let you know. Laura show up?”

 

“Yeah, but she’s gone already to meet them at the Gobblin’.”

 

“You didn’t go?” asked Charlie.

 

“I don’t know anything. No point. I am, however, going to go snoop around the Goblin Hill Apartments tomorrow evening. I’ve got a paying client who still needs an answer about an unfaithful husband.”

 

“Then?”

 

“I’ll tell them if I see anything. But I’m not going to go looking for it. What do you have, anyway? She hear anything?” Smiles sounded tired.

 

“No. And what she said won’t help us any either.” said Charlie.

 

“Give me some credit for deduction. You mean no, as in, she’s too scared to talk or no, she didn’t hear her brother being killed in the same apartment.”

 

“No,” sighed Charlie, “as in she says there was no one in her apartment. She didn’t hear a single out of place step or any voice but her brother’s.”

 

“Give me exact words.”

 

“Okay, ‘There was no one in the room besides the two of us when he was being killed.’ Help any?”

 

Smiles paused, “No. Go ahead and meet up with everyone.  And give Laura back these files. Whatever you do, she never came to see me and don’t let Needless know I was involved at all. Not even interested. We’re out of this one.”

*

“So tell us about Anticipation,” said Stack. Needless folded his hands around his coffee mug and listened.  He and Stack had not told her anything about Angel yet but had mentioned the drug as being part of a new case.

 

“You think there’s a kingpin dealer of this ‘party’ drug who kills longtime customers? That’s usually reserved for the big boy narcotics that have large amounts of money invested,” said Laura. Stack shrugged. “Okay,” sighed Laura, “Repan 59/75 was originally developed as a physiological aid to be prescribed by therapists to patients. The original theory was if the patient could talk to someone familiar, someone welcome, then more progress could be made.”

 

Stack held up his hand, “What if the person the patient wanted to talk to was dead? Say a parent or spouse?”

 

“In even the earliest experiments, speaking with the dead was the most common hallucination. But,” she continued, “the reason it became so popular with club kids is because of the celebrity factor.” Laura smiled, “Meet your favorite star and maybe even spend a hot time on the old town.”

 

Stack looked at the spoon and his hand found its way to the dish of creamers.

 

“The drawback?” asked Needless, “Why isn’t it approved yet?”

 

Laura shook her head, “I’m not certain of all the problems but with a nickname like Anticipation I would imagine that it’s highly addictive. I can check the back stories at the paper if you want.” She watched Stack place one coffee creamer after another on top of each other into a pyramid shape.

 

“We do,” said Needless.

 

“Okay, I’ll get right back to you. Now,” she smiled again and spread her hands, “Eye for an eye.” She pulled out a small notebook.

 

Stack was adding Needless’ silverware to the pyramid as a type of balance or ramp. Laura waited.

 

“A crooner named Johnny Angel was killed in his home last evening,” Needless said as he checked his watch, “About six hours ago. The Medical Examiner detected corrosion on his eyes that marked frequent use of Anticipation. Is there some kind of dangerous trade connected with this drug?”

 

Laura shrugged, “I suppose there could be. I’ll check on that as well. You think this could be a motive?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay,” sighed Laura, writing in her notebook, “Anything else I should know before I start exploring other sources for information, which may or may not be true?”

 

Stack looked up, “Like?”

 

Laura put away her notebook and made ready to excuse herself. ‘Fine,’ she thought, no use  telling them about the transmission she heard on the way over. She’d go to Charlie with that one.

 

As she rose, she said, “An elf killed in the Goblin Hill Apartments smells like a racial incident to me. If you guys are done being mysterious, I have work to do.” She dropped a dollar onto the table, “I’ll stay in touch, detectives.”

 

As she walked out, Needless switched to the other side of the diner booth. Stack seemed preoccupied with his pyramid.

 

“She’s already spoken to someone about this,” said Needless. Then he looked up and smiled, “And I have a good idea who it might have been.”

 

As if cued, Charlie Pickens wandered into the diner and looked around. Seeing Needless, he walked over to the detectives.

 

“I’ve got information,” he said, “but it’s really pretty useless. Laura tell you about the radio transmission?”

 

“No,” said Needless, raising an eyebrow at Stack, “Imagine that. Okay, spill it.”

 

Charlie sat next to Stack, “She said that she heard someone trying to break in over the airwaves on her way here. They did a sound check. That’s all she told me in the parking lot. As for what I have,” he continued, “Rose, that’s the blind sister.” Needless nodded impatiently. “She got coherent enough to tell me that she felt that there was no one in the room at the time of the murder. She heard no one and,” Charlie used finger quotes, “’felt’ no one. Like vibrations on the floor.”

 

“Wonderful,” said Needless as he rolled his eyes. Then to Stack: “You doing all right there?”

 

Stack looked up, “Just listening and thinking.”

 

Charlie motioned to the waitress for coffee and continued, “She did hear Angel talking to people but heard no one talk back.”

 

“Hallucinations,” said Stack, nodding.

 

The waitress appeared with the dinners that the detectives had ordered, along with Charlie’s coffee. Needless looked around, then swiped the silverware Stack was using as building material. The pyramid fell.

 

*

The evening papers the next day carried the story about how the handsome elf singer had been brutally murdered in his apartment. The story, as reported by Laura, thankfully was free of any mention of the motive being race related. Smiles put the paper down and turned on the radio. It was six p.m.

 

He began to pack up his bag for tonight’s watch on the Goblin Hill Apartments. The goblin infidelity case he was working on seemed like a waste of time in comparison to the tragic murder there the night before. Besides, would the cheating husband want to take the risk of being there, what with the building being the scene of a crime and all? Probably not. Not if he was smart. Smiles’ job often depended on people making dumb moves.