Shadows of Valderia: An Urban Fantasy Detective Noir

​​4

“So you were saying,?” Nairo asked as she took a deep greasy bite of the fried turnip Ridley had convinced her to buy.

“So... there was four of 'em,” Ridley replied through a thick mouthful of bread and mushy turnip. “Chased 'em down Furley Street, through a couple alleys, then BANG!” He slammed his fist on the mouldy window sill. “Two big Trolls come from the left, one of ‘em swung a tree at me.”

“A whole tree?”

“Might as well have been. But I saw it coming, so I duck with the agility of a mountain goat and...”

“What's that?” Nairo snapped up and peered through the blinds at the corner they had been watching all morning.

Ridley followed her eye line, leaning forward eagerly, the skin on his face tightened, drawing back like a wolf with a scent. He then tutted loudly and slumped back in his seat.

“Looks like Brown Back Ahmed unloading.”

“That looks like talisman silk, and that looks like Muskphant teeth! Those are contraband!” She looked at Ridley and frowned at his disinterest. “That is a serious violation of the Trade Embargo with the Rebel Goblin Tribes.” Her scowl deepened at Ridley's laconic shrug. She took her notepad out and licked her pencil. “What did you say his name was?”

“Easy there... Nancy notepad, we're here for a specific crime.”

“As an officer of the law, I cannot knowingly allow criminal acts to...”

Ridley held up his hand before she got a full head of steam going.

“This is a stakeout, an undercover stakeout, if you're gonna harass every half baked scoundrel with a trunk full of dodgy teapots on the dock, then the Cap'n might as well wave bye bye to his Diamond.” Ridley scrunched up his empty wrapper and threw it on the floor, belching loudly.

“So anyway the Troll swung this tree at me…”

“Let me guess, you survived?” Nairo asked, not bothering to hide her disinterest at Ridley’s ludicrous tales.

“No need to get sarcy,” Ridley muttered.

Nairo scanned the dockyard in front of her, watching as a rabble formed around an incoming boat. The stevedores showed typical dockside democracy and began to wail on one another over who got to unload the ship and who got paid, the one with the most blood and teeth still in him invariably won.

They fell into silence watching the endless ant like scurrying on the docks before them as men broke their backs keeping the economy of the city pumping night and day. The steady drip of a loose faucet in the dilapidated flat sounded like a metronome of deprivation counting the pass of seemingly endless hours. The slumlord they had rented the flat from, a swollen Goblin with a remarkably pronounced lisp, had asked no questions of the odd pair when he saw the shine of their gold, grinning lasciviously as he showed them the mouldy hole he called a flat.

“Do people really live in these?” Nairo had asked when they entered.

“Better than a street corner,” Ridley replied. “Try not to touch too much,” he added.

That had been nearly four hours ago. Since then, Nairo and Ridley had sat, argued, ate, and watched the daily toils of dockers, stevedores, criminals, and sailors etched out before them.

“I've seen at least a century worth of gaol time happening on these docks in one morning, and you still haven’t seen this Benny Two Coats?”

“Nope. Probably coz I'm not looking for Benny.”

“What?”

“Benny's a big time heavy.” Ridley let rip another loud, greasy burp. “If he did rob the bank then the last place you'll catch him is on the street. And even if he didn’t do the deed, he was casing someplace, and criminals are like rats, they always got a hole to scurry into. So, either way, Benny ain’t on the streets.”

“So where is he?”

“Laying low, could be in one of a hundred places, this city's got more rat holes than... than...”

“A cheese factory?”

“Bit cliched… but it'll do.”

“So how do we find him?”

“Follow the breadcrumbs. All we need to do now is find the right thread to start unravelling Benny's trail.”

“Now you're mixing metaphors.”

“I'm not wrong though... hold on a minute.” Ridley leapt up onto the table on his hands and knees, and peered through the blinds.. “If I'm not mistaken that fine example of interbred dogs down there is Mozlak.”

“Mozlak?”

“Low level counterfeiter, runs a bank cheque scam for Uncle Sam’s Kith. He uses the imported paper that only the Gov are s’posed to be able to get hold of, and that can only be brought in via the docks.” He hopped off the desk and gathered a few items. “Quick before the worm slips away.”

They stormed out of the apartment and raced down the rotten staircase, peeling out into the daylight. Ridley slowed his pace and adopted the casual s Troll of a man with nothing on his to do list. Nairo found the change of pace difficult, her police sensibilities dictated a chase rather than a prowl. Ridley swam in and out of the current of people, never raising his eyes, but still somehow keeping the counterfeiter in perfect view. Nairo scanned the little man, he appeared to be a dwarf but with no beard. He had a cherubic face with round cheeks and a swollen chin. A few bags exchanged hands between him and a sailor, then the dwarf slipped away. Ridley neatly side stepped and fell into a matching pace with their prey. Nairo struggled to keep the counterfeiter and Ridley in sight whilst avoiding the milling mass of bodies. The steaming smell of curry wafted around her, while the noises of cursing sailors filled the air. A nymph of some foreign variety sat on an oozing pile of fresh fish, and hawked her prices in a thin reedy voice.

Ridley had shifted the angle of his pursuit again. The chase meandered back and forth through the curved alleys of the city. Slowly they left the noise and smell of the docks behind and ripped straight through the garment district. As they reached Ink Row, the Dwarf slipped into a shop with stained glass windows. Ridley came to a stop down the road and lit a smoke, while hunching into the collars of his coat.

“What if he goes out the back?” Nairo asked.

“Ain’t him we're following anymore,” Ridley said, his eyes never leaving the storefront. “Remember, we're following the loaf not the crumbs.”

“What?”

Ridley did not bother to reply. He took off again, his coat flapping in the breeze as he had apparently picked up the sight of his next target. This time it seemed to be a wandering tree limb in a poorly tailored suit. He was more difficult to follow as he cut an unmatchable swathe through pedestrians. Ridley however didn’t seem to have a problem as he slipped in and out, with a duck of the shoulder here, and a smart sidestep there, he kept pace easily. The tree limb again disappeared into a shady looking shop and again Ridley calmly waited. Nairo did not like it. Officers should never be on such a pursuit without backup, let alone in the company of a PI with questionable loyalty.

Ridley set off without warning. This criss-crossing game of follow the criminal continued for almost an hour, including two near drownings as their prey hopped on various boats and shuttles around the city. Ridley was tireless in his pursuit. As the game wore on, he seemed able to guess where their mark was going, taking several abrupt turns and dips through alleys and side streets, only to come out again only a few steps behind. They had since left the tree limb and had begun shadowing a large grey Troll with a knotted lump for a head and round, slumped shoulders. Ridley held back and fell into step with Nairo.

“Recognise where we are?”

“Spinelli Walk. Rough part of town, officers are advised to never come alone... or at all if it could be helped.”

“Coppers aren't too welcome here, so dial it down.” Ridley had the remarkable ability of talking out of the side of his mouth with perfect enunciation. He kept his chin low, his small mouth hidden behind the raised lapels of his jacket, not a single syllable could be seen or heard by anyone other than Nairo.

“I was not aware I had it dialled up,” Nairo said, trying to mimic Ridley's hunched shuffle.

“All the way up sister, and I haven’t been stabbed once this decade, let's try to keep it that way.”

“Can't imagine why anyone would want to stab you,” Nairo muttered.

“What?”

“Oh look he's stopped.”

“Huh?”

“The Troll,” Nairo nodded her head towards the barn-sized back of the Troll.

He had pulled up outside a dreary looking pub. It was one of those ancient watering holes that seemed to be swallowing itself. Its sagged visage all peels and cracks. The glass had an inch layer of grime and less desirable fluids, even the cobbles that paved the street outside the pub were infected by its cancerous age. The Troll squeezed in through the panelled door, the whole pub sagging inwards under his weight. Ridley gave a deep tired sigh.

“Should have had breakfast before I left the office,” he muttered to himself.

Nairo decided to take charge and walked off ahead of Ridley.

“Come on then, let’s get this done with.”

Nairo walked up to the pub with Ridley hot on her heels, already shaking his head and muttering curses. The heavy atmosphere of the pub drowned them as soon as they stepped through the doors. So thick with bodily expulsions and smoke fumes that the cloud of noxious gas was almost physical. Ridley slowed down and ambled towards the battered beer drowned bar. The carpet was so wet it had become spongy, and made a sucking noise with every step. The inside of the pub somehow limboed beneath the already exceptionally low bar the outside and had set. Decay was apparent in not only the furniture but also the clientele. Each one had the sad droop of a person nursing a warm pint on a weekday afternoon, all knew better than to acknowledge each other, their eyes firmly lost in their foaming depression. This was one of those pubs where it was better not to know the local faces. Ridley slid on to a barstool with a practised hop and smartly rapped his knuckles on the bar top. Nairo sat beside him, trying her best to keep the dial low as possible. A little knee high Gnome with an apron waddled out from the back. He waved his hand and waddled his way up a step ladder to the bar.

“Ridley! Heard you was dead!”

“Hope you didn’t get too sad, Carl” Ridley said as he hunched his shoulders around a smoke.

“Sad? I was almost in tears,” Carl had an odd clacking way of talking like a puppet without a ventriloquist. “Size of your tab! I was gonna dig ya up and sell your bits till your debts paid.” There was not a hint of mirth on the Gnome’s little face as he said this.

“This what you call hospitality then?” Ridley snapped. “Gimme a drink.”

“Not till you pay yer tab Ridley.” Carl narrowed his beady little black eyes at Ridley.

“Alright alright you blood sucker,” Ridley reached into his pocket and pulled out a jingling bag of coins. Carl's eyes lit up, his fat little body jigged at the sound. Ridley didn’t either bother counting it, he slapped it down on the bar and grunted, “drink.” Carl hopped off the step ladder and busily began getting their glasses.

“So what's got ya scent today Rid?” Carl asked with that voice bartender's perfected for small talk.

“Missing persons,” Ridley responded, half paying attention as he watched the back door he knew the Troll had gone through.

“Always turn up in the last place ya look,” Carl said matter of factly as he slammed two small glasses of poisonous looking green liquid in front of them.

“Cant say I'm looking too hard,” Ridley said as he licked his lips and got ready to down the drink.

There was a clatter and a crash of broken glass from behind them. Nairo flinched and spun round ready for danger. A Pixie stood there making apologetic noises as it tried to mop up spilled beer with its apron.

“Bloody Pixie!” Carl snapped as he waved his hands in anger.

“Sorry sirs,” the Pixie whimpered, its eyes swam in to focus with an agitated twitch.

“Go help it!” Carl barked at another Pixie who had been happily polishing all the taps behind the bar. The Pixie floated slowly away at Carl's order, unhurried by the clamour.

“Good help hard to find, eh Carl?” Ridley asked, as poured another drink while Carl was shouting at the Pixies.

“Ughhh, don’t! Would you believe all my regular Pixies have gone missing, think someone nicked ‘em!”

“Shocking,” Ridley muttered, barely paying attention. “Next thing you know you'll be having to nail down the coasters. Tell me Carl, that big ugly fella that stepped through the back there, anything I should know?”

“Other than to leave well alone.” Carl gave Ridley another beady eyed glare.

“Let’s say it’s too late for that.”

“What yer wanna go rustle that bush for?”

Ridley gave a shrug.

“Sometimes a bush needs rustling.”

“And you gotta be the one to rustle it.”

“Well it won't rustle itself.”

Nairo watched the back and forth, getting the distinct impression that this is what passed for witty repartee in the lower side of town. Carl flicked his little black button eyes to the door then leaned forward.

“Now mind, you didn’t hear it from me,” he said.

“Never do,” Ridley replied, drink paused on its way to his lips.

“He's one of Uncle Sam's goons,” Carl muttered, his lips set in a thin line of disapproval.

“And that bag he's holding, where’s that going?”

Carl licked his lips, his eyes flicking to the door leading to the back rooms.

“Nasty one there Ridley. I’m warning ya…”

“Consider me warned,” Ridley said, waving Carl on.

“He’s a new lad in the city, come over from the deserts,” Carl leaned forward and hissed. “A Minotaur.”

Ridley's eyes widened a touch at that and he exchanged a look with Nairo.

“And this Minotaur…”

“Shh!” Carl hissed, looking around the room for anyone listening.

“This Minotaur,” Ridley whispered. “Wouldn’t happen to know the whereabouts of a reptile with more than one garment of outer wear?” Ridley had leant forward to match Carl's conspiratorial manor.

“Who?”

Nairo had begun to fear that Ridley in fact was not an idiot savant, more of a run of the mill idiot.

“Benny Two Coats,” Nairo interjected.

“Oh, learn to talk right, Ridley.”

But Ridley was no longer listening, even though his eyes had not moved, his focus had turned to all around him. His ears pricked, his chin held low, as the buzz of conversation switched frequency, and this new station was far more menacing. He could practically hear the swivel of narrow, bloodshot eyes, hands and claws as they dropped beneath tables, glasses being emptied and gripped like rocks. There was a shift in the gradient behind, the soggy carpet squelched and conversation had all but stopped. Carl looked between the pair, his eyes slowly rolled up... and up till they hovered at least two feet above Ridley's head, his mouth flapped nervously.

A fist and arm the size of a man’s leg slammed down on the bar between Nairo and Ridley. Nairo couldn't help but study the arm, it was a cement grey with muscles that looked like they had been carved from a particularly muscular rock. Even the knuckles were viscously horned and the badly healed scar tissue around them told Nairo they weren’t just there for vanity.

“Not nice to go round talkin' behind a fella's back.”