Shadows of Valderia: An Urban Fantasy Detective Noir

​​6

Ridley cracked his eyes, or more specifically, one eye, the other seemed to be closed for business still. Not unfamiliar with being rendered unconscious, he manually poked his immobile brain into function. The memories trickled like sludge: a few vague images of a pub, shattered glass, frightened Pixies, and a wild eyed Minotaur. The rest was left up to him to connect the dots. With a deep groan, he sat up and immediately regretted it. The change of altitude irritated both his swollen brain and his newly aerated shoulder almost equally.

“You're alive... good.”

Ridley turned his head slowly and saw Nairo sitting opposite him. They seemed to be back in Carl's which, for sanitary reasons, Ridley wished they had left him in the alley. The place was deserted except for the stamp of heavy boots and Carl's forlorn whimpers. He groaned as pain lanced through his shoulder and saw someone had bandaged it neatly.

“My handiwork,” Nairo said. “Best I could do in the circumstances. Luckily, the bolt only clipped flesh, but I would still get it looked at.”

“Wha?” Ridley looked down at his shoulder and winced.

“Good thing a couple of the boys were coming back from... refreshments close by with the wagon. Cleared the place out like only belligerent coppers with a belly full can.”

“Wha?” Ridley saw a group of the traditionally blue garbed police officers, milling about helping themselves to whatever's on tap.

A few of the more unfortunate participants in the 'disturbance' were face down in the carpet, their pockets recently emptied. Reality fed back into Ridley's head and he slowly put the pieces together. He spat a thick mouthful of blood and phlegm on the carpet, then reached into his jacket.

“Where's my coat?”

“It's right there, I had to take it off to stop the bleeding. Oh, I'm fine by the way.”

Ridley rolled himself on to his feet and grabbed his coat, swearing as his shoulder stabbed his brain in anger.

“Some... err... interesting items in there,” Nairo said as she stood up and stretched her battered frame.

“Look at this tear and that blood will be a hassle. Ms Paper’s gonna give me an earful,” Ridley grunted, pointedly ignoring her remark. He pulled a smoke out and screwed it into the side of his mouth.

“Pocket sand?” she tried again.

“Worked, didn't it?” he said as he shrugged on his coat. “Now where's the bovine?”

Nairo nodded to the police wagon parked haphazardly in front of the pub.

“Had to sling him in the wagon, it’s the only place with shackles strong enough to hold him until backup arrives.” Nairo didn’t like the look on Ridley's face, blood and wrath were never precursors to anything good. “Hold on Ridley, you can't...”

But, as usual, he hadn't waited for approval and was already limping toward the wagon. A broad, barrel chested officer stood in front of the wagon with his feet planted and his hands lightly clasped behind his back. There was nothing else this man could have been other than a copper, it was written in the way he stood, the way his blonde moustache grew, and the way his robin egg blue eyes narrowed until they became two crinkled slits of unguarded suspicion.

“Halt there sonny, can't let you through I'm afraid.” He threw up a thick meaty hand in Ridley's face. “Hullo Sergeant.”

“Alright Charlie?” Nairo said.

“Couldn't be better, Sarge. 'Magine our luck, stop at the Ol’ Turnbull for... err... refreshments, and we get an honest to goodness pub brawl on the way back to the station!” Charlie bounced on his heels cheerily. His chest and shoulders were so broad they made his head look like a hat his body was wearing at a jaunty angle.

“'Preciate the help Charlie, things were beginning to get out of hand.”

“'Ad to take the bull by the horns did ya, marm?” He winked and bounced around leerily, eyes crinkling out of existence in mirth.

Ridley had the feeling he had been marinating that zinger for a while now.

“Listen, Charlie, I need to talk to the Bull.” Ridley tried to walk past the copper again, only to be held up by that same meaty hand.

“'Fraid not lad, 'e's in police custody now.”

“No, you don’t understand, I need to talk to him.”

“Sorry boyo.”

“Listen you stuffed shirt, I need to get in there so I can beat that overgrown cow till he tells me what I need to know!” Ridley yelled in frustration.

Charlie arched his eyebrow at Ridley before looking at Nairo. She sighed and gave a small nod.

“Well why didn’t you say so, son?” Charlie stepped neatly aside and gave Nairo a quick salute. “‘Fraid I've come down with a sudden case of being severely mutton jeff for about the next, hmmm, five minutes?”

“I'll only need one,” Ridley muttered as he threw open the wagon doors and climbed in, with an apprehensive Nairo behind him.

The Bull had been trussed up with heavy enchanted iron manacles, he snuffled and flicked his tongue at his wounds, his granite muscles slack from exhaustion. A sheen of sweat glistened on his flank, even now he was still snorting heavily. The Bull growled as Ridley climbed in, baring his tombstone teeth and rattling his chains angrily.

“Shut up,” Ridley snapped at him, as he reached into his jacket and pulled out something.

“Take it easy Ridley,” Nairo warned.

Ridley wasn’t listening instead he knelt down in front of the Bull and glared at him with his one good eye.

“You ripped my coat,” he said flatly.

The Bull swore in return and spat at Ridley.

“Go on then, get a few kicks in, I aint tellin yer nuffin!”

The Bull turned his nose up at Ridley, waiting for the first blow. He was no stranger to taking a beating whilst cuffed, and his twitchy eyes showed no fear, just the promise of vengeance should he ever be unchained. Ridley grabbed his good horn and yanked his snout to the right showing him what he had in his hand.

“See this? A bottle of Abu No Tongue's finest spice extract sauce,” he said this with an expectant flourish.

“So?” the Bull grunted in confusion. “Yer making a kebab?”

“Chilli sauce?” Nairo, who had been ready to grab Ridley and snap off an insightful speech about justice and honour and not kicking the crap out of cuffed suspects, stood in ready confusion. Ridley, unperturbed by their response, pulled off the cork menacingly.

“Oh no, the PI's gonna make me food hot... AAAAHHHHH!!!” The Bull screamed, writhing and straining at his chains.

Ridley stood calmly with the little innocuous bottle held above the Bull's gaping leg wound. The bovine screams echoed around the wagon, even Charlie outside raised his eyebrows in professional admiration.

“Where's Benny?” Ridley growled, holding firmly on to the Bull's horn as he bucked, the wagon rocking under his might.

“Fuck… you!” the Bull spat, sweat poured down his snout, froth dripping from jowls.

Ridley gave a bored shrug and flicked the dark maroon liquid at the swollen wound on his hind leg. The Bull kicked and writhed, screaming threats and barely understandable curses. Ridley rode out the torrent with a bored expression. He grabbed the Bull by the horn and pulled his concrete block head till he was forced to lock eye’s with the maniacal PI.

“Next one goes in your eye,” he hissed at him, already raising the bottle, gratified by the moment of fear he saw in the bovine’s eyes as he watched the bottle get closer.

“Okay, okay, fine!” the Bull snarled, finally broken, his chest deflating, his massive muscles going slack again.

“Where is he!?”

“Ratholes, down the southside,” the Bull mumbled between animalistic whimpers of pain, his long tongue flicking out trying futilely to lick the dripping sweat off his snout.

“Gimme an address.”

“Dunno… No wait I swear!” The Bull was practically shrieking in the way that only a distressed animal could, as Ridley began raising the little bottle again.

“Not good enough, Bull!” Ridley growled.

“ ‘Onestly! I swear on me mam’s hooves! I was s’posed to head down there in an hour, and I’d meet up with the boys and pick up Benny’s tribute for the boss!” His chest heaved with the effort of being so honest.

“What boys?” Ridley asked.

“Some local young un’s from the ‘Oles he’s got slingin’ Burn and Slug.”

“Where were you gonna meet ‘em?”

“Nowhere spiffic,” he grunted sullenly, and then added hastily when he saw annoyance flash across Ridley’s face. “Fella my size, they woulda found me soon as I wandered in.”

Ridley considered this for a moment and must have decided he was telling the truth.

“See now that wasn't so difficult, was it Bull? Dunno why you goons always gotta make things hard for yourselves.” He stood up and tucked the bottle away.

“Finished?” Nairo asked.

“Yup, lets get…”

“Good, move out of the way.” Nairo pushed him aside and knelt down next to the Bull, who instinctively flinched, a snarl spreading across his muzzle.

“You gonna get a few kicks in now, pig?” he spat at Nairo.

“Oh, be quiet.” She pulled a small dust caked metal tin from under the wagon’s bench.

“What’re you doing…” Ridley asked, watching her with the same bemused look as the Bull.

“That wound’s going to fester, especially now, and knowing Charlie and his chaps you won't be seeing medical care until you reach Darkwater,” she said, fastidiously tearing up a bandage, while pouring water into the wound, patiently cleaning it out.

The Bull still wasn’t sure what to make of her, he licked at his bruised lips, snuffling as the cool water relieved the burning sting in his leg.

“You’re really gonna waste your time bandaging up scum like him?” Ridley said.

“He’s a citizen, I’m a police officer, we serve and protect.” She answered him quietly, pausing only to tap the spot where her badge would have been.

“He was tryna rip your bloody head off half hour ago!” Now Ridley’s confusion had shifted predictably into frustration, which was in boot camp to become full blown outrage.

“And you tortured him while he was chained up, it’s nothing personal. Is it Mr. Bull?” She tightened his bandage, and gave the Bull an admonishing tut when he growled at her in pain.

“No corse not, ma’am,” he said, almost sounding sweet.

“Piss to that, I got better things to do, have fun in the big house Bull, and next time don’t pick a fight with a copper, you dipshit.” Ridley kicked open the wagon doors and hopped out.

“He’s right, that was foolish of you, Mr Bull.” She pulled the flask off her hip and poured it into the medicine box as a makeshift trough. “And when you get to Darkwater, ask for Trosker, he’s the physician in charge of rehabilitation, tell him you want to do some of the new skills training, pick up a trade… other than bashing people’s heads in.” She said this all matter of factly. Without waiting for a response, she stood up and gave him a small smile. “Never too late to find out if you have other talents. Good luck.” She turned to walk out of the wagon.

“Wait… err…” The Bull sat up, his snout dripping from the water he had been lapping at greedily. “It weren’t nothing pers’nal, ma’am.” He gave a half hearted shrug and had the shame to look abashed.

Nairo simply nodded and hopped out of the wagon, slamming the doors shut.

“Sounded like you had a good talk, marm,” Charlie said, bouncing on his heels. Before she could reply, Ridley rounded the corner.

“What the hell was that?” he barked at her.

“Just cleaning up your mess, Ridley,” Nairo snapped, with a venom that surprised even her.

“Well while you play vets and robbers, I’m gonna go find your boss’s bloody Diamond!” he said, poking her in the chest, before spinning and stomping away.

Charlie raised a thick eyebrow and cleared his throat surreptitiously.

“Want me to go after him marm? Show ‘im just how brawny the long the arm o’ the law is?”

Nairo shook her head.

“Would have done so myself if I thought he would learn anything from it. Thanks for the assist anyway, Charlie.”

“Just a minute marm, Cap’n’s on the Comm Scroll for ya. He don’t sound happy, wants you pulled in,” Charlie said with an apologetic shrug.

“And what was your reply?”

“Must have just missed her, Cap’n, hot on the trail as she is and wot not.” His bright little eyes twinkled in the creases of his wrinkles.

“Appreciate it, Charlie.” Nairo tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, straightened her tunic and took a deep calming breath, before focusing on Ridley’s retreating back.

“Be lucky, Marm.”

“You too, Charlie.” She returned his brief salute and, with hip aching and head throbbing, limped after Ridley resolutely.