The clerk had already been hurt, I knew that. But I decided not to mess up my pitch with inconvenient facts.
Goblin voices always remind me of fingernails being scraped across a blackboard. The one coming from behind the counter was no exception. " What you want?" it screeched.
"I want to talk."
"No talk – want car. Get car or we cut humans."
Most goblins don't speak English real well, and the only phrase of Goblin that I know translates as "Your mother mates with trolls under every bridge in town."
"Don't cut humans," I said. "Talk instead. Talk better."
"Talk no good. Want car, go away far. No prison."
"Why come here? Why rob?" Talking to gobs always made me sound like some nitwit in an old Tarzan movie. Can't be helped, though. Simple words and syntax are all they understand – in human language, or their own. Goblins aren't real bright.
"Money. Lots of money at liquor place."
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye as something shifted in the parking lot outside. I hoped the uniforms out there weren't getting ere's no n to try something stupid. Matthews had promised me that no breach would be attempted until Paul and I got out of there. His word was good, but if some higherup arrived on scene and overruled him…
A full breach almost always results in casualties. Sometimes those include people caught in the middle.
"Why money?" I asked. "Goblin not need money."
Living near dumps, goblins usually forage for what they need. Sometimes they barter with other goblin tribes for stuff they can't find on their own.
"For powder. For powder, need money much. Want powder. Need money."
Just as I'd figured. Meth-head goblins, Jesus.
"If I give powder, let humans go free?"
"You get powder? Shit talk. Cop got no powder."
"Cops find lotsa drugs. Take during arrest, for evidence. You want powder, or no?"
I heard some whispering going on behind the counter. Behind me, Paul muttered, "I hope you know that the fuck you're doin'."
"We get powder, let one human go. Then give car. Need car."
"I give powder, you let both humans go."
"One human. One!"
Hysteria was rising in the voice, making it even uglier than before. "Okay, one human," I said. "I go get powder now. Back soon."
"Get quick, or we cut."
As we hurried back to the police lines, Paul said, "I ain't gonna ask if you're fucking nuts, cause I already know the answer to that one. You're gonna try something tricky, right?"
"I hope so," I told him. "Whether it'll work depends on if she's on duty tonight, or Dispatch can find her."
"Her who?"
"Rachel Proctor."
Big Paul stopped walking and looked at me. "The department witch," he said.
"That's the one."
The black-and-white unit pulled up to the command post thirty-six long minutes later. A uniform I didn't know got out of the passenger side. Looking in Matthews' direction he said, "Sir, I got a package for Sergeant Markowski."
"That's me." I went over, and he handed me a thick white envelope. "Thanks," I said, and before he had even turned away, I was slitting it open. Inside was a sealed, sandwich-size baggie containing three or four ounces of crystalline white powder. There was also a note from Rachel Proctor, the department's consulting white witch. " No guarantees, but it ought to work. Good luck. " She hadn't added " You'll need it. " She didn't have to.
Two minutes later, Big Paul and I were back inside the liquor store. I was about twenty feet away from the counter when one of the screechy voices yelled, " Stop! No more close! We cut! "
"I have powder," I said, as calmly as I could. "Have meth. Here. See?" I held up the baggie and let it dangle. One of the goblins stuck his head up for an instant, then disappeared again.
A few seconds later I heard, " Throw powder. Throw here! " The need in that voice was almost palpable.
"One human first," I said. "You made promise. I bring powder, one human let go."
"Throw bag here, or cut humans! Cut bad!"
"You cut humans, no powder. And no car."
More muttered conferring. Then a man crawled out from behind the counter on his hands and knees. He was in his undershirt. Somebody had used one sleeve of a blue-striped outer shirt to bandage his upper left arm. The fabric was soaked with blood, and ding.
"It's all right," I told him. "Stand up, and walk toward us. It's gonna be okay."
The guy stood, but it wasn't easy for him. I guess he was stiff from sitting all that time, or he might've been woozy from blood loss, or both. Early fifties, probably. Tall, skinny, and scared half to death.
I kept my eye on the counter as Paul led the clerk to the door. The uniforms would get him into an ambulance.
"Drug now!" The goblin voice was a scream. "Drug now, or cut woman. Cut tits off! Now!"
"Here!" I said and tossed the baggie underhand. It cleared the counter and disappeared behind it. I felt my guts, already tight, clench a little harder. This was going to be the tricky part.
More mutterings and stirrings from behind the counter. Then I heard sniffing sounds, the kind you make when sucking in air deliberately. There's different ways to ingest meth. It seemed these gobs were snorters.
There was a clock on the wall above the counter. I watched it for two long minutes before calling "Goblins! Goblins, hear me?"
A new sound answered me. It was wordless but had a rising inflection, like somebody asking a question in his sleep.
"Goblins, you let woman go free. Let human go. Let go now."
Thirty-two more seconds crawled across the face of that clock. Then there was a stir behind the counter. A woman stood up slowly, using the counter as leverage. She was a fortyish brunette who had probably known too many Twinkies in her time. "Don't shoot!" she yelled, and threw her hands in the air. "Don't shoot!"