Chapter XIII
Housing projects were for humans only. Dwarves didn’t live in government housing because other dwarves would always put them up as long as they were willing to work. A dwarf that wouldn’t work was rare and usually indicative of some mental or emotional deficiency. Since other dwarves didn’t have the time or the patience for such things, these individuals were most often put out of the community and died on the street. Ninety eight percent of the elf population was rich and the other two percent was well off. Even if an elf hit the bottom financially, there were government programs that helped him recover in a staggeringly short amount of time. That was money that could be used to feed a small town, but the elves in charge of that money cared little for poor humans or dwarves. They were only interested in maintaining the prestige of their brethren.
The Recess Projects had been built sixteen years prior. Owen had been working in Brooklyn back then and had often been sent on calls there. He remembered the buildings when they were new. A decent amount of funding had gone into them. The apartments were small, but laid out pretty well for a family of three or even four if you were economical with your space. It had all turned to shit pretty quickly, though. The drug dealers had set up shop in there, ruining any chance at stability for the few families that were working hard to get themselves out of the government subsidized programs. Over the course of three months, Owen had seen the place degrade dramatically until it wasn’t safe even for the people that lived there.
By now, there were no hardworking families in there anymore. Anyone who could get out had done so years before. New arrivals were always those people that had exhausted every other option available to them or hadn’t even bothered to try. Questioning these people was going to be like interrogating blocks of concrete. They’d be lucky to get away without a fight.
The dead man’s name was Lancelot Conroy. Yes, his name was really Lancelot. Lots of these people had names out of legend. It seemed to Owen that the more desperate and pathetic the human, the more regal his name. Conroy lived on the eighteenth floor of Building Two. Jessica pulled the car up right in front of the building and got out. Owen got out on the other side, jumping down to the curb, and followed her up the walk.
“You should be worried about the car.”
Still holding her keys, she hit a button on the remote and the car beeped signifying that the alarm was on.
“That’s not going to stop them,” Owen said.
“It’s not an alarm,” she answered. “The body’s electrified.”
Continuing up the walk, they made it to the once ornate front of the building and passed inside.
Like the street, the lobby was almost empty. Drug dealers didn’t do much business at that time of the morning and drug users were usually sleeping off whatever poisons they’d put into their bodies the night before. There was a young girl passed out near the door to the staircase. She was dressed only in her underwear and there were deep bruises on her legs and thighs. Jessica drew in a breath when she saw her. She took one step forward and then decided against it. The job of cleaning up that mess and all of the other similar messes that were in that building was well beyond their capability.
“I hope the elevator’s working,” Owen grumbled as he pressed the button. The light didn’t go on, but there was a loud hum as the car, wherever it was, stirred to life.
They waited almost three minutes for the slow car to arrive. When the doors opened, they were assaulted by a strong odor of urine and vomit. The car was filthy, with gang symbols spray painted all over the walls. At least it was unoccupied.
Owen crushed a roach under his foot as he crossed the threshold.
“This place is disgusting,” Jessica said to him as the doors closed.
He pressed the button for eighteen and nodded. “This is one of the worst in the city.”
“Honestly, Owen, as often as I see it, I just can’t believe people allow themselves to live like this.”
He shrugged. “Some people don’t have a choice. Most just don’t care. You humans are a strange bunch. You all have different ideas of how to live and you condemn each other for them.”
Jessica chuckled to herself. “You’re right. There’s no solidarity among humans. There’s much more disparity within humanity than there is between different species. I sometimes wonder what it would be like if there were only humans in the world.”
This time Owen laughed. “You’d have probably killed each other off. It was humans that launched the atomic bomb in 1945. It took thirty four elf wizards assembled on a moment’s notice to contain that blast. As much as I hate to admit it, they saved the world from you people.”
“And yet you’re still the ones they fear,” she finished, nodding sadly to herself.
The car came to a shuddering halt and the door opened. The hallway beyond wasn’t much better than the elevator car itself. There were great windows looking out over Brooklyn. From there they could see the Belt Parkway and beyond. It was a beautiful spring day and there were people out sailing on the water.
“Eighteen sixteen,” Jessica said, tapping Owen on the shoulder. “Let me do the talking.”
He nodded. The license was one thing. Acceptance was going to be a long time in coming. Still, he had a good feeling about having teamed up with Jessica Church. She really didn’t show any signs of bigotry. She didn’t resent him as the primary partner, nor did she seem to hold it against him that his life was the one Anton had saved.
As they approached the apartment, Jessica took a few deep breaths. She seemed to be gearing herself up for the interaction to come. She knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she knocked loudly. There were some grumblings from behind the door and some others from other apartments. Owen kept alert.
The door opened but stopped short on what appeared to be two chains. A scarred black face pushed itself into the crack. It smiled when its eyes caught sight of Jessica.
“Well hello, pretty lady,” the man said in the classic urban accent.
Jessica shoved her brand new license in his face.
“Shit,” the man said. “Come on, bitch. I just got up.”
“I need to ask you some questions about Lancelot Conroy.”
He seemed to relax a bit when he realized that he wasn’t the focus of their attention. “Oh, well, sorry,” he said. “I ain’t seen him in days.”
“That’s because he’s dead,” she told him.
“No kidding,” he replied, not sounding the least bit surprised.
“What can you tell me about his association with Troy Van Walls?” she asked.
“Ah-so-see-ay-shun?”
Owen, just out of the man’s view, had grown tired of the direction in which this was heading. Lashing out with his left hand, he slammed the door inward. Both chains popped out of the wall as if they were fastened with thumb tacks. The door hit the man in the shoulder and he jumped back in alarm. Again, much to her credit, Jessica didn’t even flinch at the brazen maneuver. She just stepped over the threshold with Owen in tow.
“You can’t fuckin’ do that,” the man cried, seeing Owen for the first time. There was actual fear in his eyes.
Owen closed the door behind him. “Call the cops then, why don’t you?”
The man’s scars ran up along the top of his head. Though he had a full head of hair, nothing grew in where the flesh had been damaged. Jessica couldn’t really identify the nature of the wound, but Owen was pretty sure it had been caused by a knife. The man had probably been restrained initially and broken free as he was being cut. That made him powerful and dangerous. Still, he wasn’t either more powerful or more dangerous than Owen was himself.
“Okay,” the man said, trying to regain his composure. “Okay, fine. I’ll talk to you, but try not to break anything else. Okay?”
The man headed down the short entryway corridor and into the main room. The apartment was small, as Owen re
membered. This was one of the two bedroom models. The short corridor had originally been decorated with wall paper. It was some velvety pattern that had long since been flattened and destroyed. It was peeling in places and they could see the remnants of the glue on the plaster. In the main room, there was a sixty inch flat screen television with a cable box, two video game consoles, and a surround sound speaker system. On the other wall was a well maintained mahogany leather couch with reclining ends and cup holders. The floor between the two pieces was plywood and covered with tattered carpet. Just off to the side was a dirty little kitchenette. The man went in there first and pulled himself a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. Taking this to the couch, he sat himself down and began to drink.
“’Bit hung over, you know?” he said to them.
“’Don’t care,” Owen replied.
The man passed Owen a sour look and then turned his eyes back on Jessica. “So this here’s Lance’s apartment. You probably already know that.”
She nodded.
“Yeah, I just crash here once in a while.” That translated into him squatting there.
“What’s your name?” Jessica asked.
The man almost choked on his orange juice. “Are you fuckin’ kidding? I ain’t giving you my name, bitch.”
“That’s fine,” Owen said. “We’ll just call you scum.”
The man gave Owen another glare.
“It’s not important,” Jessica chimed in, also glaring at Owen. He resolved to keep his mouth shut. “Tell us about Lancelot and his association with Troy Van Walls.”
“What’s the difference?” the man asked. “I seen the news. Van Walls is dead.”
“Humor us.”
The man shrugged. “You seen that tattoo on Lance’s head? All Van Walls’ boys run with that thing. It don’t go on easy.” The man absently ran his hand over his face and head. “Lance, though, he take it like a man. He even help with the design.”
“That design is magical,” Owen said, quickly breaking his vow of silence.
The man laughed. “Sure as shit, it’s magical. Lance was the best fuckin’ wizard I ever seen.”
“Lancelot?” Jessica asked. “He used magic? Did Van Walls know about this?”
“Fuckin A, bitch!” He paused to drink the last of the orange juice from the bottle. “Lance taught Van Walls everything he knew.”
“Wait a minute,” Owen said. “Pardon my dwarf stupidity, but are you telling me that the human taught the elf how to use magic?”
“Sure as shit. That elf dude couldn’t make fire with a match. That’s why he got into the drugs, man. He thought if he was fucked up, he could turn on the sparks, you know? It kinda worked, but he couldn’t control it. Then comes Lance. They hook up and old VW keeps Lance’s secret while Lance teaches him how to cast. Fuckin’ match made in heaven.”
Neither Jessica nor Owen had anything to say about that. This was quite possibly the biggest piece of news either of them had ever heard. The idea of an elf that couldn’t perform magic was so ridiculous that it had never even appeared in fiction. To put on top of that a human who was capable of teaching the elf to cast bordered on blasphemy. If this news ever became public, it would shake the foundation of society. How many other deficient elves were there out there? Did their parents just hide their embarrassment or did they manage to teach the elves some rudimentary skills?
Still, all of this was hearsay at the moment. They would need something far more concrete before they decided to pursue it.
“There were a few others with him that had the same tattoos,” Jessica said. “I especially noticed two guys flanking him.”
The man began to laugh as if he was recalling some fond memory. Then he remembered that they were in the room and clammed up. “Nah. I don’t know those guys.”
“You’re full of shit,” Jessica said to him. “But I’ll let it go if you can tell us where to find the tattoo artist.”
The man’s face drained of color. “Those two guys are Marvin and Herschel Berryll. They ran with Lance for a long time and followed him when he hooked up with VW. They’re badasses and probably really fuckin’ pissed now that they ain’t got no leaders.”
“And the artist?” Owen asked.
“No way, man. Get it from the Berrylls.”
Owen and Jessica looked at each other.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll give you a break. If the Berryll brothers don’t give us the name, though, we’re coming back.”
“Uh huh,” he said. “Sure. Come on back any time.”
But they knew that they would never see him again.