Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 10
~

Saturday morning I woke with the same sense of exhaustion tightenin’ my shoulders I’d gone to bed with. I should have cancelled on the game. Jump ball was scheduled for nine. I’ve never backed out of a commitment in my life, wasn’t gonna start usin’ excuses, like I’m tired or busy, to worm out today.

The one thing I had to look forward to, was that the humans I’d be playin’ with this morning were on the liberal side, willin’ to give ogres a break.

I ate light, just six bagels and cream cheese, six poached eggs, and half a pound of slow fried bacon. I’d be really hungry at lunch. Dave rang the bell as I threw back the last of my coffee. I let him in, asked him if he wanted a cup.

Instead of answerin’ me he asked, “You think the others at the court will be okay this morning?”

He meant, the other humans.

“Why shouldn’t they be?” I asked, walkin’ back to my restroom to brush my teeth.

Dave followed. I guess he figgered I finished my other business, because he sat on the toilet and watched me. Funny how humans are intrigued with our tusk polishin’. They’re really jealous of us, if they told the truth.

“You hear about the riot?” he asked.

Yeah. Couldn’t turn on my tablet without it punchin’ me in the snout. A lot of businesses lost storefront glass Friday night, and a lot of shelf inventory, which makes no sense. Ogre businesses don’t generally follow the storefront model, so the rioters were puttin’ their fellow humans out of business for the duration.

“State of the economy,” Dave mumbled, “a lot of those folks won’t ever be opening back up.”

I nodded.

Finished with my polishin’, I peeked into my gym bag. Shoes. Socks. Change of clothes. Sweat towel. Basketball. I was ready. Slung over my shoulder, I grabbed my leather jacket, and my old one for Dave, assumin’ he was ridin’ behind me and not followin’ me in his car. He grabbed the jacket, so he must be. He grabbed the human-sized helmet by the door as we made our way into the garage.

Sissy doesn’t much like sittin’ in Dave’s lap, but the three of us were leavin’ the neighborhood five minutes later.

At the middle school where our game was scheduled, seemed to be a few extra cars in the lot than normal. As we were unsaddlin’, humans exited their cars, pullin’ picket signs out of trunks. I stood starin’ for a moment. They needed a good writer on the payroll. No more ogres. Ogres go home. Ogres fault. Or did that accurately hue their intentions. And their point?

I started walkin’ toward the line and Dave sprinted to get in front of me, pressed both hands into my chest, and screeched, “Not a good idea, big guy.”

What? He think I was gonna pound ’em? These were the first idjits I’d personally ever come across. I just wanted to ask them what their problem was.

Jeers rose from the half dozen. Really? Bad ogre. Bad ogre. Maybe I would suggest our marketin’ department help them out. Give them a semblance of purpose.

“Dave.” The man was shakin’, leanin’ against me hard. “Dave.”

He finally looked up at me.

“Not necessary, dude,” I explained.

“Oh. Okay. But you—”

“I can’t be curious?” I asked.

Dave shook his head. Under my breath I said, “They better not touch my bike,” and Sissy growled in support. She’s a very supportive pit bull.

A few more cars filtered into the parking lot as the three of us made our way into the gym. I was surprised we weren’t catchin’ the back end of the early game. Walkin’ to the scorin’ table to sign in, Dave asked. Evidently the first game was a forfeit.

“What?” Dave shrieked.

“Their ogres didn’t show up.” The official shrugged.

What? Ogres hadn’t shown up? If I’d had to guess, the opposite was more to be expected. I was standin’ behind Dave feelin’ a little dizzy when the ogre I would play against this morning walked into the gym. Only one ogre can be on the court at a time for each team. That’s plenty of brute force in one place.

We exchanged nods. He’s a pretty good guy. Takes seriously, keepin’ his opponent out of the paint with whatever force necessary. But upstanding. Owns a towin’ company that serves the three-county area.

I was sheddin’ my boots and gearin’ up in my basketball shoes when the guy came over and sat next to me. My other guys gave him a look, but everyone bumped fists.

“I thought about not comin’,” the guy whispered to me, as he worried the seam of his basketball shorts with a hand that was deeply tanned and tattooed.

I gave him an arched brow.

“Ya didn’t?” He wiped his hand down his shorts.

“I like my basketball,” I answered. “Only time I can beat on another ogre without gettin’ thrown in jail.”

He didn’t smile at that. “Ya see the protestors?”

I shrugged. “This stuff hurtin’ yar business?”

He shrugged. “There’s been some graffiti.”

We sat in silence a moment.

“Well, have a good game.” He rose and walked over to his side of the official’s table.

I watched a bit, curious. His guys appeared comfortable around him. Prolly drove his trucks. Around him every day. Not a guard among them. All beefy-lookin’ forwards, arms full of tats. My guys would be faster, but they’d get beat to a bloody pulp if they approached the paint.

We tipped off ten minutes later, me and my ogre opponent poundin’ each other chest-to-chest. My favorite part of the game. Nothing extraordinary happened durin’ the game, except maybe the humans on the other team kept a healthier distance from me when my guy set a pick.

Oh, and my human guys, all white collar, just a little prissy compared to the other team’s tow truck drivers, picked themselves up off the floor more than usual. Accounted for one split lip and a bloody nose.

Fun basketball. The best.

I caught more than a couple elbows in my solar plexus. We kept it way closer than I ever expected. They only beat us by thirteen. I need beefier humans to play with.

Outside an hour later, two of the local networks had news crews filmin’ the now-seven protestors, shootin’ nice and tight to make the crowd look like a crowd. I started toward the crews wantin’ to crush a couple half-million-dollar cameras to pieces, but Dave smartly headed me off.

The man is braver than he looks.

One camera held on me. The smile slickin’ on the operator’s face ticked me off. I glared, sensed my lips curl under, lengthenin’ my tusks. My chest rumbled. Prolly not the best face to hit the news tonight, from a board member of Ogre Industries.

When we got back to my place and Dave got his helmet off, he shook his head at me. “Didn’t help,” he mumbled.

Like I didn’t know that. But the orchestrated event ticked me off. I wanted to pound some face. Maybe the adrenalin was still pumpin’ from joustin’ with my tow truck buddy.

I didn’t overlook that our other guys didn’t come back here afterward to join us. A lot of times we played some more hoops here on the weekends. Finished a case of beer.

So Dave and I got out the lawn chairs, pulled drinks from the fridge, sat there in the garage, without talkin’ much. A bit later the neighbor’s friend strolled up the walk toward us. What was her name? I’m so bad with names. Nuel. Nuel.

She wore chino pants, that narrowed and ended mid-calf. I’ve never really liked the look. Maybe on a skinny human, but they make an ogre hen’s hips look a quarter-mile-wide. She wore a cotton, cap-shouldered white blouse that was overly tent-like over her mid-section, though ended just short of where her chinos began. The hint of skin was— Okay. All in all, a nice, casual look.

The sun played with her dreads, makin’ the red and gold hues glint.

“Wow,” Dave mumbled.

I gave him a look. “What are ya wowin’ about?”

“We roomed together,” he whispered. “I’ve checked out my share of ogre hens you brought around, and that’s one stacked ogre hen.”

“Ya think?” I asked.

He cleared his throat, and I turned back to find Nuel already enterin’ the garage. She had a nice stride, that’s for sure. Great posture.

We both stood. She smiled. I don’t know why being bull-polite is funny. It might have set up a grump in me. Or maybe it was the abrupt manner she ended our nice conversation the other night.

And of course she started with a challenge instead of a hello. “What’s got ya grumpy?” We hadn’t spoken since, what was it, Wednesday night, when she sounded excited to get away from me, and that’s the first thing she says, without even a hello?

Dave laughed. Humans laugh easily. They’re such idjits. I grabbed another lawn chair off the wall and invited her to join us. She felt it was early for a beer. Never early for a beer on Saturday.

“Ya were on a newsbreak five minutes ago,” Nuel said.

A sense of fire flowed from my chest, up to my scalp.

“I told you,” Dave mumbled.

I could backhand him and no one had to find out. I could bribe Nuel to keep her mouth shut. Patch the dry wall over his dead body.

“They’re calling ya the epitome of ogre superiority,” she said.

Oh, stink. The council wouldn’t be happy with me Tuesday. I introduced Dave and Nuel, and we all sat. Dave worked on his beer quick, stood a few moments later sayin’ he needed to shove off. The guy never was one for stickin’ around and supportin’ a buddy. I growled, maybe, a little, because, well, we ogres like to growl. Nuel gave me a look.

I may not have given Dave another glance, but I heard his sports car revvin’ up the street.

“I’m not here out of boredom,” Nuel said.

Interestin’ openin’ salvo.

“I’ve been asked by the Northern Council to sit in, this week, as their representative.”

Hmm. Didn't see that commin’. I told her, “I didn’t know there was a Northern Council.”

“Ya’ve never shared much interest in our issues, up North,” Nuel said.

They never showed much interest in the goings on in the South, either.

“More informal than the council,” she said.

“Now there’s an issue affectin’ ya, maybe time—”

“We never stopped paying clan or council dues,” she grumbled.

I snorted. But in truth, the council has its own enterprises that support it, so if our Northern neighbors were light on tithin’, no one would be complainin’.

Nuel turned her lips angry for a moment. “I didn’t come over here to argue.”

Good to know.

“I didn’t even know ya were on the council until I got a call Thursday, and Ike son of Bliar, sunk in.”

Took her a couple days to reach out. But I’ve been busy too. Maybe I could throw her a bone. “This messin’ up yar vacation?” I asked.

“I’m not complaining.”

For not complainin’, she certainly hissed at me. She asked if I was flyin’ up Tuesday morning. I shook my head. “Driving?” I shook my head.

“Ya aren’t going?”

“I’m two wheelin’ it,” I said.

She grimaced. We ogres look our most natural when we grimace. “I hoped to drive up with ya, since I couldn’t get a flight.”

I tried to keep from smilin’, but it wasn’t workin’. “Ya can drive the Green Hornet.”

“What is a Green Hornet?”

I looked over at my truck, on the far side of my bike.

Her face turned, funny. Was she gonna be sick?

“I don’t care for driving those winding roads,” she said.

Uh huh. I asked her if the Northern council was puttin’ her up.

Her face turned a little persimmon-like. “I was hoping ya could help me with that, too.”

Perfect Northerner. Resented me for who I am, but without the means to get where she needed to go and no place to stay if she got there. But was angry I wasn’t ecstatic to help her. What did she hope to add to the discussion? My distaste for this hen grew, despite Dave’s claim that she was rather keen on the eyes.

Okay. She’s a knock out.

~ Nuel ~

I strode away from the ignernt fool wanting to cry, and that’s not a common emotion in ogres. I caught myself fisting a hand a couple times as he shimmied the knife in my chest.

How was I gonna sit next to him for hours Monday? One of us might end up dead.

~