Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 13
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Darshee, Wizper, and Nuel leaned against the Green Hornet, arms crossed. Why do people lean against my truck? I wouldn’t lean against their paint job. Put the hint of a scratch in her and I’ll wop ’em.

The council guys walked toward the helicopter, which was already makin’ enough new racket to drive an elf bezonkers.

Sissy finally noticed me and ran like a lunatic to give me a hearty hello. I’ll always have one female that likes me, with her around.

“Ya’re always good for an interesting hot date,” Darshee shouted at me over the roar of the helicopter’s jet engine.

I more read Nuel’s lips than heard her say, “Ya dated this guy?”

Darshee and Wizper shared a glance. The helo was liftin’ off now, dust and debris flyin’ around us. No way was I openin’ the cab of the truck and lettin’ that blow in. But it looked locked, and I didn’t have the fob, anyway.

The three hens studied me. Uh oh. I hate that. One of ’em called the council to get me out of my predicament. Should I mention a thank ya or something? I’m not good with makin’ those sound sincere. Better just leave it be.

When the helicopter was far enough away to talk, I mumbled, “What?”

Darshee blew out a breath. “Ya’re technically my boss, so I can’t really say what I’d like to say to ya, ya idjit.”

Wizper mumbled, “Be a waste of breath, like every other thing we’ve ever said to him.”

“Whachya mean, technically?” I asked.

Darshee tilted her head. She’s actually kind of cute when she does that.

“Ya’re a serious butthead,” Wizper said.

I opened my mouth to complain or argue or something, but maybe I should look at this event from their point of view first. I suggested we get back on the road. None of the three budged for a moment.

Nuel moved first, handin’ me my key fob. I assume she drove the Green Hornet here. Asked her if she didn’t want to keep drivin’. Clearly she’s a control freak. Those loons drive me nuts. She’d prefer to drive, right, even if she didn’t like the windy roads. She gave me a good ogre face.

Wizper moved close enough to me she could have rested her forehead against my chest if she wanted too. “I’m glad ya didn’t get yarself killed.”

“Shot, sure,” Darshee said from fifteen feet and walkin’ away, “but not killed.”

They were actin’ like it was my fault a cop got carried away. Wasn’t fair. Wizper spun around and jogged to catch up with Darshee, her heavy-soled boots clompin’ on the asphalt.

I unlocked the Green Hornet and crawled in behind Sissy. Nuel slammed her door maybe a little harder than she needed. No reason to abuse my baby. The sun comin’ in the windows had the temperature inside in the nineties, though the air here in the foothills was closer to sixty. While we waited for the hens to saddle up, I twirled down the windows. Sissy hung out, nose twitchin’, tongue danglin’. The pine smelled wonderful. The air clean and crisp. On the plains, there’s always a hint of dust and pollen to tickle the sinuses.

The roar of the bikes resonated.

“I hate those things,” Nuel mumbled.

Oh, here we go again.

“Almost took my papa away from me,” she said softly.

Considerin’ that history, I couldn’t exactly ridicule her.

“What did ya mean?” I asked. “Before. When ya said—shoot first ask after.”

Nuel turned a slow, emotionless look my way. “The media is controlled by humans,” she drawled. “So of course it isn’t on TV or the front page of the news. But giants up North are likely to be shot in any interaction with police.”

The words echoed around inside my cavernous skull for a moment. The hens were pullin’ away. I followed them toward the highway and rolled up the windows, to Sissy’s discordant grumble.

“How many?” I asked.

“No one is publishing numbers,” Nuel answered. “But considering we’re very much a minority, the skewed numbers would prolly be enough to disturb the village idjit.”

Meanin’, me, I guess.

“And this didn’t warrant mentionin’, to the council, before this?” I asked.

“Since when have ya ever cared what happens to the Northern giants? We defected. Turned our backs on the fold. Out of sight out of mind.”

That isn’t exactly how we feel about them. More, like they’re just a subset of Northerner who like to look down their snouts at us simple Southerners and our old ways. Funny way of speakin’.

Well, our old ways have been pretty productive. Made the Southern clans pretty well-to-do. And kept us tight.

Them humans being three times the reproducers than us giants, hadn’t helped them much, other than to spread across the plain and engorge their cities. Gives us cheap labor for our ogre businesses.

“Yar face is doing all the talking again,” Nuel whined.

My mind was back to expandin’ upon the OW dilemma. We don’t communicate with the humans we work with all that well. The Northern giants don’t communicate with us. A vicious circle. Why’s it so hard to pick up the phone and yack about a thing?

Not that I much care for phone yakkin’, myself. I’m more a face-to-face person. Great communicator that way. Ask anyone.

“I hate ya,” Nuel mumbled.

What? What was she mad at me for now? I hadn’t said a word.

I pulled out my phone and searched for Zug in my directory.

“What are ya doing?” Nuel hissed. “Ya wanna kill us?”

The hen was gettin’ on my nerves. “Hey, Zug, this is—”

He said I was in his contacts now.

“Could ya do me a favor?”

He grumped about livin’ to be my servant. Everyone cops an attitude, even cops.

“Could ya get me some statistics, how many of our kind are gettin’ killed, shot, durin’ interactions with the police.”

“Ogre kind?” he asked.

“No. Us. Giants.”

“Ya won’t like what I tell ya,” he said.

“Maybe it shouldn’t be a secret,” I said. “And maybe it’s something ya could have raised a red flag about a long time ago.”

“Looking for someone to blame already are ya?” Zug asked.

“No.” Stinkin’ trolls can be so difficult.

“Spose ya’ll bother to do anything about it one way or the other?” he drawled.

Which was downright rude. “Can’t do anything about something we know nothing about.”

“That’s a dandy excuse,” Zug said, and hung up.

Everyone chooses to be so difficult. Specially them Northerners.

~ Nuel ~

Could these folk down here be completely ignernt of what’s going on? Could they be this blind? Out of touch?

We call them yokums for a reason. Blissfully ignernt.

~