Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 14
~

Gozer, my talkative troll neighbor rang me up ten minutes later. I almost didn’t answer, but even listenin’ to him go blah, blah was better than the terse silence in the Green Hornet.

“Ya’re on yar way to Black Lake, huh?” he asked.

I hmmed an affirmative.

“Can ya bring us back some fresh, pine air.”

“Uh. Sure. I’ll bring ya a bag full.”

The phone vibrated with the troll’s chuckle. “Ya hear about the break ins? Three more last night.”

“In our neighborhood?”

“And on the other side of the highway,” Gozer answered. “It’s prolly those secretive types that bought the house next door. Knew they were bad news.”

“Ya meet ’em yet?” I asked.

“Haven’t even really seen ’em. Unless one was the operator of that lift on that flat bed. Makes me shiver. Ya know he was an orc, right? Those orcs are always bad news.”

“I didn’t know ya were such a bigot,” I said.

“That’s a loaded word,” Gozer complained. “Too bad we don’t have restrictions here, like they do those gated communities up North.”

Just isn’t right to hear a troll whine. “Ya want some housing board tellin’ ya what ya can and can’t do on yar own property?”

“Well, ya wouldn’t have gotten away with that horrible landscapin’ ya put in.”

Last year I thought the neighbors were gonna string me up. Ogres aren’t really big in mowin’ grass, so I wanted au natural, to fit the plain reserve on the backside of my property. Told the troll runnin’ the dozer that leveled the property for the foundation to be sure to leave the natural rubble. I planted a hundred pine trees between the five-hundred-pound boulders strewn about.

Okay, doesn’t look so great now, but in ten years when the survivin’ trees are mature, I’ll have my own forest with a floor of odoriferous pine needles. It’ll be dandy.

“What do ya have against pine trees?” I asked.

“I have a problem with rubble,” he said. “Trolls like order.”

“I could say something about yar fuchsia and purple house trim.”

“Ain’t it beautiful,” Gozer said.

“No. It’s garish.”

“Ya ogres have no taste but what’s on yar tongue.”

“So why’d ya call me?” I asked. “The road’s kind of curvy.”

“We got to do something about those folk who bought that property.”

“Ya call the neighbors. I’ll head to the garden center for pitchforks. Where can we buy torches?”

“Ya need to take this seriously.” The vibration of his growl tickled my palm. “They’re gonna bring down yar property value too. Ruin the neighborhood ya love.”

“What, because they’re orcs?” I asked.

“So ya think they’re orcs?” Gozer asked.

“Why don’t ya start off sendin’ them a fruit basket to welcome them to the neighborhood, then take it from there?”

Gozer never sent me a fruit basket. That’s something an ogre could appreciate—or even better, a basket of beef sticks. Them trolls would prefer a bottle of live grubs and scorpions. They have weird tastes. I have no idea what orcs like. Can’t say I’ve ever had a conversation with one in twenty years.

“Ya aren’t takin’ this serious,” Gozer said.

“I got council issues on my mind, my friend. I’ll call ya when I get back. Okay?”

“I’ll keep ya in the loop. With all these break ins, ya should have left that guard dog at home to protect the place.”

I almost snorted up a kidney. Sissy, guardin’ my home. She barks out of excitement she might have new company she can kiss to death.

“Really,” Gozer screeched. “Them cameras will only tell ya after the fact who-uns broke into yar place. Not deny them yar property.”

I told him I’d love to be kept in the loop, but still took me another ten minutes to get him off the phone. Them trolls love to gab.

“Orcs?” Nuel mumbled.

I nodded.

“Thought they pretty much moved back East?”

“What I understand, for the most part, ’cept those long-time residents near Black Lake, and the high valleys.”

I didn’t face her, but she seemed to keep her eye on me a long moment. “Hear they’re big in artistic pursuits. And run a lot of restaurants.”

That’s an understatement. If them orcs aren’t formin’ clay sculptures, they’re writin’ epic poetry, or doing fancy things with fungus at the diner. Strange critters, them orcs. My grandpa loves ’em though. And Klow doesn’t hanker much for most anyone. He’d growl at the cutest kitten. Must be all that herdin’ he’s done, alone in the hills. Could I make time for a visit while I’m in the Range?

“Yar face is talking again,” Nuel complained. “Most politicians I’ve ever met can’t be shut up.”

Air blew out of my lungs. “Politician! Politician! Donchya go callin’ me a politician.”

Nuel jolted kind of surprised like. “Wow. I found a topic ya respond to.”

I shook my head. I had nothing more to say to her. Politician. How dare she call me a politician. Not many on the board, or the council, who like being there. Mostly forced on us.

Clan responsibility is heady stuff.

I never did learn to run when I saw one of the elders comin’ my way. My papa taught me to respect my elders. If I had my way, I’d have my snout stuck in a computer monitor balancin’ servers and improvin’ database access.

Livin’ in peace.

I wouldn’t be playin’ mixed basketball either, if it wasn’t for all the Ogreware employees in the league. Outreach. That’s what the board called it. No business, ogres playin’ with fragile humans. Amazin’ they haven’t all ended up in the hospital. It's only because we're slow on our feet. Relatively.

~ Nuel ~

The bull is like a dense, igneous rock. One moment I think maybe there are signs of life twittering behind those green eyes, then he opens his mouth and idjitry blurts out.

He’s clueless. Sits without a thought in his brain. His stinking mutt is more intelligent.

~