Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 38
~

Nice to be back in the Green Hornet, and not a taxi. The two hens followed me to my place, as though they couldn’t stand to let me get out of their sight. At least Sissy had calmed down, though she kept smellin’ at the blood that had ruined my shirt.

The glass in my broken windows had been replaced already. Nice. Two guys workin’ pressure washers were blastin’ away at the dried eggs. I need to go through my security video. I’d be chargin’ the little dirt bags.

Wizper escorted me directly to my room, remindin’ me for the fifth time I was to take a nap. “We’ll call ya when it’s time to eat, unless ya want us to—”

“I can make it to the dining room.” And soon as she closes my bedroom door behind her, I’ll be back on my cell. The messages had backed up faster than I’d answered them this morning. Maybe I was workin’ half-fast, considerin’ how tired I felt.

Wizper didn’t close the door, but I crawled off the bed and closed it, locked it, sat in the wingback I usually read in, and pulled my computer into my lap. I’d have to go with abbreviated texts or I’d never catch up, and I wasn’t gonna key them all through my phone.

I heard the doorbell a couple of times. Figgered it was the workmen. But neither of the hens ever came back, so I continued workin’. About seven o’clock the doorknob clacked.

“Why’s this locked?” Wizper shouted.

I rushed to hide my computer in my satchel and strode to let her in. She asked again. I offered innocently that maybe she accidently locked it, earlier. She gave me a look. She knew she hadn’t even closed it.

“Ya get any sleep?” she asked.

“Oh, tons.”

“Ya filthy stinkin’ liar. Ya’ve been workin’, haven’t ya?”

“Don’t tell Darshee. It’ll worry her.”

Wizper turned and headed down the hall. When I entered the dining room she was tellin’ on me. I stopped abruptly. The hens weren’t alone.

Gozer, and of all people—Nuel?

“What are ya doing here?” I asked.

“How are you?” she asked softly. “Wizper told me about getting shot.”

That didn’t answer why she was here. Maybe I should let it drop. I’ve never really understood hens, and if Darshee and Wizper are good examples, they’ve never been very good at helpin’ me appreciate the gender’s quirks.

About that time my snout got the whiff of stroganoff. How did I miss it before? “Oh, wowzer. Is that stroganoff?”

“Road kill,” Darshee mumbled.

Gozer strode up to me and wrapped those long troll arms around me. I’d never been hugged by a troll before, that I could remember. I think I would remember. Felt a little bit like being embraced by a dried-out octopus. Those long arms are weird.

“Ya okay, buddy?”

I had no idea we’re buddies. He’d fixed me dinner last night, after patchin’ me up. Why’s he being so emotional tonight? “Yar mate missin’ ya, maybe?” Was that too strong a hint?

“Nah,” he said. “She sent me over here to make sure ya’re all right.”

Did I even know his mate’s name? I worked my skull muscle tryin’ to come up with one. Gozer just calls her, the hen. Or, my mate. My doorbell rang again. Darshee dashed out to answer it, Sissy on her heels.

Twenty seconds later Darshee returned, face kind of pale like mine had been this morning. My grandpa followed behind her. No wonder shock edged her face. The curmudgeon Klow wandered off his ranch?

“Grandpa? What are ya doin’ here?”

“Vacation,” he mumbled.

The bull has never answered a direct question in his life. I was certain he wasn’t here on vacation. Don’t think he's ever taken a vacation. Certain of it.

His eyes flitted around. “This place is awful human lookin’.” Couldn’t he see the gym hardwood twenty feet away? What human would have a basketball court instead of a den?

“Isn’t it though,” Darshee said.

Grandpa shot her a look, like maybe he was the only one who could call my place, human-ish. Darshee shrank in on herself a little.

“Ya gonna offer me a drink?” he hissed at Darshee. Oh boy. She wouldn’t take that well. No hen would.

But instead, she squirmed and asked him what he wanted.

“Glass of milk would be dandy,” he said.

Maybe a smile blurted inside of Wizper, but she hid it well.

“Who are ya two?” Grandpa hissed at Nuel and Gozer.

“Neighbor,” Gozer said. “Friend,” Nuel said as softly.

Grandpa glared at me. “Ya have friends? Are they idjits?”

“Try not to,” I said. And asked Darshee if she’s an idjit.

“Don’t smart mouth me. I happen to know she only plays in half a sandbox.”

Darshee and Wizper about had coronaries. I would never tell them that’s how Klow expected folk to talk to him. Mostly because everyone is too afraid of him to assume he didn’t expect to be treated like some king.

“Take the load off, ya old husk,” I said.

He glared at Darshee. “That milk!”

She jumped like she’d been Tasered. I might enjoy this.

“Ya must have taken a bath this month,” I said. “Don’t smell like cow.”

“I even shower. Had one put in the ranch house last month.”

I tried to hide my smile. The hereditary homestead is understated but doesn't lack a fancy doodad ever manufactured.

“Have ya eaten, Mr. Klow?” Wizper asked.

“I look human?” Grandpa murmured. “Drop the mister. I had a bite on the drive in, but could snack.”

“Uh, huh,” Darshee mumbled.

Clearly she didn’t want to offer the Klow a humble meal of stroganoff, and besides, she prolly only made enough for the three of us. Grandpa pointed at the covered skillet on the counter, steam wispin’ out of it.

“That can be a whore’s door,” he said. “Get on the phone and order us a barbequed carcass to gnaw on.” He pointed at Nuel and Gozer. “Ya’ll eat?”

“Nope,” Gozer said. “I don’t wish to—” Nuel didn’t get to finish.

“Order two carcasses. They look hungry.” His eyes pasted Wizper, as Darshee got on the phone. “Ya two haven’t visited in a while. Ya tryin’ to send me a message?”

“A message?” Wizper asked.

“My grandling not good enough for ya?”

Wizper turned a dandy shade of purple. I would so pay for that, but it tickled the heck out of me all the same. I pushed a chair at Grandpa, and we both settled. Grandpa waved at Gozer and Nuel to sit.

“Ya that network guru I’ve been hearin’ about?” Grandpa had to be speakin’ to Nuel.

I knew she was IT, but didn’t know she was a network person. How did Grandpa— Oh, my goodness. I swam a look at him. He slapped my knee, hard, which vibrated in my chest.

He told me I look like a warmed over cow patty. “Ya should have broken that cop’s neck. We know folk who can operate a frontend loader. Coulda buried his butt deep.”

The old curmudgeon knows everything that’s goin’ on. How he does it, I have no clue.

“Ain’t worth the time to spit goin’ after him now,” he continued, and gave me a brief look.

“Ya want me to just—”

“Drop it. Like a hot ember. Ya got more on yar plate. No use messin’ with the odd bigot. Serves no purpose. Wizper, get my grandson a beer, would ya. He looks a tad dry. And that milk. I am too.”

“Ya can guess I don’t have any buttermilk,” I said.

“Ya never were much of an ogre,” he said.

That may have been the sweetest thing he’s ever said to me. I shot him a smile. He grimaced.

“I’ve stilled the railroads,” he said. “Nothing goin’ North. And I’ve ensured no flights carryin’ more than a box of crackers will leave any of the Southern airports either.”

“Ya can do that?” Gozer asked.

Grandpa gave the troll a look for about a tenth of a second, before turnin’ back to me.

He accepted the glass of milk from Wizper. “About time we put those humans in their place.”

Nuel’s jaw dropped. I closed my eyes, hopin’ she didn’t say anything that would prompt Grandpa to react. He can sear when he only means to shed warmth.

“Say it, hen,” Grandpa blurted. “Heard ya’re a hen full of herself. I might as well be insulted now as behind my back.”

Her jaw dropped deeper.

I grabbed the glass of beer the smirkin’ Wizper held out. Maybe she’d already figgered out the old bull’s tactic. Whatever it could be. Though back home, he’d talked almost sickly sweet, for him, to Darshee and Wizper when I’d taken them to the ranch on long breaks over the years.

Grandpa turned back to me. “I’d heard she’s irritatin’ in the extreme, and fast to blah, blah, blah.”

“I—I—”

“Spit it out, hen,” Grandpa said. “I don’t bite.” He turned back to me. “She’s indeed a looker. But ya’ve never hung around with ugly hens.” He actually shot Wizper a grin and a wink. The old goat.

“How do ya get away talking to folk so rudely?” Nuel hissed.

“I haven’t a clue,” Grandpa said. “Ya should hear my hen. She’s worse than me.” He looked at me. “Huh?”

“No one’s worse than ya,” I said.

“The hen’s meaner, I tell ya.”

“She’s sweeter than fresh butter,” Wizper said.

“Only in front of ya grandbrats. Ya don’t know the real hen.”

Darshee returned and she and Wizper dished out stroganoff into soup bowls for everyone. Be a nice snack, as long as the delivery folk got here soon.

“So why are ya here?” I asked.

“I have some contacts up North,” he said nonchalantly.

That sounded awful ominous. I don’t know why.

~ Nuel ~

Wizper had said, “The fool got shot.”

And I almost died. I couldn’t believe that had struck me so hard. I was expecting never to see him again and I found myself running next door before Wizper said another word.

When Ike strolled into the dining room he didn’t appear all that happy to see me. But then, the last time he had, I practically smacked his head off his shoulders and through a near wall.

And now the bull’s grandpa Klow, the famous Klow, was flirting with me. He’s so cute.

~