Who Needs Enemies

“And was he pissed off at you for any reason?”



“Apparently someone doesn’t like my current line of enquiries.”



“Which is always a good indication that the current line of enquiries are the right ones.”



I guess there was that. We headed up the stairs. I made it up the first flight okay, but by the second flight, the little men in my side were getting busy with the hot pokers again. By the third, sweat had broken out across my brow and it felt like my stomach was about to get reacquainted with my throat.



Maybe I should have gone to the hospital again.



Darryl came back down the stairs. “You okay? You’re looking rather gray.”



I waved a hand rather weakly. “I copped several punches from Goliath. I suspect ribs have been broken.”



“Nothing much they can do about those,” he commented, sympathy in his voice. “Except wrap them and tell you to rest up.”



“Yeah.” I dragged myself up the few remaining steps and took a deep, relieved breath at the top—not a good move considering the ribs. I pressed a hand against my side then said, “Which door does our target hide behind?”



“This one.” He walked down the hall to three-four, kicked the door open, then, with remarkable speed, ran inside.



I followed at more sedate pace. The flat was small, with a kitchen-come-living room that was only a little bigger than my bedroom. Two doors led off, one closed, the other open. It was the latter one that Darryl had disappeared into.



“Now, now,” he said from inside the room. “Don’t be attempting to dive out that window so fast.”



He reappeared a second later, dragging a thin, naked man behind him. The dealer looked to be little more than twenty, with rat tail hair and sallow, pocked marked skin.



“I ain’t done nothing,” he yelled. “You can’t arrest me when I ain’t done nothing.”



“Who said we were cops?” I crossed my arms—which hurt like hell but hopefully lent an air of nonchalance—and regarded him steadily. “We’re just two people who need a little chat with you.”



Darryl dumped him in the middle of the living room floor then stepped back. The dealer didn’t bother shifting from his prone position, nor did he attempt to cover up. Maybe he was used to being dragged naked out of bed by strangers. Or maybe he was just proud of the goods—though I had no idea why. I’d seen bigger parcels on ants.



His gaze ran from me to Darryl then back again. “You’re not cops? Then what the fuck gives you the right to break into-”



The rest of his sentence was lost to a yelp as Darryl clipped him over the ear. “Language. We have a lady present.”



The dealer sneered but he didn’t actually voice the retort I could practically see on his lips—no doubt because he knew Darryl was ready to clip him over the ear again. “What do you want, then?”



“The word on the street is that you made a rather large Prevoron sale recently,” I said.



“Then the word on the street is wrong.” He shrugged, the movement casual despite the tension I could sense in him. “I only sell small amounts to humans, for recreational purposes. I never carry enough to get a dragon high.”



Darryl clipped him over the ear again. “We like liars even less than we like dealers.”



Obviously, I thought with some amusement, I’d been relegated the ‘good cop’ roll. Which was probably just as well given how crappy I was feeling.



“All right, all right!” The dealer rubbed his ear. “So maybe I do make the occasional larger sale. If the money is right.”



“Then tell us about the recent sale.”



He glanced sideways at Darryl then, with a resigned note in his voice, said, “I was asked to get two-fifty grand worth of Prevoron. I mean, that’s a lot of money, you know?”



“How much Prevoron is it, though?”



He shrugged. “A couple of vials. Enough to get a couple of dragons high on, if that’s your fancy.”



It wasn’t, and I clung to the hope that it hadn’t been Lyle’s. Or Keale’s—although given he couldn’t rustle up a thousand dollars let alone two hundred and fifty grand, it was doubtful he was the purchaser. “Is it enough to kill them?”



He shrugged. “Two vials might, if it was administered to just one dragon, and the dragon in question was small. Generally, though, that amount would just get them as high as kites and make them very malleable.”



“Who was the buyer?”



“Hey, I don’t ask names, you know?”



“But you could see him, couldn’t you?”



“Well, it was dark-” He yelped as Darryl clipped him again. “Jesus man, ease up. I was just going to say it was dark, but I could see he was an elf, you know? Saw the outline of the ears as he lit a smoke.”



Which put the one person I didn’t want there squarely in the line of suspicion. Fuck. “Young, old, what?”



“Oldish, though it’s hard to tell with you lot. He was wearing a large coat, so couldn’t see much of his build.”



“Anything else?”



The dealer sniffed. “What do you want, blood? We made a deal, he gave me the money, end of story.”



“Did you happen to see the car he was driving?”



The dealer hesitated. Darryl raised his palm again.



“It was some little red thing,” the dealer said quickly. “Can’t tell you the make or number plate because I wasn’t close enough.”



I closed my eyes in brief relief. I’d expected him to say BMW—the make Lyle drove. But just because it was a different car didn’t mean Lyle was off the hook. Not by a long shot—after all, there weren’t that many elves who actually smoked.



“What happened to the money?” Darryl asked.



“Hey, I’ve spent most of it, on bills and stuff, you know?”



Anyone who spent two hundred and fifty grand in less than a week was either a fool or a liar, and I was betting on the latter.



Darryl obviously came to the same conclusion. “Where is it? Tell us now, or tell the police. Your choice.”



The dealer muttered something undoubtedly unpleasant, then said, “It’s under the bed. What’s left of it, anyway.”



Darryl glanced up at me, one eyebrow raised. I shrugged at the unasked question. In the end, the money wasn’t important—and my father and brother certainly didn’t deserve it back. But then, this dealer didn’t deserve to hang on to it either, and Keale just might need it to pay for his defense if Lyle was the instigator of that crash.



“Where under the bed? Mattress or safe?”



“Safe. But you can’t take it. I mean, a deal was done fair and square.”



“Tough.” I glanced at Darryl, and added in explanation, “The recipient of that Prevoron could use it to pay for his defense.”



Darryl grabbed the other man by the scruff of the neck and hauled him none too gently to his feet. “Right then,” he said, pushing the dealer toward the bedroom. “Let’s go fetch it for the lady.”



The dealer muttered more obscenities, but he had little choice and he knew it. And it wasn’t like he could report our theft to the cops. They came back a few minutes later, and Darryl tossed me an old red duffel bag. “There’s about one hundred and seventy odd grand in there. That should more than pay for your friend’s defense.”



And perhaps some of the damage to my house. I wasn’t above using dirty money, especially when it came from the Phillecky family coffers. It wasn’t like they’d contributed greatly toward my upbringing.



I slung the bag over my shoulder and said, “Is there anything else we should know?”



The dealer shook his head. If his expression was anything to go by, I’d be a dead woman if he ever met me in a dark alley. But then, it wasn’t like I spent a whole lot of time in dark alleys.



“Then we’ll leave. Thanks for you help.”



He snorted. Darryl forced him onto his knees then patted his shoulder. “Be a good lad and don’t move for the next ten minutes. Otherwise, the cops might just be informed that they have a major drug dealer on their doorstep.”



We headed out. The lock was broken, so Darryl just pulled the door closed then followed me down the stairs. “Is that money really for the Prevoron recipient?”



I glanced over my shoulder. “You’ve heard about the dragon crashing into the helicopter?”



His eyes widened. “That’s who got it?”



I nodded. “He’s a friend, and the man I asked to represent him just happens to be Lyle Phillecky.”



Darryl whistled softly. “Who just happens to fit the description we were just given.”



I nodded. “I’m not totally convinced it was him, though.”



“Not convinced, or not wanting to believe?” he asked, rather shrewdly.



Damn it, the man didn’t even know me and he was guessing right. Was it really that obvious?



Yeah, I thought, it was. It’s just that I didn’t want to believe the one Elven relative I actually liked could do this to me and my friends.



But then, he was an elf. Why in the hell would I expect anything else?



“More the latter.” I shrugged, the movement casual when I was feeling anything but casual about the whole matter. “But I think he might have gone a little crazy when he heard about Mona being beaten. Frank Logan was supposed to have been on that helicopter.”



“An elf doesn’t have to be crazy to believe that the death of two or three innocents is justifiable if it leads to the death of one enemy.”



“No.” I winced as the bag bumped against my side, and switched it over. “He doesn’t drive a red car though.”



Darryl snorted. “Like it’s hard to borrow or rent a car.”



“And he wouldn’t do anything that could be traced back to him. He’s too canny.”



“If he’s unstable, he may not be thinking with his usual clarity.”