Who Needs Enemies

“No ‘ecca. With ‘umar at ‘arrandyte pub.”



Warrandyte was a long way from the city. This was really weird. “So where were you going, Keale?”



“S’raight ‘ome. Do nots ‘ass go, do nots-”



“Yeah, yeah, I get the idea.” I frowned and scrubbed a hand across my nose. The blood stink was getting worse. Keale must have cut his back up pretty badly when he’d hit the helicopter. But he wasn’t likely to get any real medical attention until he changed form. It was too costly—and a dragon’s hide too tough—to be practical. “If you were going home, what the hell were you doing over the city?”



“S’old ya. Going ‘ome.”



Keale lived in Research, which was a stone’s throw away from Warrandyte. He actually had to fly away from his house to get anywhere near the city. None of this made any sense.



“How long have you been in dragon form?”



“Six ‘ours.”



Like all magic, a dragon’s shape-changing had strict time limitations. No matter what form he took—dragon or human—he had to stay in that form for a minimum of twelve hours. Which meant there wasn’t much point in discussing the matter any further—better to wait out the remaining six hours and give Keale time to sober up.



“They’ve called in tow truck to haul you away.”



“S’all not gets me on no s‘uking s’uck.”



I sighed. “They have to. You can’t stay here bleeding all over the landscaping.”



“S’uck the ‘scaping.”



I smiled. “Keale, you’re in enough trouble as it is. Be a good dragon and do as they ask.”



The black eyes regarded me somewhat unsteadily for several seconds, scaly brows drawn down. He doesn’t know what he’s done, I realized. This really was something more than drunkenness.



“S’rouble?” he said eventually.



“Yeah. Listen, I’m going to call Lyle in. Don’t talk, don’t say anything until he gets there.



“S’wy?”



I glanced across as a tow truck pulled up. It was a big mother, the size of a double semi, at least. But then, so was Keale. “Just trust me, and do as I ask.”



“S’kay.”



Three men approached cautiously, two of them hauling cables as thick as my wrist, the third a medical kit. All three looked ready to bolt if Keale so much as breathed the wrong way. Keale behaved himself though, watching thoughtfully as one man immobilized then splintered his broken wing, and the other two attached the cables to his body. Mind you, it was the sort of look a spider might give its prey before devouring it—not that many dragons ate humans these days. Too gristly, according to Keale.



I’d never been brave enough to ask how he actually knew that.



The man with the medical kit ran back to the truck. The other two did a final check on the position of the cables, then waved a go-ahead. The winch roared into action and Keale was hauled unceremoniously—and swearing all the way—onto the back of the semi. He was quickly secured and then driven away, two police vans acting as escort.



I dragged out my cell phone and dialed my uncle. “Lyle,” I said, when he answered. “I need a favor. Urgently.”



Lyle sighed. “Who in your heterogeneous group of friends is in trouble this time?”



I smiled. Though I rarely called on Lyle’s skills as a lawyer, it was a somewhat sad fact that my friends were a somewhat motley—and certainly very different—collection. “It’s Keale again.”



“That pisspot? There’s nothing much I can do to stop them taking his flight license away this time. I told him that the last time.”



“It’s more than that. He’s downed a helicopter.”



Lyle was silent for several seconds. “Anyone killed?”



“A pilot, at least. It’s only just happened.”



“So that was the crash we heard.” He swore softly. “They’ll charge him with manslaughter, for sure.”



And with Keale’s record, they’d lock the door and throw away the key. “If you’re feeling up to it, could you head over and see that he gets a blood test?”



“Why?” Confusion ran through the old elf’s voice. “They’ll do that as a matter of course.”



“Yeah, but I want you to make sure they look for Prevoron.”



“That can be deadly to dragons if they take too much. Why the hell would he risk it?”



Because if the correct dose was taken, it had the same sort of effect on dragons as catnip did on many cats. They loved the stuff. Of course, it also gave the same sort of high to humans, but added the whammy of killing their inhibitions, with often hilarious results. I’d taken some truly funny photos of humans up to all manner of mischief when the paper had run a two page spread on the drug and the problems it was causing a few years ago.



“He mightn’t know he’s been taking it. It can be either injected, or ingested. Maybe someone added it to his booze.” Although I couldn’t imagine Numar clandestinely drugging his friend, even as a prank. I could imagine the two of them deliberately tempting fate to get the high it provided, but if that had been the case, why had Keale been so insistent they'd been doing nothing more than drinking?



“Why would anyone bother drugging someone like Keale?” Lyle commented. “Feed him enough booze and he’d sell his mother. And throw his sister in as a bonus.”



Having met both, I could understand why. “I don’t know, Lyle, but it’s better to be safe than sorry given what he’s done. They’ll be taking him to the remand center—it’s the only place with a cell big enough to cater for a dragon Keale’s size.”



“I’ve just called a taxi, so I’ll swing past and get things moving.”



“Thanks, Lyle. I’ll talk to you later.



He grunted and hung up. I hesitated, then called Ceri. I knew she’d be in the office at this hour. While she was technically human, her grandfather had been a gargoyle, and she’d inherited his sensitivity to sunlight. She didn’t turn to stone like most of those with gargoyle blood, but her eyesight was severely restricted in sunlight and her pale skinned blistered in even the coldest winter morning. Which is why as a cop she’d worked the graveyard shift and why our business was open twenty-four hours. She ran the night shift, I ran the day, although we did sometimes cross over.



“Hey,” she said, her deep voice warm and cheerful. “What the hell you doing up this early? I thought it went against your religion to be out and about before seven?”



“Lyle called me.”



She made a disparaging sound. “I have no idea why you associate with that drunken old fart. He has no respect for you, you know that, don’t you?”



“Elves don’t respect anyone,” I replied easily. It was an argument we’d had more than once, and I was more than aware of her views on not just Lyle, but the rest of those I called kin.



“That’s certainly true. So what did he want this time?”



“Actually, he’s given us a job.”



She snorted. “What’s the catch?”



“It’s cash in hand, and off the books.”



“Illegal, in other words. You know how I feel about-”



“Ceri, it’s not like that.” I gave her a brief rundown of what he wanted, then added, “In any case, we can’t afford to be turning down work, and you know it.”



I might own the house in which we’d set up our business, but electricity, water, rates, and license fees still had to be paid, and right now we were behind in payments on all four items.



“Yeah, I know.” She sighed. “So I gather you’re off to this woman’s house to see what you can uncover?”



“Yes. But I want you to check something else for me.”



“Sure. What?”



“Keale just crashed into a helicopter over Princess Bridge. I want to know who was in it.”



She swore vehemently. Ceri had known Keale longer than I had—they’d grown up in the same neighborhood. “I can tell you that now—it’s been all over the news. There were four people—two press, the pilot, and Logan’s brother.”



“Frank Logan? The Federal treasurer?”



“The same. Apparently he was also supposed to be on it, but was called away at the last moment.”



I frowned. “Why would Logan be hiring a private helicopter to come down to Berren? As a politician, he gets free flights.”



“But the others don’t, so he often hires private planes or copters to ferry him and friends about.”



“Then why does he come down here? His family are up in Sydney, aren’t they?”



“Yes, but he has several businesses down here. The word is that they’re trouble.”



“That doesn’t explain why his brother was on the helicopter in his stead.”



“They’re business partners.”



“They are? Since when?” The last I’d heard, the two men had had a rather violent falling out over James’s excessive gambling.



“You really need to start watching the news more,” Ceri commented dryly. “They patched up their differences a few weeks ago.”



“I have enough drama happening in my life—I don’t need to watch the news to find more of it.” I paused. “Do you know what sort of business the Logan’s are running?”



“They’re importers, as far as I know. But I can find out, if you want.”



“I do. I have no idea how knowing will help Keale, but I just have this itchy feeling something is very wrong.”



“Another itchy feeling,” she muttered. “God help us all.”



I grinned. “And if he won’t, your police friends surely will.”



“I wouldn’t count on that.” Her voice was dry. “Anything else you want me to do?”