The SUV creaked as the troll laid a hand on the roof and bent down to peer inside at them with small eyes and an incurious expression on his gray rock-like face. “Parking in our lot is three hundred a night,” the troll rumbled. “Cash only.”
Duncan’s eyebrows raised. “Their lot.” If any of them actually owned this piece of land, he was Pee-wee Herman.
“Three hundred dollars!” Seremela exclaimed, leaning forward. “A night?”
The troll gave her an indifferent glance. “You want to keep your car from being stolen? You want to keep your stuff, and all your tires too? That’ll be three hundred dollars. In advance. You don’t like it, lady, go park somewhere else, and good fucking luck with that, ’cause you’re gonna need it.”
For three hundred dollars a night, Duncan could get a room at one of the best hotels in San Francisco, one of the most expensive cities in the world. He shook his head and shifted in his seat to pull out his wallet.
“Duncan!” Seremela exclaimed telepathically. “That’s highway robbery.”
“Of course it is,” he said. “The troll and his organization probably vandalize and steal from anyone who doesn’t use their parking lot. But if it keeps our supplies untouched and we can get away trouble free, it will be worth it.”
He pulled cash out of his wallet and offered it to the troll. The massive fingers closed over one end of the bills and tugged, but Duncan held on to them until the troll looked at him in exasperation. He said softly, “Anything happens, and I’m holding you personally responsible. Not anybody else. You, bucko.”
Maybe the troll finally took a good look at his face and recognized him. Trolls were Nightkind creatures too, and Duncan was, after all, extremely well known. Or maybe something in Duncan’s voice got to him. Whatever it was, the troll masticated his massive jaw as if he chewed on something sour, but he muttered, “Nuthin’s gonna happen.”
“Very good,” Duncan said. He let go of the cash and flicked two twenty dollar bills out of his wallet. “After we park, we’re going to need reliable information. Where?”
“Down Main Street, north side,” said the troll. “Look for the pharmacist. Name’s Wendell. He’d sell pics of his mother’s tits to the highest bidder. But they’d really be of his mother’s tits.” As Seremela stared, the troll lifted his rocky shoulders. “What can I say, guy’s got a code. Sort of.”
Duncan bit back a smile. “He your boss?”
“Yeah.” The troll patted the roof of the SUV, straightened and lumbered back a step. “Now git outta here.”
Duncan drove the SUV gently over the rough, pitted ground toward the end of one row of vehicles where a ghoul in an orange reflective vest stood, flashing them with a flashlight.
“I brought cash too,” Seremela said. “I’ll pay you back.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Duncan said. “It’s unimportant. Let’s just focus on getting your niece.”
“Okay.” She stayed silent for a moment as he parked the SUV. Then she said, “Wendell.”
“The pornographer pharmacist,” Duncan said, deadpan.
“It’s not funny.”
“Of course it’s not,” he said.
A soft, odd noise escaped her. It sounded a lot like hot air hissing out of a tea kettle. He looked at her suffused face, found her looking back at him, and then they both burst out laughing again.
He pulled the emergency brake and killed the engine. “Let’s go see what Wendell has to say for himself.”
“Okay,” Seremela said, eyes dancing, “but if he tries to sell me a picture of his mother’s tits, I’m so out of there.”
Duncan laughed again. “Trust me, I’ll be right on your heels.”
They both sobered as they climbed out of the SUV. Duncan said, “The troll spoke the truth, but we should both keep a light pack with us just in case. This would not be a kind place to be stranded in without resources.”
She nodded, her expression turning grim. She had a large soft bag with a shoulder strap, and she rifled through the contents and shifted over a few items from her carry-on. The last thing she added was a bottle of water. Then she pulled the shoulder strap over her head, lifted her snakes out of the way and settled it firmly across her torso.
Duncan’s bag of essentials, with the weapons, money and sun protections, was a leather backpack. He pulled out a Beretta 9mm and a five inch hunting knife on a belt. After strapping the pack to his back, he buckled on the knife belt and tucked the gun into the waist of his jeans, making sure the butt was well visible.
Seremela’s gaze lingered at his waist when he turned to her, but she said nothing about the weapons. She did not carry an obvious weapon, but he noticed that she did not tie back her snakes. Usually she bound them back loosely with a simple scarf at the base of her neck, as though they were dreadlocks. That allowed them to move around but limited their range of reach. Without them restricted in any way, she looked wilder, more feral and exceedingly deadly.
He heartily approved. He asked, “Okay?”