“The detective says you can go on back,” said the officer motioning Toli toward Danvers’ office.
Toli nodded to the officer and entered Danvers’ office.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Palazzo?” .Danvers grumbled.
“Detective, it’s about the case from earlier,” Toli said in a halting rhythm.
“I told you, we’ll take it from here.”
“I found another syringe.”
“Where?”
“From another orphan. Went berserk like the others. He was subdued by a ridiculous costumed vigilante.”
Danvers frowned and nodded, “Where is it?”
“This one, like the others, is in the possession of Doctor Andronikov. Who, by the way, says the tests he ran on the substance, were inconclusive.”
“You better not be getting involved,” Danvers scolded, “Did that weirdo drag you into this.”
“What do you know about Doctor Andronikov? When did he come here? Where was he before that?
The scowl on Danvers face softened to curiosity, “You don’t think…”
“I don’t have enough information to know what to think. That’s why I’m here. And I can see it in your face, you have some thoughts about this.”
Danvers narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Toli. Toli replied with an expectant tilt of his head. Danvers stalked over to his desk and sat down. He produced a file from the bottom drawer and tossed it on the desk. Toli leaned over, pulled the file across the desk and spun it around.
“How many other co-worker’s files do have readily at hand?” Toli asked over his glasses.
“Twenty-some years ago. My rookie year,” Ed began, “I responded to a call for backup. Some detectives were working this case; an ‘oriental traveling medicine show’ came through town. Now, everybody knew these guys were from Shreveport, but they had this one guy with them. A Rusky. Called himself ‘Mad Gregory.’ Was pedaling some invigorating tonic, or some such snake oil.”
***
Shelby led Delareux through the strips of shadows between the sharp circles cast by the floodlights.
“That guy,” Shelby showed Delareux a man in a trench coat, newsboy cap, dark glasses and scarf wrapped around his head. Every so often he would totter and catch his balance, “He gave me this,” she held out a syringe. This one was filled with a thick, golden liquid.
Delareux spun the cylinder of his revolver, checking the chambers. He had three bullets left. Delareux approached the man affecting a stagger. The man inched away, swaying with every step.
“Say, misser,” Delareux slurred his speech, “You gotna time?” he took a sloppy swig from is flask letting some liquor run down his chin. He dragged his sleeve across his face.
The man wobbled away a bit more, gurgling and grunting as he stepped.
“Say, I jess neesomfin t’ take the edge off, see,” Delareux teetered around the man, blocking his route of escape, “Can ya be a pal?”
The man began making a series of chattering noises that sounded conversational. ?A little green hand poked out of the belly of the trench coat holding a syringe. Delareux noticed there were no arms in the sleeves of the man’s coat. He took the syringe.
“Take,” the man croaked, “Make you strong like bull.”
“What is it?” Delareux said shedding his drunken charade.
“Ichor,” the man chattered in reply.
“Ichor,” the man’s stomach replied.
“Where does this come from?”
“Bossman,” said the man’s head.
“Doctor boss,” said the man's belly.
The man made a shushing sound and he chest seemed to convulse, followed by a grunting noise from his gut.
“Doctor?”
“No more talk,” the head barked.
“Mad Grigori!” the belly cackled.
The shushing, convulsing and grunting repeated.
“Mad Grigori?”
“No more talk,” the man said and started toddling away.
***
“Cut to the chase,” Danvers continued, “Some people were taking the stuff and flyin’ the coop. Strong, too. These guys were pullin' light posts up and whackin' each other with ‘em. Goin after regular people. A lot of guys got called in. We ended up chasing Mad Grigori into the swamp.”
***
Delareux grabbed the collar of the trench coat and the man appeared to break in half. He whipped the coat away and two small, green men skittered on the pavement. Their enormous, hairless heads split in two revealing rows of tiny, sharp razor teeth. They spit and hissed, dropped to all fours and raced away towards the warehouse yard. Shelby darted after them and Delareux followed. When Delareux caught up, Shelby had already broken into the warehouse.
***
“Did you catch him?” asked Toli.
“Without a trace,” Danvers said low, “The stuff he was pedaling was this gold liquid.”
***
Delareux and Shelby moved through the office areas but found only overturned desks, chairs and ransacked filing cabinets, being incorporated into rickety structures of feral design. One office, however, contained a wooden crate containing a number of syringes filled with the gold fluid. A printed label was adhered to the front and read:
Ichor test batch #23
Please give to humans only.
I don’t want another Randal.
Grigori
***
“Who shows up not long after that?” said Danvers, “Doctor Arkady Andronikov. Another Rusky. Supposed to be some high falutin doctor from Europe. Get’s in good quick with high society. That’s how he came to work for the police. Grigori’s tonic had our guys stumped we let him give it a try. Know what he says? Says inconclusive.”
***
Shelby and Delareux crept their way to the door to the warehouse floor. It was already open. In the beam of Delareux’s dimming flashlight, they could see the floor was strewn with refuse. Garbage and the bones and hides of small animals gathered into piles. As they advanced inward their flashlight began to flicker and finally flickered off. A snicker was heard coming from in front of them. Then one behind them. Then above. As they sprinted for the door, a myriad of torches lit at once. On all sides were mountains of sundry debris that sloped up the walls to the ceiling. Some of the debris appeared to be placed with some rudimentary or innate sense of architecture. Like bees or beavers. Perched on these mountains were hundreds of small, green creatures. They all flapped their wide maws in a caricature of laughter.
“What is this?” Shelby gasped.
“Goblin infestation,” Delareux groaned, “I told the guy. Goblin infestation.”
One of the few wearing clothing, if torn washcloths and used diapers were clothes, stepped forward. He walked along with a staff that looked like it was made from a small femur. He pounded the staff on the floor three times. The creatures hushed.
“Me,” the creature croaked, “Skarl, Big Boss of The Goblin Liberation Front…”
“Oh boy,” said Delareux.
“What now?” barked Shelby.
“If a goblin infestation gets bad enough, they develop politics.”
“If humans trespass,” the goblin continued, “Mad Grigori says they must die. Death by Randal!”
The room erupted into celebration. The began to chant ‘Randal’ in unison. A small goblin entered the clearing dragging a chain behind it. It yanked the chain and a groaning sound shook the building. It yanked again, this time more demanding. The groan amplified into a roar. A thudding began in a dirge tempo. From where the small goblin arrived, a fleshy orb jiggled into view. Followed by what looked like an uprooted tree smashed into the floor. Followed by another. The creature emerged looking like an unevenly inflated goblin that stood halfway to the roof of the warehouse. It was chained by a harness it wore around its distended midsection. It was wearing a leather hood over its tiny head. It covered his face completely save for two cutouts around the eyes and zipper across the mouth. It spotted Delareux and Shelby and began to charge.
“So, this is Randal,” Delareux said to himself.
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