Ashford Hills

By Kevin A. Worley

Elementals roamed the earth long before mankind. They disappeared into legend millennia ago. Now, for reasons only they know, they're back. Private Investigator Ashford Hills has a long, ugly history with the immortal, body changing Els and wants to never have dealings with them again. But when an illegal, back-alley tech sale ends in violence and death, Ash and his wife are drawn directly into the middle of a deadly game being played out by Els and their human goons. Fleeing from the Elementals only lands the PI and his wife in deeper trouble, trouble they're going to need a lot of help to get out of. That help takes many unusual forms and won't always be desirable. Kidnapping, arrest and murder await Ash until, finally alone, the PI starts receiving help from the strangest source of all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin A. Worley
• Release date: Jul 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465794116

Kevin A. Worley

Kevin A. Worley has made money at various jobs over the years. They include drummer in a rock band, short order cook, electrician, furniture salesman, computer geek, custom art framer, actor, director, writer, substitute teacher, handy man, piano tuner. He even once got fired from a whorehouse. A voracious reader and movie fan, he has had a lifelong interest in fantastic fiction of all sorts. He lives in the middle of nowhere on ten acres in North Central Oklahoma with his wife and four cats.

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Ashford Hills

By Kevin A. Worley

Copyright 2011 Kevin A. Worley

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1

The trash dumpster stank. I mean, it really stank. The cardboard and stuffed trash bags and general garbage didn’t make much of a bed, either. But, there I was, lying on all that crap right next to the smelly-assed, overflowing dumpster. Me, just sitting there waiting for something, anything, to happen. The filthy shirt, pants and overcoat I got from the derelict down the street were infested with something. I could feel them. There were tiny little somethings in the clothes that didn’t quite wiggle, but bit and left crazy itches in a lot of places. My feet were filthy and buried beneath trash bags to try to keep them warm on the cold November night. No shoes, you see. It just wouldn’t have been in character. At least the filthy stocking cap didn’t have holes and was kind of warm, even if it had the same critters crawling around in it that the pants and shirt did. On top of all that, there was something digging around in the trash behind me, probably a rat. Strike that. It sounded more like a dozen of the nasty buggers.

The things you do for a buck.

The radio receiver stuck in my left ear let loose a burst of static that nearly deafened me. Damn cheap tech. I jerked as its loud crackle filled my ear and raised my hand to adjust the volume. About the time I touched the stupid thing the crackle cleared and there was the voice of my partner.

Don’t move around, damnit. Mike said in my ear, You’re supposed to be a passed out bum.

I didn’t look in my partner’s direction. I at least managed that. Instead, I squirmed around a bit, trying to flatten out a lump under my left butt cheek. Having failed that, I curled my right hand, and the bottle it held, closer to my chest. In the process I laid my right hand over the trash bag that covered me and flipped Mike the finger, knowing my partner had the binoculars on me.

Nice. Mike said. Just be still, Ash.

There was another blessedly short burst of static, and then all was quiet in my left ear. Ok, I thought, I’ll just lay here in the trash; cold, itching, and miserable and not move, smartass. Nah, that wasn’t fair. Mike’s a good partner, just a bit on the pushy side at times. I caught myself again moving my butt around, trying to get a comfortable left ass cheek. No luck.

Ash, the voice in my ear said intently, Stop it! A car’s coming.

That did it. I buried my right hand back under the trash bag and lay still. My head was cocked back at an awkward angle with my mouth hanging open. I closed my eyes to slits behind the ratty media shades I was wearing, it was time to start blending in. I hoped the tiny directional audio recorder built into the shades was still working, otherwise it was all an exercise in futility.

As I got settled I heard the car approaching. We were in a deserted area of the downtown warehouse district and it was a pretty safe bet that inside the car was one of the men we were interested in. Eventually I saw its headlights glowing in the back alley that led to the loading dock where I itched. The car turned into the lane, its lights moved past my dumpster. I don’t think they saw me buried in the debris, but it really didn’t matter. They’d ignore a worthless old derelict like me. We hoped, anyway.

The car stopped in the half circle of light thrown off by the lonely bulb at the foot of the loading dock. My dumpster was directly across the alley from it. I couldn’t have asked for a better view and I hoped again that the cheap tech shades were still doing their thing. A guy got out of the car and, sure enough, he was the man we’d been hired to keep an eye on.

He was well dressed, that’s for sure. He wore a nice Italian suit and overcoat, cleaned and pressed. Bright red tie, white shirt and shiny wingtip shoes finished off the look. It was all very much the typical business uniform that I hate. He turned and pulled an umbrella out of the car. I tried to glance at the night sky without moving my head. I didn’t think it was supposed to rain, talk about making my happiness complete.

The guy, Mr. Glen Ross, VP of Operations for BioLogic, Inc, moved to the back of his car. The trunk opened smoothly at the push of a button on Mr. Ross’ keychain. He reached inside the trunk and pulled out a briefcase. I almost chuckled in spite of myself. All this stuff, the late night clandestine meeting, the warehouse district, the private eyes spying on the scene, the stooge carrying a briefcase, had all started to strike me as more than a little funny in a very cliché kind of way.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sound coming from the other end of the alley. It didn’t really sound like a car, but it was moving my direction. When I did recognize it I had a very bad feeling.

Ash, Mike’s voice sounded nervous, there’s a hover coming.

That was the sound I recognized, a hover. Crap. Hovers meant Els and Els meant bad news.

Static crackled in my ear and Mike was there again. Just stay put and act drunk, maybe they won’t have BT with them, was the well intentioned advice.

I grumbled, despite Mike’s encouragement. Els without BT, when had that ever happened? I was getting seriously nervous about our little industrial espionage spy gig by that point. The tidy credit sum being paid us by Mister Big CEO of BioLogic suddenly didn’t seem nearly enough, not if Els were involved. I wanted to dig further down into my now beautiful trash pile, but I dared not move, I didn’t want to be noticed.

The somehow squishy whirring sound of the hover approached closer and the pristine light that poured from the damned things eyes crept up the alley. Slowly it pulled into view and hovered gently to a stop next to the VP’s normal ground car. I peeked through squinted eyes at the scene, Mr. Ross didn’t seem as calm and relaxed as he had been. Maybe he hadn’t been expecting El involvement either. Somehow that didn’t comfort me any.

I focused my attention on the hover and the bad feelings grew even worse. It was one of the bigger ones and probably decked out with all the BT you could think of, and then some, knowing how Els work.

Even though I found the thing distasteful, I couldn’t help but admire the hover car on some level. It was dark maroon, with that shiny finish on its skin that absorbed so much light that it might as well have been black. Running boards, flared fenders, a curved V-shaped hood, rounded top and rear end, tiny tail lights and an almost upright windshield of bioglass all spoke to the 1940’s coupes it was engineered and grown to resemble. It even had an old style radio antenna, not that it was actually a radio antenna, but it had some tech use, that’s for sure. The only thing missing to complete the look were the white wall tires. In their place the fender wells were filled with chrome look skin grown into some sort of deco style.

I’ll probably never know why the Els always grow their hovers to look so much like those old human cars from long ago. Mike likes the looks of them, but then my partner also loves all those old film noir detective flicks. Me, not so much, they are grim and depressing and our present situation was feeling more and more like one all the time. That was also my opinion of the somehow alive, bio-engineered and grown hovers. Still, here I was, caught in an old movie plot with a monster of a car I didn’t even want to be around. Life.

And, of course, Els would never share that tech with us mere humans.

The two doors of the hover opened and three men piled out. I waited but nothing else left the vehicle. Maybe there wasn’t an El with the men after all. The thought gave me pause. Men alone in a hover was not a likely thing, Els didn’t just let humans hang out with their tech. So, either an El was still in the hover or something very odd was happening. I was even more nervous. Again I thought of the tidy sum Mister Big CEO was paying us. It was definitely not enough credits.

I forced myself to pay attention to the meeting that was happening in the loading zone. Not paying attention had been known to get men in my position killed before. I didn’t plan on being one of them.

Two of the men were walking toward our Mr. Ross. Their hands were in the open, palms out, I suppose showing him their good intentions. Those guys I didn’t worry about, it was the third man I kept my focus on. I didn’t like what he was doing. He had pulled out a BT device and was doing something to the display. I grew cold. I’d have bet my left testicle that it was a snoop device. I was happy, if that was the word, that we had arrived early and spent time tracing escape routes, just in case. I would have to remember to thank Mike on insisting we do so. I had a sinking feeling that we were going to need a couple of them pretty quickly.

Again the static crackled in my ear and Mike was there whispering. God, Ash, that’s a snoop. Like I didn’t know that.

The other two men had drawn within a few feet of Mr. Ross and they seemed to be chatting amiably and the VP was relaxing again. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I wasn’t concerned about it. As long as I kept my face pointed in the general direction of the conversation, the microphone in the shades would amp and record it, in theory.

Snoops! the man with the BT suddenly yelled. Locating.

And that was my queue. I didn’t wait for him to pinpoint me and my little audio sun shades, I threw off the trash bags, scrambled to my feet and started hoofing it as fast as I could. I hurried down the alley in the direction from which our Mr. Ross had come. I hadn’t seen weapons on any of the men, but that meant nothing and my spine was doing a little jiggle dance as I ran, like it was anticipating something I didn’t want to think about.

From behind I heard an argument break out. I couldn’t make out the words, but probably could if I had focused on it. I was too busy putting one foot in front of the other to worry about that. There was no telling what other bio tech they had stashed in that hover. If I could make it to the first gap in the buildings a left turn would get me out of sight, and out of range of most BT weapons. Well, most BT weapons except the really powerful stuff. If they had one of those I was screwed plain and simple.

Hurry, Ash. Mike said into my ear. For the first time I wished we could have afforded the nice video shades with the built in transceiver so that I could talk to my partner and say that I was too busy running to worry about hurrying. But the opportunity was lost and I’d forget the smart assed comment by the time we saw each other again. I just hoped the idgit was busy packing up and getting the hell out of there, like me.

I heard a scuffle behind me and then a single gunshot report echoed off the surrounding brick walls. I involuntarily hunched my shoulders and even ducked a little, but nothing hit me and I kept running. I’d almost reached the first break in the buildings.

Then came a sound that almost made me stumble it scared me so bad. The distinct zip of an Amp Gun filled the alley and I again hunched my shoulders, not meaning to. If they’d been shooting at me I’d have been down and never would have heard the weapon discharging.

Ok, running asshole, stop or you’re zipped, yelled a voice from behind me, and I knew I was the running asshole he referred to. Did I stop running? Hell no! If they had an Amp Gun, there was no telling what other nasty BT they had, that gun was a hard ass enough piece of bio tech all on its own and I really didn’t want to experience any other goodies they might have. I kept running.

Dumb ass! The guy behind me yelled as I dove head first into the gap between the buildings hoping I didn’t bash my head on a wall. With my forward momentum I couldn’t help but hit the brick wall hard, I turned just enough so that my side and arm caught most of the collision. I felt the tingling buzz and knew that he’d fired the Amp Gun at me, but as I was falling I heard the zip of the weapon and knew that I wasn’t totally screwed just yet. I hit the concrete floor hard, one of my bare feet scraped down the brick wall. I knew the foot was going to hurt like hell, so I did my best to ignore it. My fall was partially broken by some handy bags and stacks of garbage, there was plenty of it around, after all. As garbage strikes go, the one that had started over a year ago was a real winner. As soon as I landed I scrabbled upright and ran down the gap between the buildings.

I say I ran, but that’s a bit of an exaggeration. The gap was filled with trash and I stumbled my way through it. The garbage filled alley combined with a minor Amp Gun buzz made the going harder than it should have been. I could tell from the limp I suddenly had that my right leg had taken the largest part of the Amp hit. It was also the one with the brick scraped bare foot. I was sure that at any step I would impale one of my bare feet on some nastiness in the trash filled alley. I didn’t care, just as long as I stayed away from the Amp.

I was suddenly at the door I’d been looking for along the right wall. I knew it was unlocked; I’d made sure of it earlier in the day. I didn’t really slow down, I grabbed the door by the handle, it turned freely under my hand and swung open as I stumbled into the large warehouse space beyond. I kept my grasp on the door handle and it helped me come to a quick stop without falling. I closed the door as quietly as I could. Staying there and listening for pursuit quickly crossed my mind, but the tingle buzz in my right leg convinced me it might be a bad idea.

The warehouse floor was blessedly free of most debris and I hurried across it to the set of stairs against the far wall. It was pretty dark and I only got a few steps before exquisite pain flared in my right foot. I was moving fast and stumbled to my knees instead of stepping on the foot again. I pulled the small flashlight out of my coat pocket and shined it at my foot. There was a ragged cut in the arch and it was starting to bleed freely. It wasn’t long, but it looked deep and hurt like hell. I briefly considered tearing strips from my shirt to quickly bandage it. I thought of the Amp gun again, and how clean the shirt wasn’t, and I decided to move on and hope for the best.

The glow of the flashlight seemed surprisingly bright. I glanced around quickly and then realized why. I grabbed my face with one hand to make sure. I had lost the media shades. Somewhere in between lying in the trash pile and standing in the warehouse they must have fallen off. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed. Then again, I had been rather busy. They certainly weren’t worth going back for. But, if need be, I could come back later and look for the things. I was glad they were cheap.

Shining the flashlight beam ahead I crossed the floor as quickly as I could. I ran in a sort of hitch jump stride because I only used the ball of my right foot, I couldn’t bear the thought of the pain if the cut hit the floor. I came to the stairs sooner than I expected and as I shined my light on them I couldn’t suppress a small groan. I had forgotten the steps were made of grated steel. That was going to hurt my bare feet even more. I regretted thinking my costume would be more realistic without shoes. I guess that’s what I got for being a theater person in a previous life.

Ignoring the pain that issued with each step I hurried up the stairs and moved a short way down the catwalk at the top. I ducked behind a column of brick that stood away from the wall and formed an even darker shadow in the gloom of the warehouse. I paused there, trying not to breathe heavily, and listened closely. I heard a couple of distant shouts, but nothing that seemed to be coming closer. I was slightly puzzled by that, but took the opportunity and worked my way further down the catwalk deeper into the warehouse. I was limping badly, more because the catwalk was made of the same grated steel as the stairs than because of the cut on my foot or the Amp Gun buzz. I promised myself to never go shoeless on a stakeout again.

My thoughts turned to Mike. My partner was resourceful and quick, but with BT like the Amp Gun and Snooper being used against us I couldn’t help but worry. Mike was posted on a warehouse rooftop next to the alley and had a clear escape route mapped, just in case. Since the just in case had happened, I hoped my partner packed quickly and got the hell out of there as quietly as possible. I decided to hurry to our rendezvous point and tried to think no more of it as I moved painfully along the grated steel.

The catwalk eventually lead to the far wall of the warehouse where it turned, still hugging the brick wall. Windows along the front of the building let in pitifully small amounts of streetlight through their filthy glass and I could see a little better. I paused long enough at the third window to ease it open. I crawled through and gingerly set my right foot down on the roof of the small office that stood on the side of the warehouse. I didn’t bother closing the window and I hurried across the roof to the access ladder I had spotted earlier in the day.

As I reached the ladder I heard the zip of the Amp Gun discharging again, followed quickly by a few loud gunshots. I froze in place. I knew the shots weren’t meant for me, they came from the alley behind me, but my worry for Mike increased dramatically. I cursed under my breath and ignored the amazing pain in my foot as I hurried down the access latter to the street below.

I came to a small side alley that intersected the original alley. While the side alley was the quickest way to the rendezvous point it also lead in the general direction of the guys with all the BT. I weighed the options and found that my concern for Mike overwhelmed my desire to stay away from the BT. I only paused for a moment, and then headed in the direction of the rendezvous and the jerks with the El tech.

I quickly reached the intersection of the two main alleys and paused. I carefully leaned around the corner of the building and peaked into the loading area. There wasn’t much to see. The hover was still sitting where it had originally parked next to Mr. Ross’ car. The only person I saw was our Mr. Ross and he appeared quite dead as he lay sprawled across the hood of his car. In the brief moment I watched his lifeless body slowly slid down the fender and collapsed in a messy heap on the concrete. For some reason his brightly colored umbrella was open and laying on the hood and as he fell the umbrella moved. It too slid across the hood of the car, teetered on the fender for a moment, and then fell. It performed a neat little pirouette in the air and landed handle down on top of the dead body. Its colorful top shrouded Mr. Ross’ upper torso from view as it came to rest against him and his car.

I paused only a moment longer, looking the area over again quickly, and then I stumbled across the intersecting alley. As I did, I heard another gunshot, not to distant from me. It was a smaller caliber weapon, from the report it made, and that worried me even more. It sounded an awful lot like the small pistol Mike always carried. I threw caution to the wind and ran as best I could down the small alley, stumbling through the years of accumulated garbage. As I ran I pulled the .44 pistol from my inside coat pocket where it had been hiding.

I finally reached the next intersection and ran across it, not even bothering to check either direction before I went. I wasn’t shot, so no one must have been around. I finally reached another access ladder and I climbed quickly to the top, my weapon dangling from one pinky. I paused briefly at the top to peer over the edge. I heard the distant wail of a police siren. I ignored it and, seeing no one on the roof, I scrambled over the ledge. I squatted by the ladder and took another quick look around. Nothing.

I stood and ran, hobbled, across the roof to where a small shack containing AC and electrical equipment stood off to the side. I limped to the shack and paused again. Below and a little distance away I heard the squishy whirr of the hover as it quickly moved away. That reassured me a little; at least the guys with the BT were out of there. That only left me and a dead body and Mike. Maybe it was two dead bodies, depending on what had happened to my partner. I would soon find out.

I hurriedly stepped around the side of the shack and crossed to the roof of the next building. It was about a yard lower than the one I was on and I paused there to fish my flashlight out again. I shined the light around the roof just below me, hoping. This was the rendezvous point and I saw nothing of Mike. I continued to flash my light around the roof and was seriously beginning to wonder what to do when I noticed the dark shadow that almost blended in with the rest of the gloom. My instincts told me what it was, but I refused to listen.

I shined the light on the shadow and, sure enough, it was a body. My chest tightened and my throat constricted so much that I could barely breathe. I slowly walked toward the body, taking note of the black jeans and black jacket and long raven black hair that adorned the small frame. I also couldn’t help but notice the large pool of blood the figure was laying in. I was shaking by then, knowing what I’d find when I got there. I couldn’t believe it. Then a chance wind lifted the faint aroma of Mimosa to my nose and all disbelief fled my stricken mind. In front of me lying in a pool of blood was Mike.

Mycah, my partner.

My wife.

Chapter 2

Thought fled, only anguish was left. Distantly I heard a soft wailing sound that didn’t come from the approaching cop car. Some deep part of me that wasn’t horrified realized that I was making the sound. I didn’t care. My life was lying in a pool of blood on a warehouse roof. That was all I cared about.

Physical pain receded and I ran to where my wife lay. I collapsed beside her, kneeling in the same blood that her beautiful black hair was spread out in, arranged on a deep red background like a horrific fractal image. I reached out a hand and that reasonable part deep inside noticed that it was shaking badly, noticed that my burning eyes were threatening tears at any moment. I gently touched Mike’s shoulder, intending to move her face up so I could stare at her death with more certainty.

When I touched her all hell broke loose. There was a high pitched wail and her body rolled over quickly. Her left arm flashed out and backhanded me across the face. At the same time she quickly rose to her knees and I felt something cold and hard thrust under my chin. The reasonable part of my mind told me it was most likely her .32. Her hand grabbed my stocking cap and hair and I felt my head pulled back until I was staring at the black sky. It all happened so quickly that I couldn’t react. Her voice whispered hoarsely in my ear.

Don’t try anything you ass, or… She paused, and then hesitantly said, Ash?

She didn’t wait for the answer that would have eventually occurred to me. Instead, the .32 disappeared from my chin and I found myself almost knocked over by her forceful embrace. My dead, blood covered wife had me encircled in her arms and was softly crying into my chest. Slowly, not wanting to believe, I raised my arms and returned her embrace. I buried my face in her bloody hair and squeezed my eyes tightly shut forcing the waiting tears to track down my face. My brain slowly came to the realization that Mycah was, apparently, not dead after all.

Time reasserted itself and I realized the distant siren was drawing nearer. We couldn’t afford to be found at the scene of a failed illegal tech exchange and murder. Still, I couldn’t force myself to move. My brain finally freed itself just enough so that I could murmur some words.

God, Mike, I said, I thought… But I couldn’t finish saying it. Instead, I spoke the next thing that somehow forced its way through the molasses of my mind. Are you ok?

Her head nodded against my chest and she said in a tiny voice, I’m fine.

Somehow my flashlight was lying on the roof next to us where it spilled its light against our legs. In the soft glow it produced Mike finally pulled away from me. I reluctantly let her go. When she looked up at me her pale face was smeared with blood and there was a deep anguish in her dark eyes. My brain functions were now starting to pull themselves together and the pain in those eyes caused them to solidify even more. But, before I could voice any concerns, she pulled away