from The Last Hot Time

John M. Ford

 

"Her name's Norma Jean?"

"Around here," the small man said, "names are something one keeps to oneself. We call people things." He indicated the big man and the elf in turn. "This is Lincoln McCain. And Cloudhunter Who Keeps His Sisters' Counsel, though Cloudhunter will do. I am called Mr. Patrise." He spelled it.

"Danny Holman."

"You're a…medical student?"

"I'm a paramedic."

"That means you have a license."

"Yeah. Can I show it to you some other time, please? She needs a hospital."

"Yes. And yes."

The big man, McCain, said, "Cook County's closest."

"Not secure," Cloudhunter the elf said. His voice sounded like the wind in high grass.

"I'm afraid that's right," Patrise said. "It's always at awkward times that one is reminded of one's weaknesses."

McCain said, "Michael Reese, then."

"Fine." Patrise said to Danny, "I assume you're used to working in a vehicle? The car rides smoothly, and it'll get better as we get closer to the city."

"City?" Danny said. "No, wait, my car's out there, and my stuff."

Mr. Patrise said, "Nothing you absolutely need in the next few hours." He did not seem to be asking.

"I can't leave my car here!"

"Yes, you can. I personally guarantee its safety, and that of all your belongings. They will be brought to you by morning. Anything you need before then will be provided, and by that I mean anything. You will find me a properly grateful man." Patrise looked past Cloudhunter, out the car door. "Besides…you haven't been to the Levee before."

"You're from the Levee?" Danny said, too quick. It was a stupid question, with an elf in the car. "Uh--no, never."

McCain said, "Your car may not work once it hits the redline, then."

"What about yours?"

"Ah, we're dual-fuel," McCain said. "Don't worry. She looks like a nice machine. She'll be cared for."

Mr. Patrise said, "Cloud, I'll ride in front. You stay here." Cloudhunter nodded, pulled down the jump seat, and shut the door.

McCain moved aside to let Patrise get out, then leaned in again. He pointed to some buttons on the backseat bar. "This one keeps the light on. Lighter here if you smoke. Help yourself to what's left of the stock; there's cold beer below." He shut the door.

The car started. It bumped a few times, then found the road; the ride was very, very smooth. Danny wiped some of the blood from Norma Jean's scalp wound; it really wasn't too bad. He put a small dressing on, deciding to leave cutting her hair to the hospital team. In the dim light he could hardly tell Betadine from blood.

He looked up. Cloudhunter Who Keeps His Sisters' Counsel was sitting absolutely still, the shotgun across his knees. Only his silvery eyes moved, shifting like mercury. Danny couldn't see a thing through the tinted windows, not even into the front seat; he had heard that elves had night vision, or some kind of special vision.

"Mr. Cloudhunter--"

"No titles," the elf said. "Cloudhunter is fine. Cloud if we get to be friends."

"Cloudhunter, could you put that thing away?"

"The Ruthins might try again." The elf's voice was softer now, more like human. "Not much use put away."

"Yeah, I guess."

Norma Jean groaned, stirred. She gurgled out a half scream. "Easy, now, easy, Norma Jean," Danny said, and put a hand on her shoulder, pressed just slightly. She sighed as the pain defocused.

"Is she in pain?" It was Patrise's voice through an intercom grille.

"I don't think she's really conscious. But--is there a blanket back here?"

"Drawer under the seat."

As Danny got Norma Jean covered, Patrise said, "Can you give her something?"

"You mean for pain? I've got aspirin and benzocaine cream. No good here."

There was a pause. The woman's head trembled.

Mr. Patrise said, "I'd like to see your license now." A little drawer slid out of the dividing panel. "I'm not questioning your ability."

Danny got out his wallet. "You want my driver's license, too?"

"That would be all right."

He put the cards through. "Ah," Patrise said. "Do you see this birthdate, Lincoln?"

"Okay!" Danny said. "Okay, so I'm still nineteen, all right? The stuff's all real and the car's really mine. It's only a few weeks to my birthday--"

"It certainly is," Patrise said. "October thirty-first. All Hallow's Eve."