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This is adult material. If you are not of legal age to read adult material, bugger off. |
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MODERN EARTH SERIES |
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“Yo! Who wants a piece o’ dis?” “Jo mama never taught chew to say please, vato?” “Nobody talks bad about my mama.” “Chew know who you mama is?” “Excuse me, gentlemen. What seems to be the dispute this time?” “I gots me some dice. Wanna play?” “I trust such things are contraband.” “Tha’s right, Goldilocks. Got a problem with it?” “Yes, I do. I got searched because of items like those!” Suddenly the whole cell exploded into barking laughter. Legolas arched his brow and attempted a regal pose. Then he smirked. The tall thin brother said, “I swallow ‘em. Get ‘em in the mornin’, ye dig?” Legolas blanked his features rather than show his disgust. Then he shook his head slowly. He thought of the thousands of years of elven civilization that came before the Ages of Men. He was sorely tempted to roll his eyes at this man’s greatest achievement, sneaking dice into jail within his digestive tract. Praise the Valar, Legolas sighed. Elves could not contract human illnesses. The place was simply crawling with filth. To punctuate the thought, the single toilet in the corner of the crowded cell flushed. Thankful again for his elvish physiology, Legolas noted the morning ritual of voiding the body before filling it again with breakfast. No one took a moment to wash either face or hands. “You gonna eat that?” one of the prisoners said looking at the elf’s share of fried potatoes, ham and eggs going cold. “Got something to trade for it?” “Smokes.” “No, not interested,” Legolas said. “Anything else?” “I can be your muscle while you’re here. Keep any new guys away.” “Done. Now, be my guest. There’ll be more at lunch time.
After wolfing down two helpings of breakfast, the thin black man bragged about being a car thief, in and out of jail on numerous occasions. He knew the court system. Guards called him by name. Of interest to the elf who listened patiently, Pete also knew the local street buzz. He was fluent in gang slang variants and he knew a number of taggers. “Do you know anyone who can shoot a bow?” the elf asked. “An’ hit som’un?” “Or not hit someone, as the case may be.” “Hum… I be doin’ some ponderin’. Uh-oh, warden’s here.” “What’s happening now?” “Exercise time, and then shower time. Don’ worry, I’ll watch yo’ pretty butt.” Legolas gnawed his thin lower lip. A jog outside would be pleasant. Could he hope for something as welcome as sunlight? Even rain was preferable to the smell of tightly pressed humanity. It would be pleasant to wash too. A shower, even a cool one, would be welcome. The prisoners were herded downstairs. The old dwarf went down the hall with an officer. Legolas breathed a sigh watching him wave goodbye. The other park dwarves had raised enough money to pay his fine. Pete gave Legolas a push and he trotted down the steel steps following the others into a small gymnasium in the basement of the jailhouse. The smell of testosterone hung heavily on the air. Legolas wrinkled his nose. Some men were being hustled out as his cell mates entered. The bright lights made Legolas’s eyes water. There was something about the frequency of fluorescent light. He wiped his eyes. “Don’ cry, mamacita. Juanito here,” the young Hispanic crooned as he moved up from behind. “Wanna lift weights?” Some of the prisoners picked up a jogging pace in pairs around the perimeter of the gym. A few others began to skip rope. Some stretched on wrestling mats calling out for friendly matches. Juanito and his friends moved to racks of free weights and each man took his pick. Legolas shrugged his shoulders. Lifting was something to relieve both the tension and the boredom of his stay in jail. This wasn’t the club or the island resort he was used to but he followed Juanito and Pete. Why not? “Try this one, Legs,” Pete said with a half smile handing the elf a ten pound hand weight. Dark eyebrows flew skyward as the elf took it with no trouble and began to flex his right arm. Legolas shifted hands and continued. Juanito shook his head and worked with two lighter weights. “You gonna be sore, Legs,” he warned. The elf didn’t really care. Pain felt good about now. There was a deeper suffering gnawing at his heart, an ache that threatened to overwhelm his calm exterior. He wished he’d done more damage to Fenton, not simply broken his nose. A few minutes later, Pete said, “You know, it just came to me, where I saw a pretty good archer once. My girl and I went to Gondorfest. Have you ever been there? Some dude and his girl come riding out on big white horses. King Aragorn and Queen Arwen they’re supposed to be. I remember getting real drunk and ending up pelted with rotten vegetables in Hobbiton. Did see a good archer. I remember now. Some suit who wanted to play hero, I think.” After wolfing down two helpings of breakfast, the thin black man bragged about being a car thief, in and out of jail on numerous occasions. He knew the court system. Guards called him by name. Of interest to the elf who listened patiently, Pete also knew the local street buzz. He was fluent in gang slang variants and he knew a number of taggers. “Do you know anyone who can shoot a bow?” the elf asked. “An’ hit som’un?” “Or not hit someone, as the case may be.” “Hum… I be doin’ some ponderin’. Uh-oh, warden’s here.” “What’s happening now?” “Exercise time, and then shower time. Don’ worry, I’ll watch yo’ pretty butt.” Legolas gnawed his thin lower lip. A jog outside would be pleasant. Could he hope for something as welcome as sunlight? Even rain was preferable to the smell of tightly pressed humanity. It would be pleasant to wash too. A shower, even a cool one, would be welcome. The prisoners were herded downstairs. The old dwarf went down the hall with an officer. Legolas breathed a sigh watching him wave goodbye. The other park dwarves had raised enough money to pay his fine. Pete gave Legolas a push and he trotted down the steel steps following the others into a small gymnasium in the basement of the jailhouse. The smell of testosterone hung heavily on the air. Legolas wrinkled his nose. Some men were being hustled out as his cell mates entered. The bright lights made Legolas’s eyes water. There was something about the frequency of fluorescent light. He wiped his eyes. “Don’ cry, mamacita. Juanito here,” the young Hispanic crooned as he moved up from behind. “Wanna lift weights?” Some of the prisoners picked up a jogging pace in pairs around the perimeter of the gym. A few others began to skip rope. Some stretched on wrestling mats calling out for friendly matches. Juanito and his friends moved to racks of free weights and each man took his pick. Legolas shrugged his shoulders. Lifting was something to relieve both the tension and the boredom of his stay in jail. This wasn’t the club or the island resort he was used to but he followed Juanito and Pete. Why not? “Try this one, Legs,” Pete said with a half smile handing the elf a ten pound hand weight. Dark eyebrows flew skyward as the elf took it with no trouble and began to flex his right arm. Legolas shifted hands and continued. Juanito shook his head and worked with two lighter weights. “You gonna be sore, Legs,” he warned. The elf didn’t really care. Pain felt good about now. There was a deeper suffering gnawing at his heart, an ache that threatened to overwhelm his calm exterior. He wished he’d done more damage to Fenton, not simply broken his nose. A few minutes later, Pete said, “You know, it just came to me, where I saw a pretty good archer once. My girl and I went to Gondorfest. Have you ever been there? Some dude and his girl come riding out on big white horses. King Aragorn and Queen Arwen they’re supposed to be. I remember getting real drunk and ending up pelted with rotten vegetables in Hobbiton. Did see a good archer. I remember now. Some suit who wanted to play hero, I think.”
An hour later, the men were led down a long hall. They were handed a towel, a clean pair of briefs and a tee shirt. Legolas breathed slowly as he casually observed the rest of the inmates begin to strip and then walk under the lightly misting showers. "Come on, Sweet Cheeks," Pete said. "Get wet or they throw you down and wash you up." Legolas swallowed and slipped out of his clothing. In less than half a minute he had his hair in a thick braid down his back. The other men glanced at him and they couldn’t cover their surprise. He was as sleek as a boy while they were rough-furred like bears. More than one pair of eyes burned with desire. Pete reached down for the soap someone had tossed to Legolas. The tall Black man slapped it into the elf’s smooth palm. "Hurry up," he advised. "Wolves is startin’ ta howl." Still damp, Legolas slithered into his clean under garments and shrugged on the orange cover-all. He consciously stopped grinding his teeth. Another meal would soon await him in the cell. He hoped Gimli would come for a visit soon and bring him his case and the wafer of lembas. More prisoners left the cell after lunch. Juanito and his gang members were escorted out. They waved and said they’d see Pete down in the barrio on the weekend. He nodded and sat down on a bunk. Legolas paced. There was room now and he glanced down the hall. How welcome would be the sight of a short-legged, long-bearded, grumbling dwarf. Rivendell and the Council of Elrond, dwarves and men wantonly mixed with the Fair Folk. In that noble company no two minds were farther apart on more topics than Legolas Greenleaf and Gimli, son of Gloin. Their fathers had been enemies too. No love lost at all between them. On the road, they’d endured exhaustion, suffering, and loss. Yet, they could not bear the other’s company. Then, in another elven wood leagues farther on, everything changed. Legolas was jolted from his thoughts. A rough voice down the corridor, the stamp of iron shod boots. Joy leaped from heart to mouth and Legolas stifled a cry. Moments later, an officer unlocked the cell and curled his finger at the elf. "Come on. You’ve got company." Legolas glanced back at his former protector. He met the Black man’s gaze and gave a curt nod of his head. The other man returned the acknowledgment. The officer placed his hand on the elf’s shoulder and hustled him along. ****** "Can ye survive another night in jail? Has anyone touched ye?" "I’m untouched, Gimli. They had sufficient intelligence not to try anything." "It may be several days, Legolas, before I can secure your release on bail," Old Took said, shuffling papers and digging into his case. "You may wish to settle upon their terms. I have them here." "I wish I had my own clothes, my pillow, a decent meal. I do not wish to settle if it means giving in to them." "There is some degree of compromise." "I did not shoot at Fenton," Legolas stated firmly. "I punched him in the nose for beating a defenseless animal. I’ll tell that to the judge and hold my head high." "Stiff-necked as ever, I see," Gimli muttered. "Do ye not see they are out to frame ye?" "For what reason?" Old Took inhaled and then exhaled slowly. "I’ve been thinking about that." "From our investigation, we see a pattern. It points to Fenton being used by Miss Winsom and her brother. They stand to make a great deal of cash if they can win a settlement from you. Evidently, you didn’t do enough damage to Fenton at the club. They wanted a higher stakes game so they hired someone else to attack Fenton last evening at the park. I doubt Fenton even knows he’s being used." Legolas rubbed his chin. He thought a while and then he turned to the dwarf. "Gimli, I met someone here you must find. Bomburson. He lives in the park. I think he may lead you to someone who saw who shot at Fenton." Old Took added, "We are all doing fine investigative work. Brandybuck learned who sent the ball down field hitting you in the leg. Ms. Winsom’s brother, Reginald Fernwood." "Find out if he attends Gondorfest as one of the players and how well he shoots a bow," Legolas said, raising a dark gold eyebrow. "I’ll have one of the youngsters on it as soon as I return to the office." "Gimli, do you still have my briefcase?" "Yes." "Took? May I partake of the wafer of lembas Gimli packed?" "I’ll call one of the guards. It should be all right." *********** The small window in their cell was double thick wire-meshed glass. Only a single star was visible after lights out. Legolas gazed at the light from the heavens. He closed his eyes and saw the star-field above the spot they rested within the borders of Lothlorien. Legolas wrapped his arms around himself. He leaned against the cinder block wall. "Lie down, won’t you?" Pete whispered. "How can I protect you way over there?" Legolas walked over to the bunks along the wall. He levered himself up into the highest bed he could find. It was clean. He drew the blanket up around his shoulders. Gimli hated sleeping alone. The night was blessedly quiet. Breakfast arrived. Exercises and then a fast shower. Lunch and the long, warm afternoon. About three, Pete was taken down the hall to talk to his lawyer. He was getting out, he said. "Watch yo pretty butt," he called as he left. Legolas waved and leaned against the cool, solid, cinder block wall again.
14 - Sleeping, or Not Sleeping, Alone Gimli padded in bare feet around the empty apartment. He drank a beer standing on the balcony in the sultry breeze smelling the scent of pines, remembering the fragrance in Legolas’ hair. The moon was setting, a gold coin melting into the western skyline. Yawning, Gimli stretched out on the bed after flicking out the light. He lay for a long time staring at the ceiling. Then he flung his arm to the right and found no companion. He searched on his left, no one. A great sadness welled within. How he missed the pointed elbows in his ribs and the sharpened, upraised knee in his groin that so often woke him in the middle of the night. Most of all, he missed the kisses that soothed the hurt. He missed the voice that accompanied the kisses, sweet in his ear as bird song in summer meadows. It was no use. He couldn’t sleep. He flipped on the video screen. Late night infomercials, how to cook a whole chicken, how to clean the bathroom with fruit. He skipped the wrestling matches. Too many names of dwarves he once knew. He hit the pay per view channels. Nothing he really wanted to see. He tapped the remote’s button again until he came to History’s Highway. They were showing the newest summary of the Great War. Then, Anatomy of the Uruk Hai. And finally Secrets of Saruman’s Sanctuary. He and Legolas had been interviewed for the first show. Gimli hugged a pillow and watched. Seeing Legolas on the screen was harder than he’d thought it would be. He thumbed off the video. He got up and stood out on the balcony again. Dawn was breaking and the air was very cool. He smelled wood smoke on the light wind. Someone had a campfire at the park. "I know what I’ll do," he exclaimed. "I’ll make a breakfast for the park dwarves. I’ve got coffee, bacon, cheese, bread. We can toast the slices in the fire like we did ages ago." Gimli dressed quickly. He went into the kitchen and set the coffee to brewing and the bacon to frying. Into a picnic hamper he tossed a big loaf of bread, a bag of oranges and a fine wedge of yellow cheese. He filled two thermos jugs with coffee. Then he finished and packed up the bacon. He threw in a sharp knife and long forks for toasting the bread. "Never be enough meat," he muttered. He rummaged in the refrigerator. "Ah, I knew we bought the ham for something special." Loading everything into the back of his Avalanche, Gimli drove off to the park. He guessed that the dwarves made camp under the river bridge at Ninth Street. He was right. There they were, the little men the folks songs warn about when going hunting up the airy mountain or down the rushy glen. Some of them still slept. Two tended the fire, no doubt on watch. Some sort of creature roasted over the fire. Gimli didn’t want to think about what was. He stopped his truck. "Eh!" Gimli shouted from the road. "May I enter yer camp?" The watchers waved. A few of the cocooned bodies shifted. One sat up. "I’ve got eats," Gimli called down. "Could use a hand." The watchers kicked the sleepers and roused the camp. Three dwarves jogged up the steep bank and blinked sleepily at the big vehicle loaded with treasures. "We’ll unload here and then I’ll park," Gimli said. "What’s the meaning of all this?" one of the younger dwarves asked. He got a sharp nudge in the ribs. "Never question a giver of gifts, Narsi," an older dwarf said. "Not till after ye eat."
15 - Around the Flickering Campfire Quickly and efficiently, the park dwarves unloaded Gimli’s truck, carried the supplies down the slope and integrated the newest treasures with their own. They brought out a sturdy three legged stool and offered it to Gimli. He asked them if they had similar accommodations. They laughed, and everyone sat upon the good earth. Then they portioned out the food and coffee. In his haste, Gimli had not packed a cup for himself. One of the dwarves said he’d share with his brother. Gimli could have his mug. At that point the introductions began. Gimli met Burli Bomburson, Dayci and Laci Kacison, Narsi Norison, Sober Boferson. It was Laci who handed him the mug. Gimli met the bright eyes and the outstretched hand. He blinked. The hand was a little smaller, the face a little finer boned than the others. Gimli bowed his head politely. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you,” Gimli said after they’d all taken a sip of the coffee and sampled the bacon and toast. “Have any of you seen archers in the park? A crossbowman, to be exact.” “Oh, aye. We train more than a few for Gondorfest. Sober is the marksman,” Burli said. He paused and then he whispered to Gimli, “Your elf asked me about a stranger in the park.” “My elf?” Gimli exclaimed, his eyes flying wide open. Burli smiled and answered, “I was in jail the night before last. A little too much drinking at a festive occasion.” “And you talked to Legolas in the jail cell.” “He was kind to me. Treated me with respect. Not like the men.” “Strange for an elf, I know,” Gimli replied, nodding and patting the old dwarf’s back. Softly Gimli added, “I can’t help but name the elf my friend.” “Why have they taken him?” Narsi asked, breaking in on the moment. Burli Bomburson answered, “In jail, he confessed that he tried to murder someone.” “He’s merely accused o’ the crime,” Gimli retorted. “Don’t be addle-brained sons of shale and slate. Of course, Legolas didn’t do it.” The dwarves blinked and looked down into their mugs of coffee. They sipped and looked side-long at their benefactor. He as still breathing hard, no doubt thinking of more worthless terms to call them if they spoke ill of elves. Gimli rubbed his forehead where an ache mined between his eyes. Burli apologized first. Then the others did. “T’is I who should beg pardon,” Gimli murmured at last. The circle of dwarves shook their heads. Then, Burli laid his hand on Gimli’s shoulder. He said quietly, “Your elf was well when last I saw him. He had made his peace with all the men. None dared try any hurtful thing.” “You ease my heart, Bomburson. Yet, a mystery has led him into imprisonment. Can none of you offer a clue to get him out?” “I can tell you what I saw,” Sober said. “It reminded me of the old tales. Late one night, I was returning from a few hours security work. Walking along the river road toward our camp I heard the roar of motorcycles. I leaped into the bushes for cover. Sometimes, odd packs of men try to hurt us if they find us alone.” “I am aware of such things,” Gimli said, listening intently to the story. “Well, this pack roared by and then stopped, parking near the formal garden where the koi fish live in the large pond. From out of the tea house, a man wearing a black suit walked toward the leader of the motorcycle riders. The leader wore a helm in the shape of a skull. Eight were the number of his followers.” “The man in the black suit was not afraid of them. Rather he called to them and the leader kissed a heavy gold ring on the suit’s index finger. They walked into the shadows and I waded across the river rather than going past them. There was something foul too in the air.”
When Gimli waited in line for his turn inside the visitation room, he watched Legolas take a seat at a low table behind a glass shield. His head was bowed. He looked faded, as elves do when long underground, imprisoned or sick with grief. Gimli clenched his fists. It angered him to see his friend among criminals. Legolas nodded courteously to the guard who’d led him out. Gimli saw the one glistening emblem that was unchanged. His true love’s hair retained the richness of gold coins, the swirl of falling mallorn leaves, and the sheen of a heavy ring of power. Gimli’s heart swelled and then a cold shiver raced along his spine. An officer beckoned that it was his turn. Legolas looked up and recognized him among the throng in an instant. The drawn features lifted like sparrows taking wing. His mouth moved. Gimli saw a smile first and then a silent oration of his lover’s affection. Gimli walked quickly to the chair on his side of the glass. He sat down and covered his emotion by hurriedly brushing dust off his sleeves. Then he realized he needed to pick up the phone. "You comfort me, Gimli," Legolas whispered into his ear. "Have you eaten anything? You look pale," Gimli answered gruffly. "I saved a few crumbs of lembas. I nibble at it yet. Have you slept?" "No," Gimli said, looking down. They’d always been honest. Trust was the foundation of their love. Comrades in arms, adventurers, lovers and friends. Gimli said, "I met the park dwarves. They teach armed combat to the players at Gondorfest. Then, one told me frightening things. The Nine ride again. They met with a Dark Lord and kissed his ring, a gold ring. Can it be, Legolas? Has Sauron returned?" Legolas sighed. He shook his head and said, "Evil was not banished from the world with the defeat of Sauron. Men have always lusted for power." The elf paused and placed his hand upon the glass that separated them. He looked deeply into his friend’s eyes and whispered, "As Dwarves love gold and elves have too much pride, men seek to rule over Middle Earth." "And our place in this world?" Gimli asked. "If Sauron has returned," Legolas replied softly, "we will go to the Havens and take ship to Elvenholm. It lies beyond the reach of evil." For a moment he paused and rubbed his water-bright eyes. Solemnly, he said, "I will not chance again your death in battle." Gimli shook his head. He was not one to leave kin or comrades to face a foe without him. He said, "Flight goes against the grain, Friend." "I know, Gimli. Fiercely burn elvish hearts in times of war too," Legolas said, a flickering light in his eyes. An officer tapped Gimli’s shoulder. The dwarf acknowledged the man. Gimli said to Legolas, "Our time is up. What shall I say to Old Took?" "Tell him what you’ve learned. Look for connections between the Lord and his minions. Find out if any of the Nine have met with Reginald Fenton. Grima furnished horses of Rohan to the Nine. Fenton may have had similar plans." Gimli nodded and stood up, still holding the phone. He said, "Eat something tonight, will you, please?" "Sleep, Gimli. I’ll be thinking of you." Then elf hung up the phone. The guard touched his elbow. Legolas rose from the chair and was led away. Gimli walked over to Took’s office. He gave Underhill and Brandybuck all the information that he could. They told him that they would visit the park dwarves and gather more information, show them photos and take statements. Gimli declined an invitation to early supper. He planned to check his job site before going home.
17 - A Different Sort of Visitation Everything was fine at the construction site. Briggs Stratton, the foreman, was pleased when the boss took a look around and nodded. Mr. Gloinson promised a few more workers too, good dwarven workers. Quitting time and the crew headed for home. Stratton asked the boss if he wanted a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Gimli said he’d have a coffee but no more than that. Hours later, about eight o’clock, Gimli’s cell phone rang. He swallowed a mouthful of pie and answered it. The security company asked if everything was all right. They explained that minutes before, the alarm had gone off at the apartment. Then, it had ended abruptly. Had Mr. Gloinson deactivated the device? "No!" Gimli roared into the phone. "Call the police." "We have them on the line, Mr. Gloinson. They are sending over a squad car." "I must go, Stratton," Gimli said. "Trouble at the house. Will it never end?" "Want me to tag along, sir?" "Aye. Ye’re welcome company." Gimli arrived on the scene after a frantic half hour drive. The police waited for him at the smashed front door. The security pad had been fried by some sort of electrical charge. Several glass items in the front room were cast down upon the hardwood floor and broken. Another treasure smashed to bits was a large alabaster statue of three elves under a mallorn canopy. Two paintings had been torn from the walls and slashed to ribbons. The white sofa had been slashed too, and the fabric was splashed with something dark red. Gimli decided the message was clear. "Men on motorcycles, officer," the kind landlady said. "They sped away as fast as they’d come. This was always a peaceful block before Mr. Greenleaf was arrested." "Mr. Gloinson?" the officer said, waving. "A few questions, sir." "Aye," Gimli said, taking comfort in the presence of his big foreman behind him. "Do you have any idea who might have done this?" Gimli shook his head and shrugged his broad shoulders. "It’s widely known that my partner, Mr. Greenleaf, is accused of a crime. There may be those who wish to speed the wheels of justice over the top of him." "So, you feel that this may be racially motivated?" "I don’t know. I will see if anything’s been taken. Only then can we say if the intent was robbery or vandalism." "Would you like an officer posted down on the street tonight?" "I’d be grateful if that were so. My fellow tenants will sleep better for it." "Boss, I can call a few of the boys. Rudy and Joe don’t have wives or girlfriends. They’d be happy to help out." "Tell them to stop at the lumber yard, pick up a front door, new hardware and bring tools. You and I can get started on clean-up after the officers get their photos." Another officer with a camera entered the room from the hall. He'd been in the bedroom. He said, "Nothing's amiss anywhere else in the place, sir. Just this room." "Was everything insured?" the officer asked next. "I believe so," Gimli stated. "Of course, the statue was priceless. Money can’t replace it." "Do you see a pattern to the destruction?" "The items were expensive, easily broken, all in the same room," Gimli said turning in a circle. The officer jotted down the previous answer and then asked, "You thought it might have to do with race? Were they all works of elvish art perhaps?" "Some were and others were not," Gimli said, frowning. "I’m sorry. I can answer no more." "We’re finished for tonight, sir. We’ll let you clean up. Call us if you see or hear anything. We are here to assist you." "Thank you," Gimli muttered walking the men to his ruined door. "Good night.
After Rudy and Joe arrived with the door, Gimli called out for pizza and drinks. A few of the neighbors came by to tell Gimli what they’d seen and heard, hoping he could make sense of the random act of violence. He was cordial. He told them that he had the repairs under control, one of the good things about being a contractor. An older couple echoed his grim laughter. They’d been frightened by noises other than the smashing of glass. They’d heard an eerie shrieking. Gimli walked them to their door and reminded them that a squad car patrolled below. They nodded and entered their apartment. The dwarf went back inside and slowly placed bits of the alabaster statue into a box. He’d carved the piece as a wedding gift for Arwen and Aragorn. They’d willed it back to him upon their deaths. A familiar hand joined his. A young man leaned down helping him search for fragments. Randy lived in the corner apartment on the ground floor with his mother. He had the classic looks of the Rohirrim, tall, straw-haired and handsome. “They weren’t just any street gang, Mr. Gimli,” Randy whispered reverently placing another piece in the box. “Only the leader rode a Harley. He wore a black leather jacket with lots of chains. The rest had street racers. They dressed in black pajamas, ninja style.” “Did you tell any of this to the officers?” Gimli asked. “I thought I’d say something to you first,” Randy replied kneeling down next to the dwarf. “You and Mr. Legolas have always been good to my mom and me.” “Ye’re a fine lad,” Gimli said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Brave as King Eomer himself.” “I wish I’d lived back in the Third Age. I could have fought the orcs at Helm’s Deep.” “I’m glad ye did not, laddie. Those were hard days. I’d wish them on no man’s son.” They got up and Gimli set the box down in the corner. Then he carefully swept up the shards of broken glass. Under the dwarf’s direction, Randy wiped down the wood floor with a disposable mop. Legolas walked barefoot at home. Gimli sighed and wished his flatmate were here. Randy watched the dwarf while he seemed far off, and then he addressed him. “Do you have a photo trigger somewhere in here, part of the alarm system?” He looked around. “It was the bright flash of light that got my attention, you know,” the boy said. “A light, you say?” Gimli asked frowning. “They flew out of this place after it went off. Like orcs running from the Five Armies.” “Aye, ye know all the tales, lad.” “Well, I also know that Mr. Legolas shouldn’t be in jail. How’s the case coming? Can you talk about it?” “Not really, son,” Gimli said. “Legalities, witnesses an’ so on.” “I’ll be a character witness.” “You’d be a fine one too. But, tell me more about the gang that did the damage here. How many were there?” “Eight street bikes, Katanas. Only one Harley.” “So, it is the Nine,” Gimli muttered. “I suspected as much.” “What were they after, sir? Were they trying to scare you or something?” “I think I know what they wanted, lad. I must speak with Mr. Legolas in the morning.” “Hey we’re all through, Boss,” Stratton called from the foyer. “New door’s better than the old one. We added a nice, stout bolt too.” The pizza arrived and the work crew ate their fill. Randy had school in the morning. He was sent home after he ate. Joe and Rudy hauled the sofa down to Gimli’s truck. He’d drop it off at the shop and have it reupholstered. The police had taken a sample of the red stain.
The hammers of Erebor clinked musically in Gimli’s sleeping ear. His chamber under the Mountain was cool. He snuggled under the thick down comforter. Earlier that summer Legolas began hunting through the marshes of Long Lake for eider duck nests. He’d stolen only the softest down, collecting enough for a quilt by fall. Gimli never asked who did the sewing. It was perfect, every swirling, geometric stitch. Suddenly the hammering stopped. The dream changed to a drift of mallorn leaves beside Silverlode. The stream burbled and chortled at the odd pair of lovers in a fond embrace upon the bank. They rested where the brook Nimrodel joined the greater stream. Smiling, the lost elf maiden looked down upon their affection. She understood. Gimli tossed in his sleep. He sensed his lover receding away from him. He reached out, grasping, and caught only air and arms full of the thick comforter. He buried his face in the soft fabric. He breathed the sweetness of his lover’s scent. Then the dreams faded and he woke. The hammering on anvils sound again. His cell phone at the bedside table was ringing. He’d heard the sound in his dreams. He reached for it and noticed the ID read Took’s office. The hobbits must have news.
Hopping around the bedroom after returning Old Took's call, Gimli packed a travel bag with Legolas’ best suit, the charcoal gray silk Versache. He carefully folded a pale green shirt and a rainforest tie. He tucked in fresh underwear and socks. He’d take the best pair of shoes Legolas had too. When Gimli got to the parking garage, he remembered the sofa in the back of his truck. He’d be cutting it close to try to get it to the shop and still make his appointment with the lawyers. He needed someone to help him take it out of the back. He waved at Evans the security guard. The man was happy to help. "Sorry to hear about your place last night, Mr. Gloinson," Evans said. "No real harm done," Gimli said shrugging it off. "We repaired the door and cleaned up a few broken dishes. It could have been worse." Evans nodded and said, "Well, we’ve added another guard, sir. Don’t worry yourself none. An’ you drive safe, you hear? Morning traffic can be real bad." Gimli thanked Evans and jotted down the name of the repair shop. He said, "Call these folks and have them send someone for the sofa, will you? Give them my name and number. And, here’s something for your trouble." The dwarf pulled out a twenty. Evans said the gratuity wasn’t necessary but Gimli knew the man had a big family. A few extra dollars never hurt. The man took the money at last. What good was money, Gimli thought, if you hoarded it all away? "Hrumph," Gimli grunted, hands on the steering wheel. Then, he rolled his eyes. How undwarf-like that idea. Sounded like something an elf would say. His heart hurt in his chest. He navigated his way through the garage. Legolas was rich beyond reckoning, yet wealth flowed through his hands like water. He gave away half of what his investments earned each year. Hospitals, colleges, youth programs, shelters for animals, there were so many needy. Yet until now, Legolas had lived carefree, as happy under a tree as living in their spacious apartment. Gimli rubbed his chest. He rolled to a stop at the garage exit and waved to Randy. The boy had a large yellow ribbon in his hand and he was tying it to a low branch on the tree that shaded the corner bus stop. Then Gimli realized that all the trees on their block had yellow ribbons. He drove down the street heading for downtown. Despite the kindness of his neighbors, morning traffic had the dwarf on edge by the time he arrived at his destination. He was afraid he was late so he paid to park at the court house. A quick phone call, a room number, Gimli marched into the lobby. He hated metal detectors. He placed his keys and his change in the dish. He sent the case through the x-ray. Gimli breathed again when he was in the elevator going upstairs. He understood the need for security. He didn’t have to like it. Old Took greeted him at the door to a small meeting room. "Don’t say anything to Legolas," he cautioned. "We’ll talk as soon as the hearing’s over. Help him dress and keep him calm. He’s going before a judge in thirty minutes." "I understand," Gimli said entering the room. The figure that slumped in the chair by the window had long blond hair but that’s where the elf’s characteristic looks ended. Legolas seemed worn, like stone forced to endure harsh, blowing sand. Gimli had seen the frail look before, in elves walking toward the Havens and the ships. A sharp pain lanced again through Gimli’s chest. He caught his breath and then exhaled a soft groan. Legolas turned, faster than Gimli thought possible. He was standing and his arms reached around the dwarf. A moment later, Legolas sank to his knees and laid his sharp ear to Gimli’s chest, long fingers searching for the pulse in the dwarf’s neck. "Gimli, are you unwell?" Legolas whispered. "Your heartbeat…" "I’m fine, Friend," Gimli said laying his wide hand atop the fingers that clutched his sturdy shoulder. Eyes met. "What about you?" "Ah, there’s a tale, Gimli," Legolas said with a sigh. "I’ve missed the sun."
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