Grimm - The Icy Touch by John Shirley Read Free Book Online

into big pharma medicine. Like they wanted a steady, quiet supply of something... Could be a lot of stuff.”
    “Morphine, something like that?”
    “Maybe. Or maybe something else. Something a Hexenbiest might combine with traditional herbs, maybe...”
    “You just guessing?”
    “Just... a hunch.”
    Hank let out a long breath.
    “I’ve learned to trust your hunches. And I don’t like the sound of that one. You want some broccoli beef?”
    * * *
    The road to the Marine Terminal was a lonely one after dark. Monroe drove just under the speed limit, not wanting to accidentally drive past Smitty. There was no traffic, no one to honk at him to hurry up. A few lights shone coldly from a big container ship at the river dock, beyond the hurricane fence. Enormous industrial cranes for lifting multi-ton shipping containers stood poised like dinosaur skeletons over the dock; a freight train clunked and chugged slowly down a confluence of tracks, between the road and the river, carrying a load of intermodal containers and tanktainers.
    Up ahead was the turn-in for the dock. The silhouette of a man was just visible against the closed gate. Monroe turned carefully into the drive, and pulled up. Smitty hurried to his passenger side, opened the door and climbed in.
    “There’s a river park, not far away,” Smitty said, pointing farther down the road. “Let’s go there, sit in the parking lot.”
    “Sure.”
    Monroe put the truck in reverse and glanced over at Smitty. His friend was a broad-shouldered, heavyset guy with a ragged beard, he wore a plaid coat. But there were circles under his worried eyes and he looked more haggard than Monroe had ever seen him.
    Monroe pulled onto the road, heading toward the park.
    “You look kinda like crap, bro.”
    “Not getting much sleep.”
    “Sleep’s important. I can’t sleep, I get outta bed, go to the fireplace, chuck a log on there, curl up on the rug with a pillow. Pretend I’m camping. Usually slip into dreamland. But I get cramps in my neck the next day.”
    Smitty didn’t answer, so Monroe kept quiet till they got to the park, and he’d pulled up in the empty parking lot. He switched off the engine, and the lights. They looked out toward the river. The park was flat, green, with little stubs of recently planted trees. Not much of interest.
    “Nobody ever goes to this park,” Smitty remarked. “There’s your tax dollars at work.”
    “What happened, Smitty? We talking about a relapse?”
    “Naw. Could’ve been one. They’d like that. They want me to relapse.”
    “They who, man?”
    “They came around when I was working in crane maintenance.” Smitty nodded toward the big cranes, over by the river. “I was replacing the lights on ’em, and greasing. Guy walks up to me and says, ‘Hey, Blutbad. I hear you gave it up.’”
    “Just some random guy you don’t know?”
    “Yeah. But he made sure I got to know him. He was a Siegbarste.”
    “Ugh. An ogre. I hate to be prejudiced but... those guys even smell bad. Under bridges or not.”
    “Said they needed me to start moving some stuff off a ship for them, into some kind of old tunnel—I guess it was one of those Shanghai tunnels. You know, from back in the day.”
    “Those things? They wouldn’t reach all the way out here.”
    “They dug part of it out, with a crew of Drang-zorn. You got a cigarette?”
    “Nah, I gave up smoking.”
    “Smoking, hunting... red meat. We gotta give everything up?”
    “I can eat store-bought meat, if I want to. I just gave it up because it helps my recovery, man. And there’s a lot I haven’t given up. I like a good aged single-malt Scotch. I like... well, I’m not a monk, know what I mean?”
    “The Drang-zorn—you hear about that one they found cooked, other side of town? Legs sticking up outta some hole in a vacant lot.”
    “A badger boy? No. I’m surprised...” He started to say he was surprised Nick hadn’t told him about it. But his friendship with Nick, his