The alley behind Egg Chen's restaurant was extraordinarily tidy for an alley, with nary a dustbin out of place or a piece of litter on the ground. Rats would starve to death in this particular alley, except that most rats are also smart enough to move onto to greener, filthier pastures if they can't find anything to eat in their local ecosystem. In fact, the only thing seemingly keeping Sang Sacre Style magazine from doing an eight page photo spread of the alley in its annual "Best of Blood" edition was that right smack in the middle of all that tidiness lay a dead body leaking real blood all over the nice clean cobbles.

Captain Charpe surveyed the scene with Sergeant Chopper. The victim was slim, and lay face down, its face hidden under a mop long blonde hair. A dark green cloak covered most of the body, except for the brown leather boots on its feet. Parts of the body were bent in ways that shouldn't normally be possible. The blood was red, as most blood is, and there was a lot of it. "Well, he certainly didn't slip on a banana peel. Who called it in, Pit?"

"The owner's daughter heard a noise, thought it was a delivery, an' looked out the back door..." Chopper paused to sneeze. "Sorry, sir," he said as he ran the back of his hand underneath his nose, and then wiped the hand on the side of his pant leg. "'Twas the daughter that called it in. Wolfhunter and Miranda got here first. Checked for signs of life, they did, but there weren't any. Soon as I got here, I sent 'em off to have a quick look 'round the area, especially up on the roof of yon empty buildin'." He pointed a thumb towards the building across the alley from the restaurant. "Then I called for forensics and the meat wagon."

Charpe grunted approval, then knelt down next to the body to take a closer look. He'd referred to the victim as "he," but he wasn't even sure about that yet, given that all he could see of it was the hair and the blood. The victim did appear rather taller than most females, but not by much. He sniffed the air, and a puzzled look came over his face. He took a pen from his pocket and used it to push the victim's hair back from the side of its head. The face definitely looked more male than female, although there was no beard nor even stubble. Pushing the hair back further revealed a pointed ear. "Bloody hell," Charpe muttered, a bit surprised. "He's a bloody elf."

"That he is, sir, an' drippin' all over these wonderful clean cobblestones, too," said Chopper, now wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Very funny, sergeant," Charpe said sarcastically as he stood back up. "Somethin's not right, though."

"You mean apart from his bein' dead an' all, sir?"

"No, I mean he doesn't smell right." Charpe leaned over and sniffed again. An orc's nose is a far more sensitive odor detection device than that of a human. "He looks like an elf, and dresses like an elf, but he doesn't smell right."

"Dead things do smell different, sir. An' there's all the blood."

"I've smelled my share of dead things, sergeant, and that's not it. Besides, he hasn't been dead long enough. Don't you smell anything odd?"

"Sorry, sir, I can't smell a thing. It's this bit of a cold I've caught." Chopper looked sheepish, turned away to sneeze again, then continued, "How do you mean 'odd'?"

"I don't know, Pit. He does smell a bit like an elf. That's why I looked closer. But the scent is wrong somehow, like there's somethin' missin'." He sniffed yet again.

"Pity we don't have anyone on call who knows anythin' about elves, sir. Oh, wait, we do."

"Yah, I was afraid you'd remember that. Bloody hell!" Charpe thumbed his radio, and told Sergeant Reeves to make a call.

My pop always used to say that nothing good can ever come of hanging out in an alley full of orcs. Of course, he'd never been in a situation where the orcs in question were clients. He was a detective, too, among other things, but the clientele he served tended to run in somewhat posher circles than your average orc did. That said, I'm not sure a dark alley full of orcs is any more dangerous than a well-lit boardroom full of bankers and lawyers.

There were more than just orcs in this particular alley. There was a troll to start with, along with a couple of humans, one of whom was almost certainly a vampire. I don't recall pop ever mentioning trolls or vampires, but I suspect that if he'd thought of it, they'd have been included on his list of contraindications for entering alleys as well. Sometimes it's hard to be thorough when passing along one's accumulated wisdom to the next generation. Still, the current denizens of the alley were all wearing the uniform of the Watch, so I felt fairly confident that I wasn't about to be torn limb from limb. Well, at least not until the orcs went off duty.

Then there was the body, about which the troll was dutifully marking an outline with a piece of chalk. Now pop had a genuine knack for stumbling across bodies, a trait I apparently didn't inherit, The jury's still out on whether that's a plus or a minus. I mean, stumbling over a corpse almost never ends well for somebody, and more often than not it's the stumbler who takes it on the chin. There are endless questions from suspicious, unsympathetic orcs, followed by metric tons of paperwork, not to mention the laundry bills for cleaning blood stains out of one's clothes. It can get even worse if the depositor of said body still happens to be in the vicinity. On the other hand, maybe if I'd stumbled over the occasional body or three, my financial situation wouldn't be in such bad shape that I had to take a gig working with persons having a pathological hatred for elves and their kinfolk. And just maybe I wouldn't be walking into an alley full of orcs, vampires, and trolls.

This consulting job seemed like a good idea at the time. The retainer was decent, and I figured the workload would be light. There's never been much actual crime in the Sang Sacre, and crimes that would require any sort of detective work are even rarer still. Disturbances of the peace tend more towards the occasional supernatural manifestation or invading demon army, that sort of thing, events that the orcs of the Watch are well suited to handle. I figured it'd be easy money. Now it looked like I'd have to earn it.

I only knew one of the constables in the alley. The good news was that the orc most likely to rip off one my arms and use it as a bludgeon, Captain Charpe, who also happened to be my boss on this job, didn't seem to be around. The orc I recognized was Sergeant Chopper, which was another plus. Of all the orcs in the watch, he's the one most likely to have descriptions like genial or likeable hung on him. Good thing, too. Chopper was smaller than the troll, but not by much; nobody in his right mind wanted to find out how far his geniality stretched. We'd gotten along well enough on the few occasions we'd met in the course of business. He even let my buy him a beer at Milo's one time.

Chopper was standing just inside the crime scene tape that was strung across the entrance to the alley, talking to the other orc and the female constable. The vampire was taking photographs of the scene. Yup, this was the new Watch; it's not just for orcs anymore. He sent the pair off in the direction of the empty building, then noticed me as I approached. He turned towards me, and let loose one heck of a sneeze. "Gesundheit, sergeant. How's life treating ya?"

"Well now, if it isn't Mr. Tureleg, himself. So nice of you to be joining us," he said as he wiped his nose. "I've a head cold that'd kill a dragon, sure, but at least life's been treating me just a wee bit better than yon poor squashed elf, thanks for asking."

"The victim's an elf?" That would be a surprise if true. Murder is unusual enough in Sang Sacre, but a murdered elf would be rare indeed. Elves don't kill other elves, not even when fellowships disagree. It's considered sacrilege. And elves get awfully vindictive if someone else kills one of them, so no one does. Only a nutcase would kill an elf this close to Keeblertown. I ducked under the tape, and glanced past Chopper and the troll to get a better view of the body. There still wasn't much to see from this vantage, except for a green cloak, some long blonde hair, and a fair-sized pool of blood.

"Don't know it for sure yet, to tell the truth. Looks and dresses like one, though, he does," Chopper continued. "The Captain has his doubts. Says the body doesn't smell right."

"Well if anyone would know what a dead elf smells like, it'd be Captain Charpe, alright." I started pulling on a pair of examination gloves as we walked in the direction of the victim. The troll had started doing a closer inspection of the body, while the vampire stood by with the camera. "So, are you going to introduce me around?" I asked Chopper.

"The fella with the camera is Constable Davy," he pointed at the vampire, "and that's Constable Phissure there blocking our view of the body." They turned their heads towards us as he said, "This is Mr. Tureleg, lads. He'll to be helping us out with this, he will."

They both nodded in my direction, then went back to work. I got down on one knee next to Phissure to take my first close up look at the victim. He did look like an elf, at least at first glance. He may have smelled like one, too, but I couldn't tell from the smell of the blood. "Got a cause of death yet?"

The troll's voice rumbled like an earthquake in a gravel pit. "It's for the coroner to say, but it'll probably be just what it looks like—injuries resulting from a failure to miss the ground while traveling vertically at high speed."

"Hiring comedians now, are we, sergeant?" I leaned in to take a closer look at the victim's ear, and saw something the orcs had missed. Orcs may have a terrific sense of smell, but their eyesight is just so-so. Elves, on the other hand, have terrific eyesight, and in my case, that was a trait I did inherit. There was a trace of a scar near the tip. I moved the body a bit to take a look at the other ear, and saw the same faint scarring. "Thiadir," I muttered.

"What?" asked Chopper.

"He's had plastic surgery done on his ears. It's good work, too. Most folks wouldn't notice."

"So, the captain was right. But what was that word you used?"

"Huh?" I had to think about it. "Oh yeah. He's thiadir edhellen."

"Very helpful, that is. What's it mean?"

I grinned. "Our victim was an elvish impersonator."

"Any ID?" I asked Phissure, who'd been rummaging through the victim's pockets.

"No wallet or anything else in his pockets, not even loose change. The only thing I've found so far is this clasp from the neck of his cloak." He pointed at a leaf-shaped silver broach. "He's got a tattoo, though." He pulled the victim's left sleeve up a bit to show a pattern of elvish letters on the inside of the forearm. "Mean anything?"

The tattoo was four characters arranged in a diamond, not a word, but initials. "It's a fellowship mark. This was one clueless young man."

"How so?"

"It's one thing to pretend to be an elf. It's another to pretend to be part of a fellowship. I suspect the actual members wouldn't find it all that amusing."

"Amusing enough to throw him off a roof?" Chopper asked.

I shrugged. An ambulance arrived, and the paramedics started putting the body into a bag for the trip to the morgue. With the star of the show leaving, it was time to focus on the scene. Davy and Phissure were going over the alley pretty thoroughly, so I turned my attention to the building across the way from the restaurant. It was four stories tall, with brick walls and a few plywood covered windows. I craned my neck back, looking up the wall towards the roof. "I don't suppose he could've just fallen?" I said, mostly to myself.

"He's a bit too far from the wall for that, I'm thinking," said Chopper.

"He could've jumped."

"Sure, or perhaps a near-sighted eagle mistook him for a tortoise, then plucked him off the street and dropped him from high in the sky to break his shell open. It could've been any number of things. That's why the Captain called in a high-paid consultant to figure it out. That'd be you, in case you're wondering."

"Just laying out all the options."

Chopper's radio activated. "Sarge, we found something on the roof."

"On our way."

The most direct route up to the roof involved climbing up a rickety old fire escape. Now on the whole I prefer to keep my feet firmly affixed to good old terra firma. It's not heights that bother me so much as the thought that somehow the universe in its infinite perversity will find some way to convert all that gravitational energy from potential to kinetic. It didn't help that I'd so recently seen the result of just such a conversion. Despite that I decided to lead the way, figuring that if the combined weight of Chopper and Phissure did cause the sorry construction of rusty wrought iron to collapse, it'd be better to be above them than below. The vampire chose the better part of valor and stayed down in the shadows of the alley.

Once we got to the top things got better. The roof seemed solid enough. Typical for an industrial space, it was flat and covered with gravel and pigeon droppings. Standpipes poked up through it here and there, along with some larger pieces of ductwork and machinery. Best of all, there was a door which gave every indication of being the upper end of a much safer way down to the ground than how we'd come up.

The two constables that Chopper had sent off earlier were standing near the knee-high wall at edge of the roof overlooking the alley. The orc was animatedly waving us over. He was very young, probably no more than 13 or 14. Orcs reach adulthood a lot faster than humans do. "Eager, isn't he?" I said to Chopper under my breath.

"Aye, Wolfhunter's eager, all right, but don't misjudge him. Sharp as a tack, that lad."

"And the woman?" The human constable was tall and willowy, with auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"That's Probationary Constable Miranda. A genuine wizard with computers, she is, but still a bit raw around the edges when it comes to policing, if you take my meaning." Chopper grinned. "Those two are your team, by the way."

"My team?" I had a bad feeling about this.

"Your partners." The grin had become a smile. An orc's smile looks a lot like a shark's.

"I don't need partners. I've always worked alone."

"Captain's orders. Part of your commission is to train Watch personnel as detectives." He pointed to the youngsters. "Sure, and there's your class."

Bother.

"It's time sir." Says my assistant as he sets the thick briefcase on my desk.

I lean forward and place my hand on the supple black leather. It feels warm, almost alive. "Are all of the preparations done?"

"Yes sir." He says.

I take my hand off the briefcase and lean back in my chair. "So satisfying to see all of the planning finally come together."

"I expect it will be quite a boost for the local economy."

They never understand, "It's not about benefiting the community, it's about me, about the people who will come to know me, and fear me. I expect hosting Evilcon 08 to give me a substantial bump in my fear polls." I spin the numbers on the briefcase latches to 666 and pop them open to reveal a sickly green glow from within. I open the case all the way and pull the green orb from inside, it feels heavy and warm as it pulsates like a heart."

My assistant stands transfixed by the orb. "What is it?"

"Public transportation." I reply not taking my eyes off the orb. I feel the heartbeat of the orb match my own and flames appear in the orb, the room is bathed in flickering red light. My assistant gasps as he sees out the window that the very sky has turned blood red.

"Open" I say to the orb.

In a small park in the middle of the Tangley Mews a cat stalks through a clump of grass, creeping up on a small bird. Closer, closer, so very close, but unfortunately the ground starts to shake beneath the park and the bird flies off. The cat would be very depressed about her very poor luck if she wasn't running from the two black stones thrusting themselves up from the ground. The two, slightly curved, pointy, black stones stopped moving and stood there, trying to look as menacing as inanimate objects can pull off. A few moments later the sky in the immediate area turned to red and liquid fire sprang to life in the maw between the two stones. All across the city more of the gateways pushed their way up from the ground roughly forming a series of rings around the convention hall. From the gateways Evilcon attendees began to come through the gates. Necromancers, monsters, demons, supervillains, evil aliens, and evil creatures of all types along with a much larger contingent of regular people who are just fans of evil. None are evil genius scientists though, they always prefer to show off by arriving in impressive and evil looking vehicles of their own invention.

Evilcon 08, much to the delight of local bar owners and leather retailers, is finally starting.

08:00 - Role Call and Morning Briefing

Sergeant Reeves laid the clipboard with his notes for the morning assembly down on the desk at the front of the dayroom, and rapped the desk three times with his knuckles, as was his usual routine. "Good morning, constables. Today marks the beginning of a very auspicious event in our fair metropolis. I am referring, of course, to Evilcon 08. The convention staff are expecting a substantial number of attendees, and we want to ensure that their stay in Sang Sacre is a pleasant one. Corporal Harrass?"

"Yes, Sarge?"

"Your team will patrol the area around the Convention Center and the affiliated hotels. Speaking of which, Constable Knobsmasher?"

"Yeah, Sarge?"

"How did our mechanical friend make out in his endeavours?"

"Endeavours, Sarge?" A look of perplexion came over Knobby's face as he tried to recall is he'd ever heard the word before, but then he brightened. "Not sure, Sarge. I mean I don't think it's right to pry into a person's private functions, if you know what I mean, even if 'e is a robot."

"I meant his assignment, Constable."

"Oh, right. 'E did 'is endeavours right proper, 'e did. The area 'round the Convention Center is clean as a whistle. You could eat off'n some of them streets. Never looked better, Sarge."

"Very good, Constable." Reeves made a little check mark next to one of the items on his sheet. "Constable Ragman, your team will patrol the Mews and the Quarter. Be especially on the look out for confidence men. I don't want any of our guests returning to their homes in the nether reaches telling tales of how they were separated from their last Jewel of Elysia by a sharpie with three cards and a reluctant queen."

Ragman raised his hand. "Sarge, what about these guests? I hear some of these here conventioneers get a little wild after hours."

"Yes, I'm afraid that some conference goers do seem to get the impression that being away from home at a convention is the perfect excuse to let down their horns and, as the younger set might say, party down to the extreme. While that may be perfectly understandable, we shall have to be firm with them should they step too far past the line of sensibility. To that end Captain Charpe arranged to bring in some visiting constables to augment our staff for the duration."

The assembled constables looked around. "Um, Sarge?"

"Yes, Constable Dobler?"

"When are they getting here?"

Reeves hand was wrapped over the top of his clipboard, and he merely straightened his index finger and pointed it in the general direction of the large window at the back of the room that overlooked the street and Weiler Square. Dobler turned around to look, and being an above average noticer of all things unusual, he couldn't help but notice that two pair of enormous eyes were staring in through the window. Each pair of eyes, in turn, was part of an even larger face. In addition, two enormous right hands each gave a brief wave in the direction of the assembly.

"Gentlemen, I would like you to welcome troopers Leslie and Shirley McCovey of the Coogan's Bluff barracks of the Frontier Patrol."

"Bloody 'ell," muttered Knobby, "they's grolls".

"But we're on the second floor," said Dobler, as if trying to reassure himself.

"Grolls is big," Knobby went on in a whisper. "They's a cross between a giant and a troll."

"Knobby, I think they're bending down to look in the window."

"On their knees, more like," said Knobsmasher.

Reeves rapped for order. "All right then, you all have your assignments. Let's be extra careful out there, shall we."

Thanks DX

[Psst, Gud, I think you posted under the wrong user name.]

"Excellent" I declare after looking over the convention reports.

"Everything is running smoothly sir" says my assistant.

"Good. Has my speechwriter finished my keynote address?" I ask.

"Um......" says my assistant while showing a keen interest in the ceiling.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Um.......You see, the thing is....."

"Yes!?" I demand.

"You were....um....bumped" he says while showing a keen interest in the floor.

"Bumped!? By who!?" I demand.

"They've booked Death."

"Death!? Death!? That guy with the robe and the sickle? He isn't even evil, he's just, you know, inevitable." Being a firm believer in killing the messenger, I reach for my sword. Then I reconsider, it takes forever to fill the assistant job opening.

"I agree sir, it isn't right and you are much much more evil, but you know how many Death fanboys there are in the evil community." He explains in a soothing sort of manner.

I sigh. "Yeah. When am I speaking?"

My assistant looks over his clipboard. "1:00am in the 7th circle conference room, second day".

I nod, 1:00am is a good time slot for Evilcon. "Very well, are there any other events at that time?"

"Um....." says my assistant while showing a keen interest in the window.

"What now?" I demand.

"The thing is...."