The night was wearing on. Both Goliath and the Elder had not spoken, partly because Goliath was quiet by nature and the Elder was not the pushy type, and partly because the non-stop city beneath held them both captivated. The horseless wagons that moved with such speed never seemed to stop. The people walking along the sides of the buildings flowed nearly without end. The comings and the goings of the police officers they were watching was nearly as ceaseless. They watched, mesmerized. Finally though, the Elder was moved to speak.
"Never have I laid eyes on so much bustle," he said. "But laddie, we've been watchin' for quite some time and no sign of the lassie. Maybe she's not coming?"
Goliath groaned, that half thinking, half worrying low growl of his. "There are far more of them than I suspected. This may take time, more time than we have."
"Aye, time is not on our side," the Elder said. "Tell me, this plan of yours, how long do ya suppose it can wait?"
"It can't," Goliath said.
"So I thought," the Elder replied. "Stay here my boy, and let an old Gargoyle make himself useful."
He rose, leapt onto the edge of the building and then off. Goliath, taken by surprise, gave half a grab to restrain his companion but was too late. Before he could mobilize, the Elder was already across to the other side and had disappeared in the alley next to the building. Goliath watched him drop down into the shadows next to a row of motorcycles. He did not know what he was doing, but at least he was out of sight.
After a few minutes, someone came out the door, down the steps, and swung around the corner into the alley where the Elder had disappeared. Goliath watched, rather concerned, as just in the moment that the person was about to swing a leg over a bike, he was yanked from behind and into the shadow. Goliath stood up halfway. His eyes were wide and he clutched the top of the wall. He squeezed so hard that his talons dug into the top, breaking the mortar and sending some small pieces over the side and down onto the street. When he noticed, he ducked back quickly behind the wall, hoping no one on the street below had noticed. After a few seconds, he slowly raised his head over the wall and looked down to where his companion was. He could just make out the person he had grabbed.
The Elder was clutching his target on both shoulders, holding him about three inches off the ground. The stunned officer was dangling, kicking his feet and attempting to turn, but he was held fast and unable to turn his head far enough to see who had him.
"Easy there, lad," came the voice from behind him. "I'll not do ya any harm, as long as you keep your eyes ahead and don't cause me trouble. I've a question or two for ya, that's all."
"Who are you?!" The officer protested. "I'm a New York City Police Officer! You're committing a felony!"
The Elder squeezed his hands with a quick, sharp pump, the strength of which startled the officer into silence.
"Well, officer," the Elder said. "I haven't a clue what a felony is, but if it involves tearing both your arms from the sockets, I just may be makin' such a commitment if you don't keep yourself quiet."
The officer calmed himself. "What do you want?" He asked.
"Just a little information," the Elder replied. "Ya see, I've a friend whose taken a keen interest in one of your lassies. A dark haired, dark eyed maiden with quite the spirit in her."
"A maiden? You mean one of the female officers?"
"Aye," came the reply.
"You're crazy if you think I'm going to tell you anything about a fellow officer. This is the NYPD, we don't toss each other to the wolves."
"Ahh, loyalty to yer clan—respectable." The Elder tightened his grip. "Here's what I can tell ya, my boy, we're no mind to harm the lassie. We feel she can be helpful to us, and we to her. If that's not enough to put ya at ease, then we'd best be puttin' our focus on the moment at hand."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," the Elder said. "Have ya ever seen a human missing both arms? It's a dreadful sight. Firstly, they look like a walking fence-post, a silly sight that the children can only giggle and point at, assuming they're old enough not to be scared behind their mother's garments." He waited a few seconds to let that sink in. "But, the children and the gigglin' and such aren't the worst part. The worst part is trying to carry everything between yer teeth. Like a hound with a stick. I once saw such a fella, he could draw back the string on a crossbow with his teeth—a sight indeed—but he couldn't fire the thing so he'd stick it between his feet, draw the bolt, and then watch his compatriot grab it and give him a new one to load. The up and down reminded me of fishing for apples in a barrel during festival season. Ya get where I'm going with this, laddie?" As he asked, he tightened his grip on the dangling officer's shoulders and started pulling his hands apart, slowly but incredibly firmly.
The officer held out for a moment, but as the pain began to mount so did his fear.
"Ya can shout my boy," the Elder said, "But I'll be off with both arms before anyone can reach ya, believe me. I always thought a pair of human long bones might make for a nice staff..."
He kept pulling, adding a little more force second by second. Finally, the officer had enough. "Alright! Alright." He said. The Elder let off the pressure. "But you'll have to give me more than 'lassie'. There's dozens of female officers."
"Hmmm. A few nights ago there was a bit of a fuss outside a market of some sort. There was a mob making a ruckus. She came in on one of your funny horseless wagons and gave a mighty fine speech. Seemed to put an end to the siege."
The dangling officer tried to turn his head but couldn't.
"You talking about Maza?" He asked. It almost made sense to him now. She'd been the talk of the department for weeks now. First the story about nearly blowing up the Task Force, then the incident outside the bodega—people were not sure what to make of her, but just about everybody knew who she was. Whatever this craziness was—this weirdo with the odd vocabulary—it seemed like it could fit with Maza.
"If Maza be a strong looking lass with a bit of fire in 'er belly, then aye, she might be the one," the Elder said.
"Maza's the one who talked the crowd down outside that bodega. She's a detective, works out of the 23rd precinct."
"And where'll we find this 23rd precinct?"
"It's a few blocks north of here, on Lexington," the officer said.
"Lexington?" The Elder asked.
"The avenue," the officer replied.
"Avenue?"
"Ya, Lexington avenue. You know, the big slab of concrete cars drive on." The officer was becoming confused, and he was starting to get frustrated dangling in the air as he was.
"Cars?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" The officer asked. "They don't have cars and roads in Ireland or what?! What are you, Irish mafia?"
"Scotland," the Elder replied, half mumbled. He understood now. "Thank ya, laddie. You've been very helpful."
He set the officer on his feet, then flicked him on the back of his head with a powerful middle finger. The officer slumped down and the Elder deposited him gently against the wall. Then he jumped onto the side of the building and, sinking his talons into the stone, climbed to the top of the building. Once there, he leapt off and glided back to Goliath, who was beside himself.
"You could have been seen!" He said, sternly.
"Aye, but what's a mission without a little risk?" He replied. "Besides, I have what we need. The clan there are called police—officers, I think the boy said. Those horseless carriages are called cars and they call the roads Avenues. Strange new words. These are strange times Goliath."
Goliath stared at him with wide eyes. It took the Elder a moment to catch himself.
"Ah, right! Sorry laddie. We're looking for Maza. She's something called a detective," he stumbled a bit over the word. "We're at the wrong fortress—precinct, actually, the boy said. It seems if we head north, up the Lexington road we'll find another precinct called the 23rd. That' where she'll be."
Goliath looked down at the building he'd been staring at for the last couple of hours. 15th Precinct was written above the door. It couldn't be too far to 23, he thought to himself.
"Very well," he said. "We'll circle high and look for another place like this. The fortresses are marked above the gate."
"Precincts. Aye laddie. It'll take those young eyes of yours to see those tiny markings though. Lead the way," the Elder said.
Goliath was concerned about the risk the Elder had taken, but at the same time, it hardly added any more risk to what they were about to do, which was to make contact with an outsider—with this detective Maza. He jumped up, spread his wings, and they were off.