1 Red at the Red River

"BBBRRRIIINNNGGG!" The shrill screech of a landline telephone shattered the serene silence of the office. The occupant, who had been dozing at the time, yelped and jumped out of his chair in surprise, landing in a heap on the messy floor. The phone screeched again, and he winced and clutched his head, having awoken with a splitting headache. He knew the phone would ring again, and untangled himself, kicking an empty paper take out bag across the room as he clumsily reached up to his desk, where the phone was located.

After a second of groping around, he picked it up and brought the phone to his ear quickly. The cord was caught on his desk lamp, and dragged it along with it. Unfortunately, this was the exact moment that the lamp reached the edge of the desk. The lamp slammed him square in the nose and then toppled off of the desk and hit the floor with a crash, the bulb shattering on impact.

"Son of a Bitch!" He shouted, throwing his other hand up and massaging his nose. It was at this moment that he realized the receiver had picked up what he'd said. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead as he listened for his caller's reaction.

"Screw you too. Max, we need you to come down and take a look at a crime scene. There's some people here asking for you specifically, and they're from your neck of the woods." The caller had a deep voice, one that carried authority. And a voice that the office's occupant, Max, always dreaded hearing. That's because whenever he heard it, it meant his life was going to become difficult for the next few weeks.

"Good Morning, Gil. Who's dead?" Max said groggily. His own voice was raspy normally, so that paired with his sleepiness made his voice sound rough, like sandpaper being dragged over concrete.

"Jeez, rough night? And, well, I'm not entirely sure. It's humanoid at the very least, but it's got a long nose and pointy ears. It's also green. Any thoughts?" Gil Gold, the caller and head detective of the Fargo Police Department's Special Investigations Unit would call Max for cases like these.

"Sounds like a goblin of some kind. Where is it?" Max asked, as he switched the phone over to speaker phone and began to get ready to go.

"It's at the Red River Zoo, actually. Right outside the red panda exhibit." Gil sighed thoughtfully after he spoke.

"Huh. Well, I'll be there in twenty minutes. I assume the people asking for me are goblins, yes?"

"Well, they do look a lot like the victim, so I'd say that it's likely. See ya in twenty." Gil hung up without waiting for a response. Max hung up as well, placing the phone back on the receiver. He'd dressed and cleaned up quickly, having decided to dress nicely for the concerned goblins, now wearing a clean navy blue shirt and a gray and black checkered hooded jacket. Tan cargo pants and black boots completed the look.

Giving himself a quick once over in the mirror, Max decided to shave and comb his hair. With any luck, the goblins might hire him. Afterwards, He grabbed a few business cards and his backpack, and left, locking the door behind him.

The cold morning air bit at his face, and Max grunted in annoyance and pulled his hood up as he trudged down the stairs to his car. Max's car was a beaten up Ford which was new back in the eighties. Despite its age, the car still ran more times than not, even if not by much, and the heating usually worked.

He unlocked the car and got in, slung his bag into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him. He tried to start the car, and for a terrible moment, the car didn't start. He twisted the key in the ignition once more, and while the engine sputtered and groaned, the car started, the familiar hum quickly washing away Max's anxiety. He put the car in reverse, and backed out of the building's parking lot.

Traffic was minimal, as it was still early in the morning on a saturday. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and it was currently snowing. While not uncommon, it still encouraged many people to stay in bed.

Max pulled into the Red River Zoo's parking lot and parked, grabbing his bag before he left the car. He parked close to the entrance, and tapped the tiger statue on the nose as he passed it.

"You look like a buffalo." He remarked to the oddly shaped statue, that despite being painted to look like a tiger, still had hooves and a thick and shaggy mane. Immediately after he finished speaking, Max slipped on a thin sheet of ice and fell on his back, landing with a hard thud. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, he stared up at the statue, which stared back at him. From his perspective, it appeared to be grinning at him.

"Yeah, yeah, screw you." He said, pushing himself off of the ground and onto his feet, brushing snow off of his back and behind before walking forwards again, carefully stepping past the ice. He managed to make his way inside without any more injuries, and found a map in the building's main lobby. After locating the red panda exhibit, he went out of the lobby, and turned in the direction of the exhibit. Along the way, he noticed signs of a struggle. Torn grass, violently cracked concrete and of course, a light blood trail. Goblin blood was unlike human blood in the sense that it didn't dry very fast, and it didn't freeze very well either. Max crouched down and dipped one of his long fingers into the liquid, which was still barely warm.

Max remained in this position for a little while, thinking over what this might mean. Goblin blood held heat over a dozen times better than human blood, which would dry completely within sixty minutes at a temperature of twenty degrees celsius. Obviously it was much colder outside, so the blood still being warm ment that it had been spilled within the past twenty-four hours.

After coming to that conclusion, Max stood up and shook the blood off his finger. He kept walking, now seeing that the blood trail became heavier the further he went down. And then he saw the crime scene.

A wide puddle of slick, warm crimson blood had been splattered over roughly two meters of concrete. In the center of the puddle, lay the victim. Just like Gil had said, it was most certainly a goblin. With a long nose and jagged, curved tusks, this was clearly a male goblin, likely in the middle of his life. He wore a suit that was once handsome, but was now jagged and torn. A set of golden cuff links had small droplets if blood splattered on them, but the letters R,G and E were clearly still visible. This goblin's skin was dark green and rough, almost scaly. A large wart sat on the end of the creature's nose, and a mole had sprouted underneath his left eye, which was yellow and glassy, staring up at nothing.

Max grunted as his stomach rumbled in disgust. The goblin had barely been dead for what he assumed to be a few hours, and he already smelled as if he'd been there for several days. Swallowing nervously, Max walked towards the yellow and black caution tape that had been spread around the scene. It was in the taped off section that he saw Gil listening to a trio of goblins with a notepad in hand, clearly taking notes as they spoke. Two of them had lime green skin, and the other with skin the color of zucchini.

Gil was a rough man with a large build and a scary face. At least in his mid to late forties, he'd been on the police force for twenty years, and he looked it. Thick black stubble lined his cheeks and chin. His skin was dark, like the color of plain coffee. His hair was curly and short. He wore a long black coat, with his golden badge pinned on the front pocket. He always wore the same blue shirt and striped tie, with black slacks and light brown loafers. Finally, Gil's eyes were easily the most intimidating- and most intriguing thing about him. At first glance, they were brown and stern, hardened by two decades of police work, and a decade of working with supernatural crimes such as this one. But upon a deeper look, one would see that Gil's eyes had an unmistakable golden glint to them. No one, not even Gil, knew why. All that he knew was that it made people listen to him more, so he always made sure to make eye contact with everyone that he spoke to.

Knowing that he couldn't pass the tape without permission from Gil, Max opened his mouth to call out to him, but was stopped when one of the light skinned goblins noticed him. It stopped speaking to Gil and waved at him, making the veteran cop turn to look at him. His gaze fixed on the lanky man, and he simply nodded at him, as if prompting him to come inside the square. Max ducked under the tape and walked over to the group, which was now facing him.

"Are you Maxwell Locke?" The goblin who'd waved at him asked. The creature's voice was high pitched and scratchy, like blades on a sheet of fiberglass. He and his companions all wore near identical suits, each of them with the same cuff links as the dead goblin. Realization struck Max as he quickly realized what had happened. A political figure must have been killed.

"Excuse me? Sir?" The goblin asked again, his terrible voice bringing Max back to reality. He'd zoned out. So much for looking professional.

"Sorry, yes, I am Maxwell Locke. I'm not super formal, so just Max is fine." He spoke smoothly, hoping to win the goblins over. All of them simply raised an eyebrow at him, as if confused about something.

"Is something the matter?" Max asked, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. He was rusty when it came to goblin traditions, so it was possible that he'd offended them.

"Well, no, not really. You just look different than we expected." The same goblin spoke up again, his tone uncertain. This was quite true. Many rumors surrounded the lanky figure of Maxwell Locke. Some said he was a great hero, who helped anyone in need. Others said he was a greedy hack. Max currently looked like neither of those things. He was of average height for a man of twenty three, but his extremely pale, nearly pasty skin made him look like some sort of walking corpse. Adding in his poorly combed mop of black hair and a patchy shave and his poor posture, Max most certainly didn't appear anything like the goblins had expected.

"I see. So, I assume that guy was a colleague of yours?" Max asked. While he was unsure what the goblin had meant, he decided that the case was more important than his looks. The goblin seemed to agree, as he nodded in response.

"His name was Galgan. Worked with us at the Royal Goblin Embassy. He was an ambassador. Not really a nice guy, but he was good enough at his job. I'm Graven, by the way. Those two are Gager and Garm." The goblins behind him waved nervously. They were clearly afraid of, or at least subservient to Graven.

"As you've already figured out, that's why you're here. We would wish that you find out who killed Galgan, and we would ask you to do it discreetly. We only have a week before our summit with the Elvish Embassy, and we need to know who's behind this before then." Graven said firmly, making direct eye contact with Max as he spoke. He wasn't sure what, but there was something in the goblin's eyes that made him very uneasy. Max shivered, but from cold or discomfort, he didn't know.

With those final words, Graven turned around and walked away, gesturing for Gager and Garm to follow him. Both followed, but not before shooting an uneasy look Max and Gil's way. The latter frowned more than usual at the look, clearly troubled by what it could mean.

Max, on the other hand, was already turning to leave. Why wait when he could get started now? And he would have too, if not for a heavy hand gripping his shoulder tightly. Without even looking, Gil had grabbed hold of the supernatural detective, who had pulled one too many sneaky exits.

"Nice try. You know that you'll have to keep me informed, right?" Gil's tone made it clear that he was more serious than usual, which rubbed Max the wrong way.

"Huh? You never care about these kinds of cases. Why now?" Max asked as he turned around to face the head detective.

"Simple. This is a political case, and while supernatural politics don't affect human politics, goblin on elf violence has been rising greatly lately. If a war breaks out between the two, normal people are gonna be screwed six ways to sunday."

"Yeah, I know. Since I'm here, what's your take on this case so far? And can I get access to the statements you took from those goblins?"

"Seems like a standard assassination to me. One goblin or elf wants war, so they kill the ambassador and pin it on the other side. And there's no way in hell I'm giving you those statements unless you actually sign on to the department as a consultant."

"Wait, I'm not already a consultant? You call me all the damn time!" Max exclaimed.

"Not exactly. I've called you twice. And no, you have to sign a contract to be a police consultant. I just took you for some kind of a concerned citizen. I mean, you did offer your help that first time." Gil crossed his arms as he spoke, his tone a touch lighter, clearly amused at Max's reaction.

Having no response to this, and not having any time to waste on arguing back, Max huffed and crossed his arms before turning around and stomping away. Was his exit childish? Yes. Did he care? Not at the moment.

"Hey, where are you going?" Gil called after him, his tone serious again.

"To sign that consultant contract. I need those statements." Max called back, ducking under the tape and not waiting to hear Gil's response. After he got the statements, he knew just who he had to talk to.

There was only one man in Fargo that would have insight into such a high profile crime, and luckily, he owed Max a favor.