Joe Avery’s Early Cases
by Charles C. Cole
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4 |
The Faun Who Spoke for the Team
I found myself back at the park, at a now-familiar table for a chess lesson with Cupid. Only thing: Cupid was a no-show. In a city our size, there are plenty of obstacles, distractions and, in his particular case, individuals needing to fall in love. I was alone, but this was back in the days when elves watched my every public move. I waited an hour.
I was finally readying to leave when a stray soccer ball rolled just beyond my feet. A teenaged faun-boy gave chase, slowing his approach self-consciously as he neared. I grabbed the ball from the bushes with both hands and tossed it gently his way. He very neatly captured it, pivoted, and sent it back into play, some 100 feet away. A dozen other fauns swarmed the ball like hounds after a fox.
“Nicely done!” I cheered.
“You’re that Avery guy,” he responded, bold and direct. “The one who helped find the lost faery wings.”
I nodded politely. “Don’t you have friends to get back to?” I wasn’t being dismissive; I just wanted him to enjoy his day in the sun, unencumbered by adult worries.
He turned his head to see what he was missing. “They’ll be fine without yours truly; it’s not like we’re in the middle of a match. Besides, I kicked it this way on purpose.”
I’d sensed as much. “I have an office.”
“Offices are for grown-ups. Besides, Mom brags I’ve got the feet of a moose; you don’t want me digging up your polished hardwood floors.”
I was persuaded. “How can I be of assistance? Keeping in mind, I don’t perform any matchmaking or help with homework.”
“My teacher says when adults use sarcasm around kids, it’s because they’re uncomfortable.”
He had me. Last out: “You don’t mind talking to me in front of your friends?” I nodded toward the crowd, a few of whom were still watching attentively.
“Not if it solves my problem. In return, I could send a lot of business your way. You see the guys on the field behind me? I happen to know for a fact every one of them’s got problems. I’m the only one with the guts to face ’em head-on.”
“Spill, kid,” I said, regretting the slang almost as soon as it had left my lips.
There was nothing complicated about his story: humans were reluctant to share Corsica Field with exotics. Something about heavy legs and sharp hooves divoting up the playing field. It didn’t help that the new kids were relegated to post-rainshower afternoons when dainty humans stayed home.
Seeing as I was “semi-famous” — his words — maybe I could talk with someone influential, make the grass-roots confrontations go away. I made no promises but offered to return the next day at the same time.
I hadn’t gone half a city block when I noticed an expected “tail” following a few stores back: a bipedal shadow in dark fedora, sunglasses and black trench coat. Supernatural authorities had me under observation for the alleged crime of being too interested in the welfare of non-human people.
The hat was dipped so far forward — presumably to hide his identity — that I was amazed my accompaniment didn’t walk into a telephone pole. I took a right at the next intersection and ducked into the first available doorway.
As my unidentified friend started to pass me, I knocked his hat off with an upward tap, revealing two very pointy ears: an elf. No doubt his eyes, still hidden behind dark sunglasses, regarded me with bulging disapproval. He had a menacing scar above one cheek that I’d heard was from childhood horseplay gone wrong.
His name was Merlin, and we’d met before. Exposed, he spun and dove to retrieve his hat so fast that his glasses flew off. Then he was scrambling for his facial disguise before said glasses were stepped on by the passing crowd, which led to some awkward bumping with oblivious strangers. I suppressed a cynical snort.
Someone kicked his glasses my way. I scooped them up easily and held them out to him. “Lose something?”
Clearly caught, he quickly decided it was best not to be out of uniform among the masses. He tried to snap them up, but I pulled back, holding them high above my head.
“Thanks,” he growled, perhaps thinking a “universal magic word” would make us pals.
“We need to chat,” I said.
“Can’t. You don’t see me. We never talked; I’m working here.”
“I noticed. So, earn yourself some Brownie points and talk to somebody with authority.”
I had a crazy idea which was sure to meet resistance if it came directly from me. We weren’t going to get anywhere with the human side of the equation, but if we approached a certain influential elf family with an idea for slip-on athletic rubber hooves for fauns and centaurs, fashionable and colorful and sure to leave less permanent damage, some simple thing that showed exotics listened and cared and just wanted to belong...
“A little civilized, don’t ya think?” he asked. “We’re not like you.”
I stared at him, and he reconsidered.
* * *
Another day, another walk to the park. Cupid had sent apologies through Calendula, my half-rosebush receptionist: something about a forgotten prior engagement.
I glanced back for my supernatural operative: nobody. I turned a corner, and someone grabbed my arm above the elbow and escorted me into an alley.
Merlin had a smug smile plastered on his pale face. “Gotcha!”
I yanked myself free. “So much for keeping your distance!”
“I learned: break the rules when the rules need breaking. Production of the new athleticwear is moving forward.”
“Hope you took the credit.”
“After some skepticism, I think the powers-that-be knew all along it was a typical Joe Avery solution.”
“And now?”
“Back to playing cat-and-mouse. There are worse ways to kill a morning. And, smart guy, I’m thinking of wearing a Hawaiian-type shirt to blend in better.”
“Fashionable,” I said.
Copyright © 2026 by Charles C. Cole
