Her nameplate said, “Hi, I’m Frieda. I’m here to help.”
I nudged Geck, and we walked up to the desk. The newt was far too short, and I had to lift him up so he could meet the cat’s-eye glasses with his remaining eye.
I looked behind the counter and saw that Frieda the Spider Lady had a nest of additional multi-jointed limbs all curled up beneath her flower-print dress. One set of hands was typing, while another paged through a printed book; behind her, two more limbs reached out to pluck volumes off a shelving cart. She gave us part of her attention. “How may I help you?”
“I’m Dan Chambeaux, Private Investigator, ma’am, and this newt is my client, Geck. I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding, and I’m here to help resolve it.”
The librarian frowned. “Misunderstanding? If words and sentences were stated clearly, there would be no misunderstandings.”
“My library book is late,” Geck blurted out, sounding ashamed.
The Spider Lady practically recoiled, as if he had hurled a terrible insult at her. “That changes things. Substantially.”
I interjected, holding up the Shakespeare Pre-Humous Writings volume I had carried from his dank quarters. “My client has incurred library fines, which he is willing to pay, so long as he stops receiving threatening letters from the library. As you can see, he has already suffered a great deal of physical harm.” I used my “be reasonable” voice, which rarely worked against villains; even so, the detective training handbook suggested being reasonable as a first step.
Frieda’s voice was filled with venom. “And what is this book? How valuable is it?” Beneath the counter, her hidden limbs twitched. Many of them ended in claws. “And how despicable are you?”
Geck stammered and held out a rumpled receipt, while I slid over the book. The Spider Lady nudged her cat’s-eye glasses, and her face seemed to wither even more. “This was part of our special Shakespeare collection—do you have any idea what sort of damage you’ve done? How many college treatises have been delayed because the authors had no access to this wonderful tome?”
“I … I’m sorry.”
“And it’s autographed too!” said Freda, as if that were the last nail in the coffin.
“You do realize that the autograph is fake, ma’am?” I pointed out, hoping that might mitigate her ire. “The author of the posthumous works is not the real Shakespeare’s ghost.”
The librarian sniffed. “It’s still of historical and popular interest.” She shuffled papers and withdrew a formal parchment document that looked like a death sentence decree. A dozen names were written on it, seven of which had been crossed off, as if terminated.
Geck the Newt was on the list, third from the bottom. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he blubbered, then quickly slapped a moist and rumpled twenty on the counter next to her nameplate. “I’ll pay the fine—I’ll pay double!—just please don’t send your goons after me. Don’t take my other eye!”
Now it was the Spider Lady’s turn to look off balance. “Take your other eye? Why on earth would I wish to do that? My sole reason for existence is to encourage reading. If I took your other eye, that would be against my principles, although the library does have a large selection of unabridged audiobooks.”
I stood up for Geck. “My client was recently accosted in an alley by a rock monster and a golem, both of whom are known to work here in the library. If you didn’t send them to steal his eye, then who did?”
The Spider Lady seemed flustered. “You must mean Rocky and Ned. They’re just part-time contract security guards. It’s so hard to find good security guards in the Unnatural Quarter—they tend to suffer unfortunate ends. But I had to let Rocky and Ned go. I caught them eating in the library, which is inexcusable.”
She snatched the bill and used one folded arm to squirrel it away in a small cashbox, while another arm took the book and stacked it on the shelving cart behind her. With a third hand, she stamped PAID on her hit list next to Geck’s name.
She reached out with another one of her long arms and slapped a zombie reader who had unconsciously folded down the corner of a page in order to mark his place. “Damage to library property! I will write you up.”
I got her attention again. “If you didn’t put out a contract to take my client’s eye, then who did?”
“How should I know that?”
I indicated the sign on the desk. “It says you’re a reference librarian.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to do your own research, Mr. Shamble. You might begin by asking whether this action was a punitive measure against Geck specifically, or if someone actually needed the eye for some other purpose.”
IV
I knew we could get worthwhile advice from the Unorthodox Lab Equipment and Organ Boutique, a small specialty business that catered to a broad clientele ranging from hobbyist mad scientists to evil corporate research centers with underground monster-development programs.
An imp named Gunther managed the place and kept all his wares in total disorganization on the shelves, like a secret code that only he knew how to interpret. His business had picked up dramatically after the demise of Tony Cralo’s Body Parts Emporium, a giant organ superstore run by an obese zombie mobster. After I had exposed Cralo to justice, his business completely collapsed. Score one for the good guys. That annoyed many of the Quarter’s mad scientists, however, because they could no longer do one-stop shopping.
The little imp was climbing a set of shelves and stacking glass jars filled with specimens preserved in formaldehyde. The jars themselves were as big as the diminutive imp, but he was strong. Gunther nearly lost his grip on a jar filled with intestines labeled with a sticker that said Great for decorating!
Seeing us, he swung down with simian agility and dropped with flat feet on the countertop. His gaze turned immediately toward the newt, focusing on the bandages. “Looks like somebody’s in the market for a new eye! I have a wide selection.” He clucked his pointed tongue. “I’ll have to take socket measurements, though. Would you like to match the original color, or should we try something more fashionable?”
Geck said, “I’d rather have my own eye back—and I want to keep the one I still have.”
When I explained how my client had been attacked, the imp proprietor seemed very disturbed. “The Unnatural Quarter is going down the tubes. Sure, people used to get roofied and wake up in hotel bathtubs missing a kidney or two, but that was just an expected part of the business. Taking an eye right out on the streets?” The imp shook his head in disgust.
“Have you had any customers asking for an eye of newt?” I asked.
“Not in particular. Sure, newt eyes are rare, but I have a selection of perfectly adequate toad eyes and salamander eyes. They’ll do in a pinch.” He clucked his pointed tongue again, touching Geck’s bandages. “I could make do, find something that’ll fit you, though it might look a little odd. Any decent scientist could install one, so long as it’s in good condition.”
“But is there a reason why someone would particularly want Geck’s eye?” I asked. “What are newt eyes used for?”
“I used mine for seeing,” Geck snapped.
“I meant what would someone else use it for.”
The imp pondered. “Various organs have potent sorcerous aspects, particularly the organs of magical creatures. Livers, spleens, pituitary glands, testicles, and the like. Rare, ancient magic books listed eye of newt as a vital ingredient for every sorcerer to have in the pantry, but it was never used to work magic. Those tomes weren’t spell books.” Gunther gave an impish grin. “They were recipes, you see.”
“Recipes?” Wheels began to turn in my mind.
“Yes,” said the imp. “Eye of newt is primarily used in cooking.”
With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, like the aftereffects of a bad pepperoni pizza, I hurried with the newt back to the Unnatural Quarter’s Stone Cold Monster Cookoff.
We bumped into Officer Toby McGoohan, who was walki
ng the beat and presumably maintaining order. The only orders, though, were being taken by shuffling zombie waitresses at the outside tables of the Ghoul’s Diner.
“Hey, Shamble!” McGoo tipped his blue patrolman’s cap. “Just another day on the job. There’ve been reports of culinary unrest.” He nodded toward the grandstand where the three finalist chefs were finishing their hours-long preparations for their masterpiece dishes. Runners dispersed small samples among the spectators, who would then vote on the winner. No doubt there was illicit gambling, bookies taking bets as well as exchanging family recipes.
“If the wrong person wins, McGoo, there’ll be some digestive upset among the crowd.”
I noticed he was eating something wrapped in dripping paper, a meal from one of the food carts that catered to the human audience members: a hot dog that was wrapped in bacon and stuffed inside a glazed jelly donut. McGoo took a bite, then frowned at the show on stage. “I don’t know how anybody can eat that stuff.” He wiped the congealing mess from his lips.
“We already have enough to make our stomachs queasy, McGoo. A couple of thugs roughed up my client, Mr. Geck. They took his eye last night. At first we thought it was payback for an overdue library book, a contract taken out on him by the Spider Lady herself.”
McGoo paled, which made the freckles on his cheeks seem more prominent. “The Spider Lady?”
I held up a hand. “But it wasn’t that. We think these thugs stole Geck’s eye … for some nefarious purpose.”
“There’s always some nefarious purpose. Did you get a description of the perps?”
“Just general details. One’s a rock monster, the other’s a golem. Names are Ned and Rocky.”
“That’s enough to go on.” McGoo pursed his lips. “I’ve been patrolling the crowd here. Lots of spectators, but I think I noticed that rock monster … now that you mention it, he was with a golem. They were sitting at one of the outdoor tables at the Ghoul’s Diner. I only noticed them because the rock monster was eating a bagel—a toasted onion bagel, but with strawberry cream cheese on it.” He frowned. “That’s the sort of thing an attentive cop will notice.”
To the roar of the crowd, Leatherneck ladled out samples of his Texas chainsaw chili, passing small cups around the crowd. He had reopened the big gash on his forearm so he could spruce up each bowl with a splash of blood. The vampire spectators crowded forward, eager to get their sample even with the addition of oregano to the pot. The persistent Kitchen Litch had managed to fricassee enough of the large beetles that she was prepared to serve, though she had not yet garnished the meal with her bloodsucking gnats.
The three of us hurried off to the diner at the edge of the cookoff crowd. Albert Gould had set up rickety card tables and temporary benches to take advantage of the additional customers, even though they were all watching the cookoff. McGoo pointed, “There’s the bagel!”
I did see the onion bagel covered with strawberry cream cheese—which was certainly out of the ordinary—being held by a lumpy rock monster, a creature composed of assembled stones and a large yawning mouth just made to pulverize bagels. Next to him sat a gray clay golem sipping a tiny cup of espresso. I was shocked because I hadn’t known the Ghoul’s Diner served espresso.
Geck hopped up and down, trying to see. “That’s them!”
On the stage with his big booming laugh, the green-skinned Ragin’ Cajun Mage stirred his cauldron of nightmare étouffée. “Almost finished! Enjoy those other morsels while you can—and be prepared to surrender your taste buds to the Mage.”
McGoo and I stepped up to the table, interrupting the rock monster and the golem. I tried to be as tough and determined as a zombie detective can be. “Are you Rocky? We’d like to have a word with you.”
The rock monster turned its blocky head so I could see blazing red eyes deep within cave-like sockets. “I’m Ned. He’s Rocky.” He gestured to the golem, then took another big grinding bite of his bagel.
“We need to talk with both of you,” I said.
McGoo puffed up his chest. “We’ve heard reports that you assaulted a citizen of the Quarter.”
“Me, me!” said Geck, bouncing up and down. The newt was so short he didn’t come up to the edge of the table, and the two thugs hadn’t noticed him. I gave him a hand, lifting him up so the two could see him. “You stole my eye!”
“You got proof of that?” grumbled the rock monster. “It was dark in that alley. How can you be sure it was us?”
“So, you admit you were there,” McGoo said.
Rocky the golem said, “Considering this person’s condition, he’s unreliable as an eye-witness.”
Ned the rock monster snickered.
“It was them!” Geck said. “I’d point them out in a lineup any day of the week.”
The rock monster rose to his feet, towering over us. “We took a job, we got paid. We’re just blue-collar workers.”
Rocky stood up to join him. “A golem is required to follow whatever commands a master issues, even a temporary master. There’s been a legal precedent. We’re not responsible for whatever we allegedly did or didn’t do.”
Ned added, “Besides, five bucks is five bucks.”
“And assault on a newt is still considered assault,” said McGoo. “I’m going to have to—”
Geck suddenly cried out as he jumped onto the table, disturbing the tiny cup of espresso and knocking the half-eaten bagel to the ground. “Look, look! That’s my eye!”
On stage, the Ragin’ Cajun Mage stood over his noisome vat of nightmare étouffée. He tried to impart a sense of awe on the spectators. “And the last, the rarest, the most special secret ingredient—not available at stores!—we add for the finish, eye of newt!”
The crowd gasped.
Geck shrieked.
The green-skinned Cajun chef dangled the vial containing the stolen amphibian eye and let the silence hang for a long and dangerous moment. Even the large aquariums of live mutated crawdads and live assorted tentacles thrashed and churned, either applauding or dreading the imminent moment when they would become part of the cooking performance.
“That’s my eye!” Geck yelled again and bounded toward the stage.
The crowd stopped munching on their fricasseed beetle samples or Texas chainsaw chili. Many dropped their cups on the ground.
McGoo withdrew his service revolver and pointed it at the Ragin’ Cajun Mage. “Stop right there! That eyeball is private property. Everyone else, stay calm.”
Of course the spectators panicked.
Knowing the crowd could turn ugly—well, the crowd was already ugly, but it could get worse—I pointed at the golem and the rock monster. They were both mercenaries to the core. “Five bucks if you help us resolve this,” I offered.
“Each?” asked Ned.
I hesitated only a second and considered it a worthwhile investment. “Each.”
The two large, gray forms lumbered into the crowd.
The newt dashed up onto the stage with the speed of a sun-warmed lizard. Geck threw himself with a full fury at the Cajun Mage, attempting to tackle him and seize his eye before it fell into the cauldron of étouffée. Alas, unaccustomed to his lack of depth perception, Geck missed. He only brushed against the green-skinned cook and instead careened into the live aquariums, which the Mage chef had opened, preparatory to serving. Both glass cases toppled over, dumping out a menagerie of edible horrors. Hundreds of mutated crawdads and assorted live tentacles went thrashing into the crowd. People began screaming.
McGoo yelled, “Watch out! The ingredients are loose.”
Tentacles flung themselves on fleeing mummies. Crawfish clipped their pincers on the spiky fur of a punk rocker werewolf, who clawed his own cheeks in an attempt to get them off.
The Kitchen Litch quickly evacuated from the grandstand, taking the last samples of fricasseed beetles with her, but in her alarm, she bumped the sealed container of frrresh, live, blood-sucking gnats that she had reserved for garnish, and the swarm of b
lack biting things flew up, indiscriminately buzzing around everyone on the stage.
Next to the cauldron, the Cajun Mage flailed, trying to beat back the frenzied one-eyed newt.
Rocky and Ned cleared a way through the crowd with all the finesse of two bulldozers, knocking people aside on their way to the stage. I followed them.
Ned bellowed at the chef in his cavernous voice, “We’re going to need that eye back!”
“I’m going to need it!” Geck jumped up and down, grabbing for the vial clenched in the Mage’s green hand.
More large black beetles had escaped from the Kitchen Litch’s wicker basket, and Leatherneck, seemingly unphased by the chaos, reached out with his big strangler’s hands and grabbed them to add to his pot of chainsaw chili.
McGoo stomped on the assorted tentacles and kicked away crawdads that nipped at his ankles. “Keep calm!” he yelled.
The golem and the rock monster got themselves so entangled in the rebellious ingredients that I made it to the stage first. The cloud of blood-sucking gnats swarmed around me, but the biting creatures went away disappointed, with no taste for embalming fluid.
The Cajun Mage looked indignantly into his étouffée. “But this would have been the perfect batch. You’ve ruined everything!” He dodged the newt and opened the glass vial. “Without the secret ingredient, it might as well just be a casserole. I must finish for the sake of the culinary arts!” He upended the vial over the cauldron.
As if in slow motion, Geck groaned, “Nooooo!”
But I got there just in time, lashing out with my outstretched hand. I caught the detached eye of newt in my palm, and it plopped there, sitting moist and squishy, unpleasant to the touch … but safe.
Rocky and Ned reached the stage just as I backed away cradling Geck’s eye. The golem and the rock monster grabbed the Cajun Mage, lifted him up, and dumped him into the large pot of nightmare étouffée, where he stirred and whisked himself helplessly.
Geck hurried over to me, trembling. “You saved my eye! Do you think it can be reattached?”
“There’s a good chance. We have the best mad scientists in the Quarter,” I said. “Though, from now on, you may need reading glasses.”
Services Rendered: The Cases of Dan Shamble, Zombie Page 3