Slimy Underbelly

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Sheyenne flitted up to him and said, “Boo!” Although it’s what ghosts are expected to do, I had never seen Sheyenne play such a dirty trick before.

  Wenkmann nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled, holding the screwdriver as a weapon. He wore spectacles and a bleached white lab coat that didn’t have a single fresh stain on it. His plastic pocket protector held six neatly spaced retractable pens. “Who are you? How did you get in here? Are you from the cable company?”

  “We’re here on behalf of the former tenant of this lab,” I said. “Jody Caligari.”

  “Oh, he’s not here anymore.” He set the screwdriver down. “I was expecting the new cable installation service—and my phone. Do you do installations?”

  “Afraid not,” I said.

  Wenkmann looked disgusted. His thick brown hair stood up in unruly shocks, as if he had discharged his new electrical apparatus without properly grounding it first. “They said they’d be here between noon and five, but they’re late. I can’t wait here all day.”

  “How long have you occupied this lab space, sir?” I asked.

  “Just moved in yesterday morning, and I’ve barely had time to unpack. I’m expanding from my home laboratory, since my wife says the workbench clutters up too much of the basement. This is my new secret lair.”

  “Secret lair with a lease.” I raised my eyebrows.

  “My man cave. And it’s better than the garage.”

  “When you leased the place, did the former tenant leave any of his possessions?” I pressed. “We believe our client’s research was unlawfully confiscated, and he hired us to retrieve it.”

  Wenkmann shook his head, looking around the laboratory. “No, it was perfectly empty, everything clean and tidy, scrubbed down with bleach. It could have been the site of a mass murder.”

  “Our client’s not a serial killer,” I said, “just a supervillain in training.” I hadn’t really expected to solve the case so easily. “We’ll have to speak with Ah’Chulhu ourselves, then.”

  Wenkmann looked disturbed. “Good luck. I’ve only met him once, when I signed the lease. He offered me an End of Days Days special, first and last month’s rent covered—but he didn’t say covered in what—and for the term of the lease he wrote ‘Imminent.’ ”

  He went over to another box, removed the lid, and lifted out a detached hard drive and a computer monitor. “But I was happy to get it. Good sewer lab space is at a premium—and expensive.” He sighed. “Still, moving is an awful lot of work. I really need to get some minions. Say, do either of you know how to hook up a computer system? I’ve got my stereo, too.”

  Sheyenne and I politely bowed out. We had other demons to face: We would have to find and confront Ah’Chulhu.

  CHAPTER 14

  We left Jody’s former lab before Dr. Wenkmann could press us into service unpacking boxes or hooking up the office sound system. Sheyenne and I headed into the sewers in search of Ah’Chulhu’s main real-estate offices.

  As we moved into the dank tunnels, I said, “Told you I’d show you interesting things and exotic places, Spooky.”

  Sheyenne’s ethereal form flitted beside me as I sloshed along. “I’m not complaining. And you’re the one getting his feet wet. I should get you a pair of galoshes.”

  “Edgy private eyes don’t wear galoshes.”

  “No, but people with dry feet do.”

  We strolled through the Laboratory District, where numerous underground tenants conducted sinister and imaginative experiments with varying degrees of success or disaster. Maniacal chemists worked on immortality formulas, super-strength serums, transformative potions, horrific nerve toxins, and even sentient ambulatory wads of phlegm. Biological specialists occasionally joined forces with their chemistry colleagues to build monsters, transplant heads, clone brains, and mutate naïve volunteers who hadn’t read the fine print before signing their release forms. Engineering mad geniuses tinkered with gadgets and built killer robots, death rays, teleportation rigs, and garage spaceships. According to rumor, there were preserved alien bodies down in one of the sewer labs, but that had turned out to be a false statement used to drive up the property values.

  We passed three empty labs with signs on the doors that said, FOR RENT. CONTACT AH’CHULHU UNDERGROUND REALTY, with a phone number. No price was listed. When I tried to call the number, however, I got no cell reception down in the catacombs—and no one seemed to have a landline. Sheyenne found an old pay phone, but it was submerged beneath three feet of murky water, where it could only be used by amphibious creatures. I didn’t have a quarter anyway.

  At one of the empty labs, Sheyenne picked up a folded brochure that described the full catalog, with photos, of available laboratory properties and a description of the wonders of the underground. The ad touted, “Phase Two coming soon. Massive expansion expected. Now you can own sewer-front property.”

  Creatures skittered along the catacombs. Escaped lab rats with prehensile tails and bat wings swooped low through the tunnels, squeaking. Slithery things gurgled just beneath the surface, minding their own business and paying little attention to a zombie wading past.

  Shrieking and chattering, four lime-green rhesus monkeys gamboled along, grabbing pipes in the brick ceiling overhead, as another mad scientist ran out of his lab after them. “You come back here! You’re not done with your tests.”

  I wondered how many half-finished experiments had gotten loose and run amok down in the sewers. It was a real melting pot down here . . . or maybe a chamber pot was the better metaphor.

  A shrunken troll-like creature hunched in a tiny canoe, paddling along; he passed me by without saying a word. The back of his little boat was filled with groceries.

  Perched on a platform at an intersection, four frog demons much like Lurrm wore red-and-white-striped suits and straw boater hats, and sang an eerily harmonious barbershop quartet. They had placed a hat on top of a floating lily pad to appeal for donations, but so far they had raised only a few coins. I peeled a dollar from the soggy mass in my waterlogged wallet and dropped it in the hat.

  “We’re looking for the offices of Ah’Chulhu Realty,” I told the frogs. “Do you know where we could find them?”

  The four amphibious demons sang out in rising barbershop harmony, “No, no, no, noooo!” Then the tenor gestured with a squishy fingertip. “But you can try over there.”

  We thanked the amphibious creatures and moved on. Behind us, a flying mutant lab rat swooped in front of the quartet. Just before they began to sing, one of the frog demons lashed out with a long, sticky tongue, grabbed the creature out of the air, and swallowed it in a big gulp.

  We asked several other underdwellers about Ah’Chulhu, but they all seemed too frightened or too stupid to be able to answer (by my guess, the numbers were running about fifty-fifty).

  Sheyenne shook her head. “It doesn’t make good business sense for a real-estate agent to hide his office. How does he know we’re not customers looking to rent his lab space?”

  “Typical tentacle-faced demon,” I said. “They believe they’re omniscient and omnipotent, and they think everyone else should be, too.”

  “I’ll bet that makes them score low on customer-satisfaction surveys,” Sheyenne said.

  We passed under an overhang where a misshapen ghoul played a mournful banjo; then we turned down another tunnel that seemed dimmer, more sinister, and homey. The greenish catacomb glow was augmented by flickering lights in ceiling cages.

  “Ah’Chulhu!” I yelled out, and my words echoed in the damp air like a succession of diminishing sneezes.

  Something stirred in the water around me, which would have been alarming even under normal circumstances—not that there was a normal circumstance in which I would have been wading through the sewers in the dark. Rough, scaly figures drifted close, looking like lumpy logs. They came from three different directions.

  Sheyenne hovered next to me. “I don’t like this, Beaux.”

  I braced myself, re
moving my pistol from its holster, where I had managed to keep it dry. “It’s not my favorite thing either.”

  Three hideous creatures rose up, standing erect and covered with scales, dripping greenish brown water. They had muscular arms, thick claws, and long snouts that bristled with teeth. Their golden eyes had reptilian slits. I hoped they weren’t muggers.

  I faced them. “You look like crocodiles playing dress up.”

  The three creatures looked at one another, confused. “Crocodiles?” one said in a deep voice that sounded like a belch forming a word.

  “Not stinkin’ crocodiles!” said the second, deeply offended.

  “We’re alligators.” The third tapped the extended end of his face. “Note the snout.”

  “How can we help you?” Sheyenne asked.

  “We hear you’re looking for Ah’Chulhu. We’re his lieutenants.”

  “If he’s a real-estate salesman, why does he need lieutenants?” I asked. “Why not additional sales associates?”

  “Told you,” muttered one of the gator-guys to his companions.

  “Lieutenant sounds better,” said the second one. “And we can’t spell associates.”

  “Can you spell lieutenant?” I asked.

  “L-O-O . . .” Then the creature gave up and shook his head.

  A second tried. “L-U-T.”

  “Not right either,” I said.

  “Damn this reptilian brain,” said the first gator-guy. I started thinking of them as Moe, Larry, and Curly.

  “We’d like to see Mr. Ah’Chulhu about one of his laboratory spaces,” Sheyenne said in a crisp professional manner. “But we can’t seem to find his office.”

  “We’ll escort you,” said one of the gator-guys.

  “That’s it! We’re escorts. E-S-K-O-R-T-Z.”

  “Don’t strain yourselves,” I said.

  The indignant gator-guy—Larry—said, “Cut us some slack. We had a hard childhood. All of us were cute little alligator pets with wonderful lives, a nice home, little boys who played with us.”

  Moe said, “But we got too big and too hungry, and when the families lost a few pets—”

  “And a little sister, in my case,” said the third gator-guy, Curly.

  “They decided enough was enough and flushed us down the toilet,” said Moe. “Abandoned us. We were homeless, frightened and alone in the sewers. But Ah’Chulhu took us in, raised us, gave us jobs as sales associates.”

  “Lieutenants,” said Larry.

  “Escorts,” said Curly.

  “He’s a civic-minded demon,” said the first gator-guy. “So many reptiles get flushed down into the sewers that he opened up his own orphanage, where Ah’Chulhu cares for all the innocent scaly creatures. He raises us right.”

  “Sounds like a real inhumanitarian,” Sheyenne said. “We can’t wait to meet him. Can you take us?”

  “We insist,” said the gator-guys.

  Pressing close, they turned at an intersection of underground corridors and led us onward.

  CHAPTER 15

  The gator-guys were precisely as intelligent as I suspected. As thuggish lieutenants they were frightening enough, but as effective sales associates they weren’t particularly warm and fuzzy. (Most reptiles aren’t.)

  As escorts, they totally sucked.

  Larry, Moe, and Curly got lost three times trying to lead us to the headquarters of Ah’Chulhu Underground Realty. We headed down one tunnel to find a bricked-up dead end; then we passed a large effluent drainage pipe that didn’t look familiar to any of them. After a long, hissing consultation, the gator-guys turned around and backtracked to the main intersection, where we finally found the barbershop quartet of frog demons again.

  Moe looked down at his scaly palm, on which he had written an address with ballpoint ink. “This is in case I forget where we live.” He held his hand up to the frog demons. “Do you know where I can find this street?”

  “Turn left,” sang the first member of the amphibious barbershop quartet.

  “Then right,” sang the bass.

  “Then right again,” sang the baritone in a rising register.

  “And then LEFT!” sang the tenor.

  The gator-guys were overwhelmed by the information, looking down at their submerged feet. I suspected they had left and right marked on their shoes to help them keep track, but they couldn’t see through the murky sewer water.

  “We’ll take it from here,” I said and headed off in the lead, letting the three gator-guys hurry after me. I could tell Sheyenne was growing impatient.

  We finally reached a cavernous grotto, which was like a sunken cathedral—Ah’Chulhu’s main office complex. Moe, Larry, and Curly led us through an arched opening into the huge chamber, where mushrooms grew on the walls, and flying bat-winged rats swooped around the ceiling like hummingbirds. Dozens of erect gator-guys kept themselves busy next to frog demons and other slithery things.

  The center of the chamber held a raised and ornate stone dais carved with ancient writings, starfish-headed creatures, and hieroglyphics laid out in patterns like crossword puzzles. On top of the dais, the awe-inspiring tentacle-faced Ah’Chulhu sat upon his porcelain throne.

  His smooth gray head was rounded like the abdomen of a fat spider, and it glistened with a thin coating of ultra-gloss slime. His widely set eyes blazed a baleful red, but the lower half of his face was a distraction of quivering tentacles that extended from nose level all the way down to his chest, like a beard of eels. He had human arms and legs, and wore a dapper gray business suit, sharp-creased gray dress slacks, white shirt, and a blue power tie. He primly crossed one leg over the other.

  Seeing us, Ah’Chulhu half-rose from his commanding white throne. His voice echoed out with a deep resonant power, as if thrumming partly from another dimension. The oddest part of all was that he spoke with a pronounced Australian accent. “G’day, mates! Welcome to my grotto. Here to talk about real estate?”

  Ah’Chulhu’s facial tentacles twitched, and I had no idea whether or not he was grinning. He gestured with a human hand toward one of the frog demons. “You there, go throw another tadpole on the barbie for our friends! Then we can get down to business.”

  I stood in my damp and rank sport jacket, adjusted my fedora, which I considered part of my business attire even though I had no use for a hat down in the sewers. “I’m Dan Chambeaux, zombie private investigator, and this is my associate, Sheyenne.” Unable to resist, I turned to the gator-guys next to me. “Associate: A-S-S-O-C-I-A-T-E.”

  “I knew that was how to spell it,” said Curly.

  Moe snickered. “He said A-S-S!”

  I turned my attention back to the tentacle-faced demon. “We’re here on behalf of a client, regarding some mad scientist laboratory space.”

  “Ah, so you’re lookin’ to rent? I’ll be a waltzing Matilda!”

  “What’s with the accent?” Sheyenne asked. “It’s a little overboard.”

  Ah’Chulhu said, “This is my natural voice. I’m from down under.”

  Now it made sense. “A young man rented lab space from you so he could work on some very important research projects that would have let him conquer the world.”

  “Or destroy it,” Sheyenne added.

  Ah’Chulhu was unimpressed. “That’s what they all say. Crikey! I don’t want any dramas. Who is this person you’re talking about?”

  “Jody,” I said. “Jody Caligari.”

  “Oh, the kiddiwink! Cute bloke,” Ah’Chulhu said. “He’ll never get far in this world looking like that. Much too normal.”

  “A person can’t help how he’s born looking,” Sheyenne said.

  The comment seemed to sting Ah’Chulhu. His face tentacles twitched, and he looked away. “I remember the ankle-biter. Talks heaps, but he’s charming in a human sort of way. Never should have rented to him in the first place, though. Crikey, he’s irresponsible!”

  I said, “He claims you evicted him without cause and confiscated his possessions.”
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  “I confiscated his possessions all right—just might have to sell ’em at auction to get back the money he owes me. No matter what he told you, the little bugger was not evicted without cause. There’s a waiting list on those labs, you know.”

  “We did see several empty ones for rent.”

  “Offers pending.”

  I pressed the issue. “So Jody’s possessions are intact?”

  Ah’Chulhu reached over beside his porcelain throne to tap one of several rectangular lockers piled up beside him. “Everything is right here, safe and sound, but these items aren’t going anywhere until he pays his back rent and late fees.”

  Now that was new information. “We didn’t know about the late rent,” I admitted. I wondered how much else Jody had neglected to tell us.

  “Three months behind,” Ah’Chulhu said. “Bugger, I was perfectly within my rights to evict the kiddiwink and get a new, more reliable tenant.”

  “I can’t believe you signed a lease contract with a minor in the first place,” Sheyenne said. “Jody’s only twelve.”

  Ah’Chulhu let out a long sigh that blew his facial tentacles outward. “First you complain that I evicted your client, and now you’re upset that I signed a lease in the first place? Crikey, what are you, a lawyer?”

  “No,” I said, “but our partner is.”

  The assistant frog demon came over to us holding skewers of barbecued tadpoles, but Ah’Chulhu held up a hand. Now he seemed pissed. “Bring those to me. This isn’t a social visit anymore, and these aren’t potential customers.”

  The frog demon hopped over to the porcelain throne, and Ah’Chulhu snatched the skewers. The snakelike appendages on his face plucked the crispy tadpoles off of the skewers and drew them into his hidden mouth. After slurping noisily, he tossed the skewers to the side.

  “Real estate is a bonzer cutthroat business,” Ah’Chulhu said. “And property values are going up. I’m a businessman specializing in unreal estate, and I’m within my rights to hold the kid’s toys until he pays.” Now he pressed his hand firmly on the locker beside the throne, as if to keep the confiscated objects from escaping. He leaned forward, his facial tentacles squirming. “I might suggest you move your offices underground, just so you can be prepared.”