by Scott Meyer
“This is a hell of a situation you’ve put me in.”
“Yes, I know, but remember, I’m her. So, if it makes you feel better, in a very real sense, she put you in this situation.”
8.
“The subject has started the car,” Agent Miller said, leaning forward in his seat and peering through the semi-fogged windshield. He gripped the steering wheel in one hand and put the keys in the ignition with the other.
Agent Murphy continued reading his laptop. “Yeah. Great. Keep me posted.”
“He’s pulling out of the parking space.”
“Fantastic. It’s certainly worth getting all excited over. He’s definitely not just messing with us this time.”
“What’s happened to your attitude, Murph? Why am I the positive one all of the sudden?”
“You’re not being positive. You smell blood. You’re desperate to take Jimmy down, and that’s made it easier for him to jerk you around, which only makes you want to take him down even more. It’s a vicious cycle, and I’m tired of it.”
“Well, the cycle’s been broken,” Miller said. “He’s pulling out of the parking lot.”
Miller started the car, which immediately stalled.
Murphy sighed, opening his door. “I’ll get the banana.”
Miller said, “Hurry. I don’t wanna lose him.”
Behind the car, people shrieked and laughed. One woman pounded on Miller’s side window.
The voice of some unseen pedestrian from the rear of the car rang out, “Ha! You fell for the banana in the tailpipe!”
“Shut up!” Miller shouted, spittle flying from his mouth and hitting the still-rolled-up window. “You shut the hell up!”
Murphy walked to the back of the car, not stopping to answer any of the pedestrian’s questions about bananas, tailpipes, Beverly Hills Cop, or MythBusters.
Across the street, Jimmy’s Lexus took a left turn out of the parking lot.
As Murphy got back in the car, Miller started the engine, shifted into first, and mashed the accelerator.
“Hold on,” Murphy said. “Hold on. I hadn’t even closed my door yet!”
“No time,” Miller said. “He’s on the move, and I ain’t losing him.”
As they joined the flow of traffic, Miller leaned far to one side, then the other, muttering, “Where is he? Where is he? There he is! Three cars up. He’s signaling a left!”
“Calm down,” Murphy said. “You’re fogging up the windows.”
“Then turn on the defogger. We’re gonna get him, Murph. He’s gonna slip up, and we’re gonna get him.”
Murphy fumbled with the climate controls until the vents made a whooshing noise so loud he had to raise his voice to be heard. “No we aren’t, Miller. Our orders are to observe.”
Miller reached up with his left hand and loosened his collar. “Well, we’re gonna observe him slipping up, then we’re gonna get him.”
“We aren’t going to observe anything if this window doesn’t clear up.”
“Turn the blower up!”
“It’s up! The blower is up! It doesn’t blow any harder than that.”
Both men cranked their windows down. Miller peered through the hazy windshield. “I think he’s getting in the turn lane.”
“Signaling a turn, then turning. What could that fiend be up to?!”
“If you’re gonna be a smart-ass, Murph, at least make yourself useful. Wipe some of this crap off the window so I can see, would you?”
Murphy leaned over, stretched his arm out, and used his bare hand to wipe a small hole in the fog. Cold, condensed water rolled off his hand and fell in fat drops on the dashboard. “The open windows aren’t helping.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Miller pulled the car into the left turn lane, two cars behind Jimmy’s Lexus.
“It’s not defogging, Miller. Not at all. It shouldn’t be foggy at all, and it’s refusing to defog. I mean, look, the spot I rubbed clear is already fogging up again.”
“Yeah, so, wipe it again. He’s turning! He’s turning!”
Murphy wiped a hand-sized clear spot in front of himself and leaned forward to look through it. “Yeah, he’s turning all right, Miller. He’s taking a U-turn.”
“He’s trying to lose us!”
The car sputtered and died.
Murphy said, “We should be so lucky.” He opened his door and hotfooted it to the rear of the car to remove the banana they both knew was in the exhaust pipe. When he reentered the car, Miller was honking the horn at the two cars in front of them. Finally, both cars executed their left turns.
Murphy adjusted the rearview mirror and said, “Yeah, there was a banana in the tailpipe. We hadn’t even shut the car off. We were just stopped, waiting to turn. It doesn’t even make sense.”
Miller steered their rented sedan through a tight U-turn that made the tires and the power steering system squeal.
“Miller,” Murphy continued. “He’s messing with us again.”
Miller had his head out the window in an attempt to see. He glanced at Murphy and said, “What?” But he was clearly focusing more on the chase than anything his partner had to say.
“He’s messing with us! I’m pretty sure he’s making the window fog up somehow, and he’s leading us around so that the fogging’ll be a problem. Miller! Are you listening to me?”
“He’s turning again. Right this time.”
“You’re not listening to me.” Murphy leaned over and wiped a large clear patch in front of his partner again.
Miller pulled his head back into the car. “Thanks, partner.”
“You’re welcome. So he’s turning right?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me, are we back near the building he lives in?”
“He’s about to pass it. He’s . . . he’s . . .”
“He’s slowing down, isn’t he?”
“Maybe it’s traffic.”
Murphy didn’t bother to wipe a spot to look through. He just sat back, watched the scenery roll past his open side window, and listened to his partner shout obscenities as Jimmy pulled back into the parking lot of the Luxurious Rothschild Building, which he’d just left.
When Miller had exhausted himself, Murphy said, “Go up to the next light and pull another U-turn. If nobody beats us to it, maybe we can get our old parking spot back.”
9.
Martin materialized without any warning—or entrance music. He hovered in midair, his feet pulled up beneath him to leave as much clearance above the floor as possible. He waved his staff threateningly with his left hand, ready to cast any one of a number of defensive spells he had at the ready. He held his right hand over his eyes, like a child at a scary movie he had mistakenly thought he was old enough to handle, using his semi-spread fingers to filter out anything he didn’t really want to see.
Instead of an attacker of any kind, Martin saw only the interior of Gary’s home, Skull Gullet Cave. He saw no sign of Gary, nor anybody else, but Martin knew Gary well enough not to take his absence for granted. He hovered, spinning slowly, guarding for an attack that never came. Finally, he removed his hand from his eyes, stretched his legs out, and landed.
“Hey, Gary,” Martin shouted. “You home?”
“Back here, in the bedroom,” Gary’s distant voice replied. “Come on back.”
Martin walked past the overbuilt couch and recliners, past the rudimentary kitchen, and down the hallway that led to the bathroom and bedroom. He found the bedroom door slightly ajar and heard hushed voices.
“Is this satisfactory, Master?”
“Yes, but next time, remember to put your gloves on first.”
Martin put his hand, fingers slightly spread, back over his eyes, and pushed the door open.
Gary’
s bedroom was much as Martin remembered it. A very large modern bed, covered with disheveled sheets and a black bedspread, sat in a room devoid of any decorative wall hangings.
At the foot of the bed, Gary stood wearing only a pair of plain briefs. Martin didn’t know if he was surprised or relieved to see that they weren’t brightly colored and festooned with the logo of some superhero.
A black T-shirt hung limply from Gary’s hand. Hubert stood nearby, wearing the jacket and bowtie of a formal tuxedo with tails over his customary filth-colored tunic and britches. He was pulling on a pair of white cotton gloves, making them substantially less white in the process.
“Aw, Gary, please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”
Hubert said, “The master is training me to be his buddaler.”
“Butler,” Gary said. “I’m training him to be my butler.”
“Yeah,” Martin said. “That’s what it looks like.”
“The master says that if I can prove my worth and loyalty, he may teach me magic. In the meantime, he’s paying me a fine wage.”
“And working for me will be a lot more pleasant than his previous job.”
“Indeed,” Hubert said. “After I’m finished helping the master get dressed, I’m to sort his underwear, culling out any pairs that are too damaged to continue using.”
Gary laughed. “Yeah, okay, Hubert. Later on we’re going to have a conversation about butler-master confidentiality. Why don’t you hand me my robe, then go get to work on breakfast? Martin, would you like Hubert to make you anything?”
“Would I like for Hubert to make food, for me to eat? No. No thank you.”
Hubert said, “Very good. And which black robe would the master prefer to wear today?”
Gary said, “You pick one. I trust you.”
Hubert reached into the closet and grabbed one from the middle of a cluster of identical black robes, then handed it to Gary. “Is this one to your liking, Sir?”
“Yes. Thanks. That’ll be all, Hubert.”
Hubert bowed deeply and left the room. Gary sat down on the foot of the bed and started threading a pair of Levis on over his skeletal prosthetic leg.
“You’ve hired a man to help you dress yourself?” Martin asked. “That’s gotta be the laziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Not at all. I’ve gone to the trouble of hiring a man to help me dress. You haven’t gotten around to that yet. It looks like you could use the help. What the hell happened to your robe?”
Martin looked down at his shredded, tattered robe, still shedding sequins every time he moved. “I was attacked by birds. We’ll discuss that later. Gary, what you’re doing to Hubert—it’s not right.”
“I’m giving him a job! Look, he brought up the idea of learning magic from me. You saw me telling him that it wasn’t going to happen. I got to thinking about how desperate he seemed to find a better line of work, and it occurred to me that I couldn’t make him a wizard, but I could come up with something better than being a dung sifter. But hey, maybe I’m wrong. If you think he’d be better off in the dung pile, or the dung fields, or the siftery, wherever it is they do the sifting, feel free to go fire him.”
“I’m not going to fire him, but this doesn’t sit well with me.”
Gary pulled on his black robe as he and Martin made their way from the bedroom back to the living room. As they emerged from the hallway and the kitchen came into view, they saw Hubert closing the door to the freezer, holding a frozen breakfast burrito, still in its plastic wrapper. He pulled on the wrapper’s flat, heat-sealed end with both hands.
Gary said, “Um, Hubert, don’t bother unwrapping it. Just poke a hole in the wrapper, heat it up, and put the whole thing on the plate.”
“Yes, Master.” Hubert tugged again at the wrapper, straining from the exertion, then lifted the wrapper to his mouth and bit a hole in its end. Martin noticed dark smudges on the wrapper where it had been touched by Hubert’s hands and lips.
“So,” Gary asked. “What brings you to my home? I don’t remember inviting you over.”
“I’m calling an emergency meeting.”
“Cool. When and where?”
“Here, any second now.”
“Convenient. I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“You didn’t. I’ll explain when everyone’s here. I wouldn’t have pulled a stunt like this if it weren’t important.” Martin held up his left hand, palm upward.
“Nomita grupo kvin.” A glowing orb appeared in Martin’s hand. He said, “Okay, Gary’s decent and it’s safe. Come on over.”
In quick succession Tyler, Jeff, and Roy appeared, all floating in midair with their legs pulled up protectively and their wands and staffs outstretched to launch a quick counterattack.
“Relax,” Martin said. “He didn’t know we were coming.”
The wizards descended lightly to the ground and dropped their guards.
Gary looked over the group, took a moment to do some mental math, and reached for his staff: a long, gnarled piece of dark wood with action figures of the members of KISS lashed to its top. “I might still have time to get something ready before Gwen, Phillip, and Brit get here.”
Martin held up a hand to stop him. “Phillip and Brit aren’t coming. Gwen’s deliberately late to make it clear that she’s not happy with me right now.”
Gwen appeared. She looked around the room. Only after she’d made eye contact and exchanged friendly greetings with every other wizard did she deign to look at Martin.
“Where are Brit and Phillip?”
“I didn’t invite them.”
“Why not?” Gwen asked.
“We’ll get to that.”
“Since you’re all here,” Gary said, “how about some snacks?”
Roy said, “Sure.”
Martin said, “None for me, thanks.”
Gary clapped twice, in quick succession.
Hubert said, “Yes, Master? What shall I make for your guests?”
All of the wizards turned and looked at Hubert in his tuxedo jacket and mottled white-and-brown cotton gloves.
Tyler asked, “Hubert? What are you doing?”
Hubert puffed his chest out with pride. “The master has agreed to let me be his putler.”
“It’s butler, Hubert,” said Gary.
“Yes, that. Who would like something to eat? It shouldn’t take me long to whip something up.”
The entire group made immediate, emphatic statements to the effect that they were not hungry.
Gary shook his head. “Okay, Hubert. False alarm. How’s my burrito coming?”
“I put it in your demonic heat box as instructed. It should be done soon.”
“Good. We have wizard secrets to discuss. You can go outside for a break.”
Hubert backed out of the room, exiting to the vestibule that led to the outside world, bowing and closing the door as he left.
Jeff looked utterly disgusted. “He came to you to learn magic, and you’re using him as a servant?”
“A properly microwaved burrito is kind of magical. Besides, there’s no shame in being a butler.”
“He’s not a butler,” Tyler said. “A butler oversees the household staff. Hubert’s your valet. They were also sometimes called a gentleman’s gentleman. They tended to a nobleman’s personal needs. The butler managed the household staff.”
“Oh,” Gary said, “I’m still gonna call him my butler. Butlers are just cooler. Like that, what’s his name, Jeeves.”
Tyler squeezed his eyes shut. “Jeeves was Bertie Wooster’s valet, not his butler.”
Gwen put a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “You understand that nobody cares, right?”
Martin cleared his throat. “Let’s get down to business. I suppose
you’re all wondering why I called you here.”
Roy raised his hand but didn’t wait to be called on. “Was it so you’d have a chance to say, I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here?”
“I have always wanted to say that. But no.”
Gwen said, “I assumed it was because you wanted to apologize.”
“I didn’t just call you. I called everybody.”
“I assumed you wanted to apologize in front of everybody.”
“Why?” Gary asked. “What did he do?”
Gwen glared at Martin. “He knows.”
Gary smiled and stepped closer to Gwen. “Hey, if you and Martin are on the outs, just let me say that if you decided to give me a whirl, I promise I’d never have any intention of marrying you.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving.”
“Wait,” Martin said. “This is important. It’s not about you and me. It’s about Phillip.”
Jeff raised his hand and spoke without waiting to be called on. “Is that why you didn’t invite him or Brit? So you could talk smack about Phillip behind his back? Because you should know I’m totally going to tell him everything you say.”
“No, it’s not that, and please don’t tell him. In fact, I picked Gary’s place for this meeting because I knew it was one place that neither he nor Brit would ever turn up on their own. There’s no way either of them would ever come here without a damn good reason.”
“Hey,” Gary said, “That’s hurtful.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not true. I wanted to talk to you all because I believe Phillip is in danger. He’s been attacked twice now, and he won’t take it seriously.”
Gwen asked, “Why not?”
“He doesn’t believe he’s been attacked.”
“They can’t have been very vicious attacks then,” Roy said.
“They weren’t, but they’re escalating. And I know who’s behind it.”
“Okay,” Roy said. “That sounds serious. Tell us exactly what happened.”