Dangerous Hardboiled Magicians

by Mel Gilden

  “My job is to bring chaos into the universe, isn’t it?” Eddie asked, breathing hard. “We can’t all be goody-goody like you.”

  “Even so,” she told him, “there are rules. You have broken them.”

  “Tell it to Moros,” Eddie said.

  “Even Moros knows his limits. You would do well to follow his example,” Astraea said.

  Eddie ran for the door, but as he stepped off the edge of the stone table it flipped into the air and fell onto him with a boom that shook the whole house, crushing him flat.

  We were stunned all over again.

  Louie recovered first. “I told you,” he said, “when a keres goes bad, he stinks on ice.” He approached the stone table and with surprising strength pushed it aside. Beneath, there was no blood and no distortion of the body—Eddie looked like a two-dimensional drawing of himself. Louie felt around for Eddie’s soul, found it, and put it into his basket. I wondered how Eddie and Lord Slex felt about sharing that tiny space.

  “Take Eddie’s soul to Mount Olympus above Laurel Canyon,” Astraea said. “Zeus and the others will want to deal with him.”

  “My pleasure,” Louie said. He raised his arms over his head, then shrank to a point of light that soon faded.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  FREAK ACCIDENT

  I strolled to Lord Slex’s desk chair and settled down in it with Misty’s log book on my tummy and my hands laced across the book. I hoped I was not being overly confident. Astraea moved to stand near me, her hands clasped behind her back. Vic sat up, though only with Lyda’s help. His face was as empty of personality as a tub of butter. It did not even contain confusion. “You two better go,” I said. “We don’t want to upset the police.”

  Lyda nodded, said a quiet “Thanks,” and got Vic to his feet. She had no trouble opening the laboratory door and helping Vic through it. A moment later Vic’s car growled to life and maneuvered out of the carport. The engine noise faded in the distance.

  “Now is it time to call the police?” I asked.

  “Now,” Astraea agreed.

  A moment later I had Fotheringay on the phone. He promised to hurry right over.

  I glanced around the room. It was quite a mess, and a little difficult to explain under ordinary circumstances, even given the use of magic. Wood and glass were everywhere. One body, now nearly two-dimensional, was sprawled on the floor next to the top of the stone table, which lay like a surplus playing card; another body lay in front of a window that had blown in as if from a violent explosion. I had a lot of explaining to do, but I would bet that not even the truth would satisfy the police—especially not the truth.

  “Can I tell them you’re Justice?” I asked.

  “You may. They will not believe you.”

  “You could blast another window for them.”

  “I am Justice,” she said. “I do not perform like a trained animal.”

  I considered that unhappily. Obviously, I couldn’t make her perform, not even if I were the kind of guy who would try, which I wasn’t. While I considered my options, I took Misty’s log book out to my car and put it into the trunk.

  When I got back, I found Astraea sitting in the chair I had vacated with her legs skillfully and artistically crossed. She watched me as I picked my way across the littered floor and stood near her leaning against the lab table. “You could have told me about Eddie,” I said.

  My accusation surprised her a little. “But I didn’t know,” she said.

  “You’re the granddaughter of the Fates,” I reminded her. “Don’t they tell you things?”

  She nodded. “I see how you might misunderstand the role of the Fates,” she said. “It is their job to spin, measure, and end the lives of all creatures. But the results of their labors are secret. They don’t reveal how the lives of mortals, or even of the gods, are woven together. Zeus himself is kept ignorant.”

  “So I have a destiny and can’t change it?”

  “Ah,” she said. “The debate between free will and predestination.”

  “And the answer is?” I asked like a game show host.

  “Your life has elements of both.”

  “And the Fates come into it how?” My head was beginning to hurt.

  This time she only smiled at me. But it was a sorry smile, a sad smile. I was a nice kid, but not very bright. She shook her head slowly.

  I suppose I could have continued the conversation. It was kind of fun in a masochistic way. But the wail of an approaching siren sliced into the silence of the room. It stopped in front of Lord Slex’s house and died. A moment later there was impatient pounding on the big front door. I went and let in the cops.

  Fotheringay and Siltz followed me back to the laboratory along with some plainclothesmen carrying equipment. Astraea had the usual effect on the male of the species, and Fotheringay had to remind the lab guys twice why they were there. Siltz smiled at her like the creature he was. She nodded in his direction as if he’d only said hello.

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it,” Fotheringay said. He tapped Siltz on the shoulder. “Take notes,” he said.

  I told them everything, just as it had happened, leaving out only three things: the presence of Vic and Lyda, the discovery of Misty’s lab log, and anything to do with keres, including the fact that Astraea was Justice. Maybe that was four things. I explained that Eddie had been responsible for all the zombies in town, but made it out to be done by magic rather than by special talent. The sparkling blue smudge on the far wall was corroborative detail that lent verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.

  “So Eddie had a locator spell?” Fotheringay asked.

  “It sure looks that way,” I said. It was even the truth as far as it went.

  “Sure would be handy if the cops had one,” Siltz said.

  I didn’t like to agree with Siltz, but this time I had no choice.

  “So,” Siltz said, “you called these people together like Nick Charles to present your case. I feel kind of bad that you didn’t think to invite the police.”

  “If I’d called you in and hadn’t been able to close the deal, you’d have said I was wasting your time.”

  Siltz had a remark to make, of course, but we never heard it because Fotheringay interrupted. “Okay,” he said, “I understand that these two dead guys on the floor were real bad men. I got that. What I don’t understand is how they got to be dead.”

  “Freak accident?” I suggested.

  Fotheringay nodded and worked his mouth. After studying the floor for a moment, he looked at Astraea. “What do you say, miss?”

  “These things happen,” she said.

  Fotheringay still wasn’t happy. “Which is to say,” he said, “that neither of you knows—not for speaking purposes, anyway.”

  “Would you believe us if I said you were right?” I asked.

  He looked around the room, at his men sweeping stuff into plastic bags in one corner, at Siltz shaking his head with cynical disapproval, then back at us. Whatever private theories he had he kept to himself. “All right,” he said. “Just sit tight.”

  We sat tight.

  A half hour or so later the police had squeezed all the clues they could from this turnip of a room, and Fotheringay suggested we all go downtown to make formal statements. Like any good citizens, Astraea and I agreed immediately.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  TWO PROPOSITIONS

  They recorded our statements into a philosopher’s stone so it didn’t take long. Fotheringay gave me the impression that he and his department would not be trying very hard to clear up the deaths of Eddie and Lord Slex.

  It was barely mid-afternoon when Astraea and I got back to my apartment. Astraea used my bathroom and when she came out, she looked so serious I thought she’d found a hair in my sink. She took one of my hands in both of hers and our eyes locked. Her hands were warm and dry, her purple eyes large and melting and full of intelligence. “We are great friends,” she said.


  “Yes,” I said, wondering what she was getting at.

  “You will be doing a lot of work.”

  “That’s good. I—”

  “I am Justice and you will bring criminals to me.”

  Her statement was a surprise. “I hadn’t thought of us having a business arrangement.”

  “You object?”

  “No, no. Just trying to get used to the idea.”

  She smiled, let go my hand, and went away to drive home in the flashy sedan chair she’d parked nearby hours before, leaving me standing in the middle of my living room with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

  Then I remembered that I did have a chore to perform. Glad I hadn’t yet removed my shoes, I sighed when I took the long ride back down in the elevator, then went to my car for the log book I’d taken from Lord Slex. I came back upstairs, and this time I did remove my shoes. I allowed myself a few moments of pleasure wiggling my toes against the carpet before I opened my desk drawer and took out the log book Nosmo King had given me.

  I held one book in each hand, knowing they were filled with knowledge that might not be discovered again for years, if ever. But I’d already spent a long time considering what I was about to do, so I took them into the kitchen, made a little roof with them in the sink and set them on fire. It took three or four matches to get them going, but eventually I had a merry little blaze suitable for toasting marshmallows. I set up a small fan to blow the smoke away from the smoke detector and out the window.

  Both books burned to ash in about ten minutes, leaving black scum that I had to scrub out with kitchen cleanser. The smell of chlorine mixed with the smell of burning paper. A good clean smell.

  After that I took a lot of time making lunch and cleaning up the apartment, taking comfort in the quiet normalcy of the routine. Meanwhile, I thought about Astraea’s statement. It seemed less like a proposal than a prediction or even an order. Any way I looked at it, it seemed agreeable.

  * * * *

  The next morning when I went out for the paper I found a special delivery letter from Spell-Mart. Inside was the money they owed me and a nice thank-you note from the store manager. Well, well. Everything was coming up roses.

  While puttering around in my second-best pair of jeans and my Philip Marlowe t-shirt I called my parents and told them it was all right for them to return to Los Angeles. Almost immediately after I hung up somebody knocked at my door. I didn’t think it was the police. The knock had been polite rather than impatient.

  Astraea was standing at my door, dressed all in denim. She looked terrific, as usual. “Have you had breakfast yet?” she asked as she gave me a smile that lit up the room, even against all that morning sunshine.

  I had, but I would have been stupid to admit it. “Uh, no,” I said. “Let me get some shoes on.”

  We were about ready to go when somebody else knocked on my door. “Union Station,” I grumbled wittily, and opened the door.

  “Lyda,” I exclaimed. “How did you find me?”

  She was dressed in white hiphuggers and a fuzzy pink belly shirt. “I’m sort of a detective, too,” she said. “Actually,” she went on shyly, “I looked you up on the maJsys under ‘Detectives.’” Eyes suddenly alight, she ran past me and hugged Astraea as if they were sisters. Well, that was fine. I didn’t really want a hug of my own anyway.

  “Breakfast?” I suggested.

  I drove my harem down to Singer’s deli, where we variously ordered eggs and pancakes and breakfast meat. I actually got a word in while we waited for the food to arrive.

  “You took quite a chance yesterday,” I said to Lyda, “unfreezing me after Lord Slex enchanted me with that spell.”

  “No chance at all,” she said.

  “And you without a license to do magic.”

  She shrugged at that. “Who’s going to report me? Eddie and Lord Slex, the happiness boys?”

  Astraea put down her orange juice. “What did you do with your copy of Misty’s log book?” she asked before I had a chance to agree with Lyda.

  “You really did have a copy?” Lyda asked. “I thought that was just a gag to get Lord Slex to show you his.”

  “How could I describe it if I didn’t have one of my own?” I asked.

  “You’re right, of course,” Lyda said. “But you were lucky Slex showed you his copy instead of accusing you of murdering Misty. You said yourself that only the murderer could have taken the log.”

  “It was a calculated risk,” I said, though it had not been very calculated. “Lord Slex was most interested, one might say he was obsessed, with using Misty’s notes to bolster his sagging reputation. He needed to know, and right now, that he still had possession of the log book. He probably assumed that he would be able to decode it eventually. That makes Lord Slex more than a little single-minded, but that’s the way I figured it.”

  “You were lucky,” Lyda commented again.

  “Maybe,” I said, sharing a glance with Astraea.

  “So what did you do with the your copy of Misty’s log book?” Astraea asked a second time.

  “I destroyed it,” I said. “And the original, too.”

  “Huh?” Lyda remarked. Even Astraea seemed surprised. “I didn’t peg you for the ‘things man was not meant to know’ type.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m not. But there are some things that are more trouble than they’re worth. I think Misty’s knots qualify.”

  “Anyway,” Lyda said, “you said you had a copy. That and the original is gone, but there may be other copies.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, thinking of Dr. Hamish. “The log is in code.”

  “Were you able to decipher it?” Astraea asked.

  “Some of it. Just barely. I’m not going to lose sleep over it.”

  “Me neither,” Lyda said and turned to Astraea. “How do you like Cronyn better,” she asked in a sly voice, “with or without the spell on him?”

  “I can take him either way,” Astraea said after studying me for a moment.

  “That’s a relief,” I said.

  “The photograph your mother showed me was not as handsome as you are in reality.”

  “You met his parents?” Lyda asked, charmed and delighted, almost giddy.

  And they were off again, this time discussing my parents, of all things. I was pleased Astraea liked me for myself rather than for my good looks.

  The food came, interrupting them. Eating cut down on the conversation, but as we nibbled we eventually began to talk again.

  Astraea sipped her coffee. “I have been thinking,” she said. “You could not have known who killed Misty until you saw Lord Slex twist the packet of Spell-Be Gone. Why did you gather us all together before you knew?”

  “Good question,” Lyda said and shook a fork at Astraea.

  “I knew somebody in that crowd must have done it,” I said. “All I needed was Eddie’s eye-witness report, which I knew I could get as soon as I looked like myself again. With that and the packet, the answer was obvious.”

  “Obvious, hmm?” Astraea remarked. “If you knew looking like yourself would attract Eddie, why didn’t you change your appearance back earlier?”

  I settled my fork in a puddle of syrup. “Until I learned from Louie that Eddie could not possibly have killed Misty, he was my number one suspect. I wanted to collect more evidence before I confronted him.” It sounded good, even to me.

  “Nothing else?” Lyda asked as she looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

  I shrugged and smiled and would have shuffled my feet if I hadn’t been sitting down. “Well, confronting Eddie would be dangerous, of course. I guess I wanted to avoid being a zombie for as long as possible.”

  “I say there are enough zombies in the world, many who never met Eddie.” Lyda saluted each of us with a forkful of pancake.

  “Speaking of zombies,” Astraea said, “Olympus is sending money to the families of the men from whom Eddie stole souls.”

  “You mean you really
are Justice?” Lyda asked, wide-eyed.

  “I am,” Astraea said.

  Lyda looked to me for confirmation. I made a tiny confidential nod, and Lyda studied Astraea again as if the truth were written on the front of her shirt. Lyda took a slow drink of coffee while she considered. Astraea and I gave her all the time she needed.

  “And you’re from Mars, I suppose,” she said to me.

  “Cestus Omega III,” I said.

  “Yeah.” She seemed to make a decision, shrugged and licked her lips. “All right, then. Can’t Olympus put the souls back?” Lyda asked.

  “No, Lyda, I am sorry. Perhaps Misty Morning could have figured out how to get something out of a knot, but nobody else can, not even Zeus and the others.”

  I took a swig of coffee. It was getting cold. “Still speaking of zombies,” I said, eager to change the subject, “how is Vic doing?”

  Lyda set her hand on my arm and leaned toward me grinning. “This is good,” she said. “This is very good. A couple of hours after we got home, he wanted to talk about Misty and the keres and the whole mystery. The good part is that he thinks it’s all a story idea. He wants to turn it into a novel called Dangerous Hardboiled Magicians.”

  “Dad’ll be happy to hear that,” I said. “It’ll make a better novel than a newspaper story, anyway.”

  “I approve,” Astraea said as if her approval was necessary.

  “How’s Eulalie?” I asked.

  “A little livelier,” Lyda said, “but actually much the same.” She laughed. “She and Vic have never gotten on so well.”

  “How is he getting along with you?” Astraea asked.

  “We’re great friends,” Lyda said. “But he’s entirely forgotten that we were lovers. So I guess we’ve kinda sorta broken up. Do you have any thoughts on who I might date next, Mr. Cronyn?”

  For a moment I was stunned by the question. “I’m a detective, schutzie-putz,” I said, trying to keep a grin off my face. “We’ll find somebody.”

  Lyda laughed at that and patted me gently on the cheek.

  Astraea grinned at both of us. “After all,” she said, “there are all kinds of justice.”