MA06 Little Myth Marker

by Robert Asprin

  I raised my hand, hesitated for a moment, then rapped on her door. It occurred to me that, even though I had never been in front of a firing squad, now I knew how it felt.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Skeeve, Bunny. Have you got a minute?”

  The door flew open and Bunny was there, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. She was dressed in a slinky jumpsuit with the neck unlaced past her navel, which was a great relief to me. When I called on Queen Hemlock in her bedroom, she had received me in the altogether.

  “Geez! It’s good to see you. I was startin’ to think you weren’t ever comin’ by!”

  With a double-jointed shift of her hips she bumped the door shut, while her hands flew to the lacings in her outfit. So much for being relieved.

  “If you just give me a second, hon, I’ll be all set to go. You kinda caught me unprepared, and...”

  “Bunny, could you just knock it off for a while? Huh?”

  For some reason the events of the last few days suddenly rested heavy on my shoulders, and I just wasn’t in the mood for games.

  She stared at me with eyes as big as a Pervect’s bar bill, but her hands ceased their activity. “What’s the matter, Skeevie? Don’t you like me?”

  “I really don’t know, Bunny,” I said heavily. “You’ve never really given me a chance, have you?”

  She drew in a sharp breath and started to retort angrily. Then she hesitated and looked away suddenly, licking her lips nervously.

  “I ... I don’t know what you mean. Didn’t I come to your room and try to be friendly?”

  “I think you do know what I mean,” I pressed, sensing a weakening in her defenses. “Every time we see each other, you’re hitting me in the face with your ‘sex-kitten’ routine. I never know whether to run or applaud, but neither action is particularly conducive to getting to know you.”

  “Don’t knock it,” she said. “It’s a great little bit. It’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it? Besides, isn’t that what men want from a girl?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Really?”

  There was a none-too-gentle mockery in her voice. She took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. “So tell me, what does cross your mind when I do this?”

  Regardless of what impression I may have left on you from my earlier exploits, I do think fast. Fast enough to censor my first three thoughts before answering.

  “Mostly discomfort,” I said truthfully. “It’s impressive, all right, but I get the feeling I should do something about it and I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  She smiled triumphantly and let her breath out, easing the tension across her chest and my mind. Of the two, I think my mind needed it more.

  “You have just hit on the secret of the sex kittens. It’s not that you don’t like it. There’s just too much of it for you to be sure you can handle it.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “Men like to brag and strut a lot, but they’ve got egos as brittle as spun glass. If a girl calls their bluff, comes at them like a seething volcano that can’t be put out, men get scared. Instead of fanning a gentle feminine ember, they’re faced with a forest fire, so they take their wind elsewhere. Oh, they keep us around to impress people. ‘Look at the tigress I’ve tamed,’ and all that. But when we’re alone they usually keep their distance. I’ll bet a moll sees less actual action than your average coed ... except our pay scale is a lot better.”

  That made me think. On the one hand, she had called my reaction pretty close. Her roaring come-on had scared me a bit ... well, a lot. Still, there was the other hand.

  “It sounds like you don’t think very much of men,” I observed.

  “Hey! Don’t get me wrong. They’re a lot better than the alternatives. I just got a little sick of listening to the same old lines over and over and decided to turn the tables on ‘em. That’s all.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant. A second ago you said ‘That’s what men want from a girl.’ It may be true, and I won’t try to argue the point. It’s uncomfortably close to ‘That’s all men want from a girl,’ though, and that I will argue.”

  She scowled thoughtfully and chewed her lower lip. “I guess that is over-generalizing a bit,” she admitted.

  “Good.”

  “It’s more accurate to say ‘That’s all men want from a beautiful girl.’”

  “Bunny...”

  “No, you listen to me, Skeeve. This is one subject I’ve had a lot more experience at than you have. It’s fine to talk about minds when you look like Massha. But when you grow up looking good like I did—no brag, just a statement of fact—it’s one long string of men hitting on you. If they’re interested in your mind, I’d say they need a crash course in anatomy!”

  In the course of our friendship, I had had many long chats with Massha about what it meant to a woman to be less than attractive. However, this was the first time I had ever been made to realize that beauty might be something less than an asset.

  “I don’t recall ‘hitting on you,’ Bunny.”

  “Okay, okay. Maybe I have taken to counter-punching before someone else starts. There’s been enough of a pattern that I think I’m justified in jumping to conclusions. As I recall, you were a little preoccupied when we met. How would you have reacted if we ran into each other casually in a bar?”

  That wasn’t difficult at all to imagine ... unfortunately.

  “Touché!” I acknowledged. “Let me just toss one thought at you, Bunny. Then I’ll yield to your experience. The question of sex is going to hang in the air over any male-female encounter until it’s resolved. I think it lingers from pre-civilization days when survival of the species hinged on propagation. It’s strongest when encountering a member of the opposite sex one finds attractive ... such as a beautiful woman, or, I believe the phrase is, a ‘hunk.’ Part of civilization, though I don’t know how many other people think of it this way, is setting rules and laws to help settle that question quickly: siblings, parents, and people under age or married to someone else are off limits ... well, usually, but you get my point. Theoretically, this allows people to spend less time sniffing at each other and more time getting on with other endeavors ... like art or business. I’m not sure it’s an improvement, mind you, but it has brought us a long way.”

  “That’s an interesting theory, Skeeve,” Bunny said thoughtfully. “Where’d you hear it?”

  “I made it up,” I admitted.

  “I’ll have to mull that one over for a while. Even if you’re right, though, what does it prove?”

  “Well, I guess I’m trying to say that I think you’re focusing too much on the existence of the question. Each time it comes up, resolve it and move on to other things. Specifically, I think we can resolve the question between us right now. As far as I’m concerned, the answer is no, or at least not for a long time. If we can agree on that, I’d like to move on to other things ... like getting to know you better.”

  “I’d say that sounds like a pass, if you weren’t saying ‘no’ in the same breath. Maybe I have been a little hypersensitive on the subject. Okay. Agreed. Let’s try it as friends.”

  She stuck out her hand, and I shook it solemnly. In the back of my mind was a twinge of guilt. Now that I had gotten her to relax her guard, I was going to try to pump her for information.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Well, except for the fact that you’re smarter than you let on and that you’re Don Bruce’s niece, I really don’t know much about you at all!”

  “Whoops,” she giggled. “You weren’t even supposed to know about the niece part.”

  It was a much nicer giggle than her usual brain-jarring squeal.

  “Let’s start there, then. I understand your uncle doesn’t approve of your career choice.”

  “You can say that again. He had a
profession all picked out for me, put me through school and everything. The trouble was that he didn’t bother to check with me. Frankly, I’d rather do anything else than what he had in mind.”

  “What was that?”

  “He wanted me to be an accountant.”

  My mind flashed back to my old nemesis J. R. Grimble back at Possletum. Trying to picture Bunny in his place was more than my imagination could manage. “Umm ... I suppose accounting is okay work. I can see why Don Bruce didn’t want you to follow his footsteps into a life of crime.”

  Bunny cocked a skeptical eyebrow at me. “If you believe that, you don’t know much about accounting.”

  “Whatever. It does occur to me that there are more choices for one’s livelihood than being an accountant or being a moll.”

  “I don’t want to set you off again,” she smirked, “but my looks were working against me. Most legitimate businessmen were afraid that if they hired me their wives, or partners, or board of directors, or staff would think they were putting a mistress on the payroll. After a while I decided to go with the flow and go into a field where being attractive was a requirement instead of a handicap. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s laziness.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll admit I don’t think much of your career choice.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, before you start sitting in moral judgment, let me tell you...”

  “Whoa! Time out!” I interrupted. “What I meant was there isn’t much of a future in it. Nothing personal, but nobody stays young and good-looking forever. From what I hear, your job doesn’t have much of a retirement plan.”

  “None of the Mob jobs do,” she shrugged. “It pays the bills while I’m looking for something better.” Now we were getting somewhere.

  “Speaking of the Mob, Bunny, I’ll admit this Ax thing has me worried. Do you know offhand if the Mob ever handles character assassination? Maybe I could talk to someone and get some advice.”

  “I don’t think they do. It’s a little subtle for them. Still, I’ve never known Uncle Bruce to turn down any kind of work if the profit was high enough.”

  It occurred to me that that was a fairly evasive no-answer. I decided to try again.

  “Speaking of your uncle, do you have any idea why he picked you for this assignment?”

  There was the barest pause before she answered. “No. I don’t.”

  I had survived the Geek’s dragon poker game watching other people, and I’m fairly good at it. To me, that hesitation was a dead giveaway. Bunny knew why she was here, she just wasn’t telling.

  As if she had read my thoughts, a startled look came over her face.

  “Hey! It just dawned on me. Do you think I’m the Ax? Believe me, Skeeve, I’m not. Really!”

  She was very sincere and very believable. Of course, if I were the Ax, that’s exactly what I would say and how I would say it.

  THERE ARE MANY words to describe the next day’s outing into the Bazaar. Unfortunately, none of them are “calm,” “quiet,” or “relaxing.” Words like “zoo,” “circus,” and “chaos” spring much more readily to mind.

  I t started before we even left our base ... specifically, over whether or not we should go out at all.

  Aahz and Massha maintained that we should go to ground until things blew over, on the theory that it would provide the fewest opportunities for the Ax to attack. Guido and Nunzio sided with them, adding their own colorful phrases to the proceedings. “Going to the mattresses” was one of their favorites, an expression which never ceased to conjure intriguing images to my mind. Like I told Bunny, I’m not totally pure.

  Tananda and Chumley took the other side, arguing that the best defense is a solid offense. Staying inside, they argued, would only make us sitting ducks. The only sane thing to do would be to get out and try to determine just what the Ax was going to try. Markie and Bunny chimed in supporting the brother-sister team, though I suspect it was more from a desire to see more of the Bazaar.

  After staying neutral and listening for over an hour while the two sides went at each other, I finally cast my vote ... in favor of going out. Strangely enough, my reasons aligned most closely with those of Bunny and Markie: while I was more than a little afraid of going out and being a moving target, I was even more afraid of being cooped up inside with my own team while they got progressively more nervous and short-tempered with each other.

  No sooner was that resolved than a new argument erupted, this time over who was going along. Obviously, everyone wanted to go. Just as obviously, if everybody did, we would look like exactly what we were: a strike force looking for trouble. I somehow didn’t think this would assist our efforts to preserve my reputation.

  After another hour of name-calling, we came up with a compromise. We would all go. For discretion as well as strategic advantage, however, it was decided that part of the team would go in disguise. That is, in addition to making our party look smaller than it really was, it would also allow our teammates to watch from a short distance and, more important, listen to what was being said around us in the Bazaar. Aahz, Tananda, Chumley, Massha, and Nunzio would serve as our scouts and reserve, while Markie, Bunny, Guido, and I would act as the bait ... a role I liked less the more I thought about it.

  Thus it was that we finally set out on our morning stroll ... early in the afternoon.

  On the surface the Bazaar was unchanged, but it didn’t take long before I began to notice some subtle differences. I had gotten so used to maintaining disguise spells that I could keep our five colleagues incognito without it eating into my concentration ... which was just as well, because there was a lot to concentrate on.

  Apparently word of our last shopping venture had spread, and the reaction among the Deveel merchants to our appearance in the stalls was mixed and extreme. Some of the displays closed abruptly as we approached, while others rushed to meet us. There were, of course, those who took a neutral stance, neither closing nor meeting us halfway, but rather watching us carefully as we looked over their wares. Wherever we went, however, I noticed a distinct lack of enthusiasm for the favorite Bazaar pastime of haggling. Prices were either declared firm or counteroffers stacked up with minimum verbiage. It seems that, while they still wanted our money, the Deveels weren’t eager to prolong contact with us.

  I wasn’t sure exactly how to handle the situation. I could take advantage of their nervousness and drive some shameless bargains, or grit my teeth and pay more than I thought the items were worth. The trouble was that neither course would do much to improve my image in the eyes of the merchants or erase the memory of our last outing.

  Of course, my life being what it is, there were distractions.

  After our talk, Bunny had decided that we were friends and attacked her new role with the same enthusiasm she brought to playing a vamp. She still clung to my arm, mind you, and from a distance probably still looked like a moll. Her attention, however, was now centered on me instead of on herself.

  Today she had decided to voice her opinion of my wardrobe.

  “Really, Skeeve. We’ve got to get you some decent clothes.”

  She had somehow managed to get rid of her nasal voice as well as whatever it was she had always been chewing on. Maybe there was a connection there.

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  I had on what I considered to be one of my spiffier outfits. The stripes on the pants were two inches wide and alternated yellow and light green, while the tunic was a brilliant red and purple paisley number.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Let’s just say it’s a bit on the garish side.”

  “You didn’t say anything about my clothes before.”

  “Right. Before. As in ‘before we decided to be friends.’ Molls don’t stay employed by telling their men how tacky they dress. Sometimes I think one of
the qualifications for having a decorative lady on your arm is to have no or negative clothes sense.”

  “Of course, I don’t have much firsthand knowledge, but aren’t there a few molls who dress a little flamboyantly themselves?” I said archly.

  “True. But I’ll bet if you checked into it, they’re wearing outfits their men bought for them to dress up in. When we went shopping, you let me do the selecting and just picked up the bill. A lot of men figure if they’re paying the fare, they should have the final say as to what their baby-doll wears. Let’s face it, molls have to pay attention to how they look because their jobs depend on it. A girl who dresses like a sack of potatoes doesn’t find work as a moll.”

  “So you’re saying I dress like a sack of potatoes?”

  “If a sack looked like you, it would knock the eyes out of the potatoes.”

  I groaned my appreciation. Heck, if no one was going to laugh at my jokes, why should I laugh at theirs? Of course, I filed her comment away for future use if the occasion should arise.

  “Seriously though, Skeeve, your problem is that you dress like a kid. You’ve got some nice pieces in your wardrobe, but nobody’s bothered to show you how to wear them. Bright outfits are nice, but you’ve got to balance them. Wearing a pattern with a muted solid accents the pattern. Wearing a pattern with a pattern is trouble, unless you really know what you’re doing. More often than not, the patterns end up fighting each other ... and if they’re in two different colors you’ve got an all-out war. Your clothes should call attention to you, not to themselves.”

  Despite my indignation, I found myself being drawn into what she was saying. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my various adventures, it’s that you take information where you find it.