by Mike Resnick
The old man smile. “He can melt a jet at two hundred yards.”
“And they can shoot him at, what, two miles?” said Mallory.
“Part of his training program here is to learn evasive maneuvering.”
“Isn't that his pilot's function?”
“They have a way of losing pilots,” said the old man, rubbing the dragon's nose.
“I noticed,” said Mallory dryly.
There was a sudden roar, and a sheet of flame shot out, singeing the dragon's hindquarters. It squealed in surprise while Mallory dove to the ground, then gingerly stuck his head up and looked around.
“What the hell was that?” he said.
“Oh, just Cutie-Pie,” said the old man, indicating another huge dragon. “She saw me petting Cuddles, and she's jealous.”
Mallory got to his feet. “Well, it's obvious the dragon I'm looking for isn't here. Is there a facility on the island that specializes in toy dragons?”
“Just down the road a stretch,” said the old man. “Maybe half a mile, keep to your left when it forks, and look for the asbestos-lined doghouses.”
“Thanks,” said Mallory. Suddenly he saw a flash of white in the distance. “What's that?” he asked.
“The guy in the white lab coat? He's from the DDI.”
“The DDI?” repeated Mallory.
“The Dragon Dietary Institute. He's testing some cockamamie theory that their diet gives them heartburn and that their flame is proof of it.”
“What do these big dragons eat?”
“Anything smaller than themselves,” replied the old man.
“With that broad a diet, it sounds like he's got a tough theory to prove.”
“Still, it keeps him employed. I know writers and actors who'd kill for a steady paycheck.”
“You can add detectives to the list,” said Mallory, heading off toward the toy dragon farm. He turned to Jeeves as they walked. “If she's here, are you sure you'll be able to spot her?”
“She is the most recognizable toy dragon in history,” the gremlin assured him.
Mallory looked ahead and saw the top of a farmhouse. “That must be it.”
“I suppose so,” said Jeeves.
Mallory grimaced. “We'll go through the motions, but I'll give plenty of ten-to-one that we're not going to find her here. This whole thing feels wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I were stealing the most valuable and recognizable dragon in the world, the last place I'd take her is to an island where everyone breeds dragons and can be expected to know who she is.”
“But they're uniquely equipped to keep her here,” noted Jeeves.
“They're not going to keep her anywhere,” replied Mallory.
“I don't understand.”
“She was kidnapped for one of two reasons: ransom or to set it up for some other animal to win the show tomorrow. She's been gone four hours, she's due in the ring tomorrow afternoon, and there hasn't been a ransom demand. Unless your boss gets a phone call soon, we have to assume she was kidnapped solely to keep her out of the show. If she's that recognizable, the thief can't pass her off as his own. There's a very easy way to make sure she misses the show and is never identified.”
“Hold your tongue!” cried the gremlin. “I won't hear such talk!”
“Your devotion is admirable,” said Mallory. “But it doesn't change the logic of the situation.”
“Fluffy's alive!” snapped Jeeves. “I can feel it!”
“I'll keep looking for her right up until ring time, but I thought you ought to understand what the odds are.”
“Speaking of odd…” said Feline, pointing up the road.
Fifty yards ahead of them six men, each with a toy dragon on a leash, paraded around in a large circle, while a seventh man, clearly acting as the judge, gave them a string of commands.
“A handling class for youngsters,” remarked Jeeves knowingly.
“How can you tell they're youngsters from this distance?” asked Mallory.
“Because they need a handling class,” answered the gremlin.
“Trot, dammit, don't fly!” yelled the judge as two of the dragons spread their wings and flew out to the ends of their leashes.
“All right, line ’em up and pose ’em,” said the judge, and the six dragons were maneuvered into a single straight row.
The judge walked up and down the line making comments. “Left forefoot's toeing out…Watch those wings…Moving his bowels—that's going to cost you points…I don't care if she is in heat, he's supposed to look at me, not her…”
Finally the judge leaned over to more closely inspect each dragon. The first wagged its scaly tail and jumped into his arms, the second backed away squealing in terror, the third was sound asleep, the fourth and fifth were in flagrante delicto. He came to the sixth, then yelped and jumped back.
“Shooting fire at the judge is a disqualification!” he screamed, rubbing his singed chin.
“You can't disqualify us,” protested the handler. “This is just a class, not a show.”
The judge put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, and a moment later four burly kennel attendants approached him. “I want that dragon deflamed and neutered,” he ordered.
“You can't do that!” yelled the handler.
The judge pointed to the handler. “Neuter him as well!”
The handler picked the dragon up in his arms and aimed him at the four approaching men. “Now!” he hissed, and a sheet of flame spurted out of the dragon's mouth.
“Don't just stand there!” demanded the judge as the attendants drew back. “Get them!”
“Maybe we could all just discuss it like gentlemen,” suggested one of the attendants.
“I'm sure we could resolve our differences over a friendly drink,” added a second.
“That's it!” bellowed the judge. “I'm having you all neutered!”
“Here's what Godzilla and I think of you and your orders!” snapped the handler. He unhooked the leash from the tiny dragon and pointed it at the judge, who took one look at the dragon's hate-filled little eyes, turned, and raced down the road. The dragon spread its wings and was soon in hot pursuit.
“I like training classes!” enthused Felina.
Suddenly everyone noticed Mallory's little party.
“Just passing through?” asked one of the attendants.
“Looking for a toy dragon, actually,” replied the detective.
“How much are you willing to spend?”
“I don't know,” said Mallory with a shrug. “How much is Fluffy worth?”
“You think we have Fluffy?” asked Godzilla's handler with a laugh.
“Beats me,” said Mallory, pulling her photograph out of his pocket and displaying it. “Do you?”
“Put it away,” said the handler. “You won't find a person on Fire Island who doesn't know what she looks like.” He waved a hand around the island. “Look to your heart's content. Check every run, every house. Let me know if you find her.”
“Perhaps you'll be kind enough to show us around,” said Mallory.
The handler nodded, and led Mallory, Jeeves, and Felina on a brief tour of the kennel and pens. There were bold dragons, seeking to terrify the visitors; hungry dragons, begging for small tidbits of food, living or dead; sweet dragons who only wanted to be praised and petted; and even a few cowardly dragons who hung back and refused to leave their asbestos houses, which looked exactly like dollhouses to Mallory's untutored eye. Many of the dragons had companions kenneled with them to keep them happy and placid; they included goats, cats, gryphons, and a very unhappy-looking elf.
“Well?” said Mallory, looking at Felina. “You know her scent. Is she here—or has she been here?”
“No, John Justin.”
“You're sure?”
She gave him a look of such withering contempt that he decided to accept it as an affirmative.
“Sorry to have put you to the trouble,” said Mallory
to the handler.
“No problem. I hope you find Fluffy. I'd hate to see a chimera win the show.”
Mallory and his team returned to the beach. He stopped by a bait shop, which specialized in water buffalo and moose. It made him wonder just what people went fishing for around here. He asked the proprietor where he could find a pay phone.
“Ain't got one,” came the answer. “Got an old cell phone that someone left here. I'll sell it to you for ten dollars.”
“Make it five,” said Mallory.
“Can't sell you five. Only got the one phone.”
“Five dollars.”
“Split the difference,” said the man. “Nine-fifty and it's yours.”
Mallory laid a ten-dollar bill on the desk.
“Got no change,” said the man. “I'll have to owe it to you.”
He handed the phone to Mallory, who took it outside.
“My, what strong manly hands you have!” crooned the phone in a sultry voice.
Mallory stared at it without saying a word.
“The strong silent type,” said the phone. “I like that in a man.”
“Do you actually work?” asked Mallory.
“Try me, Big Boy,” said the phone.
Mallory began tapping out Brody's number.
“Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!” moaned the phone.
“Are you all right?” said Mallory when he had one more number to enter.
“Oh, yes, baby!” purred the phone. “Was it good for you, too?”
Mallory looked around to make sure that Felina and Jeeves weren't paying any attention, then tapped in the last number.
“Any ransom demands yet?” he asked when Brody picked up the receiver.
“None,” came the answer. “Are you making any progress?”
“We've eliminated Fire Island, if that counts.”
“Where are you going next?”
“I haven't decided,” said Mallory. “I'll have a quick powwow with your assistant and make up my mind, then check in with you when I get back to Manhattan.”
He broke the connection and was about to rejoin his companions when a single shot rang out and a bullet buried itself in the wall about an inch to the left of his head.
CHAPTER 6
8:47 PM–9:21 PM
“What happened?” asked Jeeves.
“What the hell does it look like?” said Mallory, scanning the darkness. “Felina, did you see anything?”
“Yes, John Justin.”
“What?”
“Someone tried to kill you,” she said. Suddenly she frowned. “It's early in the evening for killing. I wish they'd wait a few hours.”
“Thanks for that note of loyalty,” muttered Mallory. “Did you see anything else?”
“I saw the cutest, fattest little bird…”
“Never mind.” Mallory began walking, then suddenly stopped. “You two go ahead to the launch. I'll join you in a minute.”
“Ah!” said Jeeves knowingly. “A sudden call of Nature. Discretion is my middle name.”
“Felina is my middle name,” said the cat-girl proudly.
“I thought it was your first name,” said Jeeves.
“It is. I like it so much I use it for all my names.”
Then they walked around a corner. Mallory waited for a moment, then cleared his throat.
“All right,” he said without raising his voice. “I know you were watching. Who took that shot at me?”
“You must know by now that it is against my nature to reveal such things to you,” said the Grundy's disembodied voice.
“You want me to find this damned dragon or not?” said Mallory irritably. “I won't be of much use with a bullet in my head.”
“I made the assassin miss,” said the Grundy. “That should constitute enough help.”
“Did you kill him?” asked Mallory.
“Certainly not.”
“Then he'll probably try again.”
“Well, you are in a dangerous profession,” said the Grundy.
“You could make it less dangerous if you'd just—”
“This interview is at an end,” interrupted the Grundy, his voice fading on the wind.
“Thanks a lot,” said Mallory bitterly. He began walking toward the boat, then realized he was still holding the cell phone and put it in his pocket.
“It's dark and stuffy in here!” complained the phone.
“Be quiet,” said Mallory.
“I thought I meant something to you,” whined the phone. “I thought we shared something beautiful.”
“We shared a phone call,” said Mallory. “If you'll shut up and stop bothering me, someday we may share another one.”
“Go ahead!” cried the phone. “Break my heart! See if I care!”
“You don't have a heart,” said Mallory. “You're a telephone.”
“I know which of us doesn't have a heart,” said the phone. “Just you wait. Someday you'll need me, someday it'll be a matter of life and death, and maybe I'll put your call through and maybe I won't.”
“I'm starting to remember why I don't like cell phones.”
“Go ahead, insult me,” said the phone. “Cast me aside now that you've had your way with me. I'm never speaking to you again.”
“I can live with that,” said Mallory, increasing his pace to join Felina and Jeeves just before they all climbed onto the launch.
“Hey, Good-Looking,” said the phone. “Want to dial one more number, just for old times’ sake?”
“What was that?” said Jeeves.
“Don't ask,” growled Mallory as the boat left the dock and began making its way back to Manhattan.
“How many fish are in a river, John Justin?” asked Felina, leaning far over the side of the boat.
“Lots.”
“How many?” she persisted.
“Twenty-seven trillion and eight,” said Mallory.
She reached down suddenly. Mallory heard a bite and a gulp, and then she straightened up and smiled at him. “Twenty-seven trillion and seven,” she corrected him, and then leaned over the side again.
“Bon appétit,” said Mallory. He turned to the gremlin. “Tell me again: What is a win at Eastminster worth in prize money?”
“There isn't any prize money,” answered the gremlin. “Just a satin rosette and a trophy.”
“Is the trophy solid gold?”
“Silver-plated,” said Jeeves.
“Something's wrong,” said Mallory.
“Yes,” said Jeeves. “Someone's stolen Fluffy.”
Mallory shook his head impatiently. “There's something wrong with this whole setup.”
“I don't understand.”
“Somebody just tried to kill me,” said Mallory. “You don't risk getting caught for murder or attempted murder for a piece of ribbon and a silver-plated trophy. There's got to be more involved. Lord knows I'm not worth much, but I'm worth more than a ribbon and a trophy.”
“Twenty-seven trillion and six,” announced Felina.
“I'm lonely,” said the cell phone.
Jeeves stared at Mallory's pants. “Is that your gun talking?” he asked.
“I don't carry a gun.”
“A detective without a gun—isn't that unusual?” asked the gremlin.
“No,” said Mallory. “Walking around in the middle of the night looking for an eleven-inch dragon named Fluffy is unusual. Not carrying a gun is merely eccentric.”
“Twenty-seven trillion and fourteen,” said Felina.
“You found eight fish on the boat and threw them in?” asked Mallory, surprised.
“No, I caught and ate another.”
“Then why is it twenty-seven trillion and fourteen?”
“Because I don't know what comes before twenty-seven trillion and six,” answered the cat-girl.
Mallory grimaced. “I'm going to give you a B-plus for that answer. It makes as much sense as anything else this evening.”
“Is a B-plus good to eat?” asked Fel
ina.
“Only with mustard and whipped cream,” replied the detective.
“Eighty-three trillion and ninety-two!” cried Felina, holding up another fish. Suddenly she frowned and threw it back into the water.
“Too small?” asked Mallory.
“Too dead,” she replied. “I like to play with them first.”
“Yeah,” concurred Mallory, “I can see where the dead ones hardly play at all.”
“They cheat,” agreed Felina.
“Do me a favor,” said Mallory. “You see better in the dark than the rest of us. Go to the back of the boat and see if anyone is following us.”
“For two macaws, a parrot, and a musk ox,” she replied.
“How about: for not throwing you overboard right now?” said Mallory.
She considered for a moment, then nodded her agreement. “Okay, I'll go look.”
“Why do you think we're being followed?” asked Jeeves.
“Someone took a shot at me. Whoever it was knows we've left the island. It makes sense that he has no further business there. If he's following us, maybe we can arrange a little surprise for him when he lands.”
“He might not land where we do,” said Jeeves.
“And there might be a typhoon in the next thirty seconds,” said Mallory. “I can only plan for what I can control.”
“I thought contingency plans were for what you couldn't control,” said the phone.
“Once upon a time I thought so too. I even thought cell phones couldn't talk. You live and learn.” Mallory turned and walked to the back of the boat. “Anyone following us?” he asked Felina.
“Just the swimmer,” said the cat-girl.
“Swimmer?” repeated Mallory. “Where?”
She pointed to a spot in the water.
“Stop the boat!” snapped Mallory.
The boat came to a halt.
“Now where is he?”
“He's a she,” said Felina.
“Okay, where is she?”
“She'll reach us in another minute,” said Felina, pointing to a spot about two hundred yards distant. Mallory peered into the darkness and finally saw a steady ripple in the water, a ripple that was clearly approaching them.
In another thirty seconds he could make out the shape of a muscular woman, her arms and legs covered with grease, her bathing cap sporting a British Union Jack, swimming directly toward the boat.