Stalking the Dragon

by Mike Resnick

  “I don't know,” said Jeeves. “The sexiest girl I ever knew was called Herman.”

  “It sounds like at least one of you was very confused,” said Mallory.

  They reached the storefront and found that the windows had been blackened.

  “I don't like the looks of this,” said Joe.

  “It's probably just a way to provide privacy,” said Mallory. “If you're here to find out if you're wife's cheating on you, or what the odds are of her finding out if you decide to cheat on her, a little privacy isn't a bad idea. And if she's selling tips on the races, you don't want someone looking in with binoculars or a telescope in case you write the name down or circle it in the Racing Form.”

  “Just the same, I'd better enter first,” said Joe, pulling out his sword again.

  “You wait here,” said Mallory. “Felina, you too. And don't wander off.”

  “Yes, John Justin,” she said with a feline smile.

  “I mean it.”

  “Yes, John Justin.”

  “Can I trust you?”

  “Yes, John Justin.”

  “I couldn't trust you this afternoon,” he said. “What's changed since then?”

  “Yes, John Justin.”

  Mallory sighed and turned to Jeeves. “You come in with me.”

  “Me?” said the gremlin, startled.

  “We're looking for your dragon,” said Mallory. “If she needs to know anything about it—its habits, what it answers to, anything more than she can learn from a photo—you're the one who's going to have to tell her. Unless she's a mind reader, too—then she can just take a peek and get what she needs.”

  “What if there are villains in there just waiting to pounce on you?” asked Joe.

  “I'll protect him,” said Belle.

  “How?” asked Joe.

  “If nothing else works, I'll offer myself to them and let them satisfy their carnal desires while my Sweetums makes his getaway.”

  “The mind boggles,” said Mallory wryly.

  “Turns you on, does it, Big Boy?” said Belle.

  Mallory found himself hoping that the Dragon Lady was a little more grounded in reality than the members of his party. He opened the door, waited for Jeeves to enter, followed him in, and turned to Joe.

  “Make sure Felina doesn't wander too far.”

  “I can't leave my post at the door,” protested the goblin.

  “Sure, you can.”

  Joe shook his head. “Nobody enters until you emerge.”

  “Joe, this is a place of business. Anyone can enter.”

  “Oh. Right.” Then: “So why can't I come in?”

  “It's a small shop, you're wearing a sword and a dagger, and I want her full concentration on the dragon.”

  “You mean I might terrify her?” asked Joe hopefully.

  “Anything's possible,” said Mallory, who thought it equally likely that she might fall over laughing and hurt herself.

  “Makes sense,” said Joe. “I'll stay out here with the cat-thing.”

  Mallory closed the door behind him, and found himself and Jeeves in a small, dark room, lit solely by a half dozen candles. There was an ornate desk and chair at the back, and three less impressive chairs facing it. There were a number of framed pictures on the wall, but it was too dark to make them out.

  “Sit down,” the detective said to Jeeves.

  “Where?” asked the gremlin.

  “There are three empty chairs and a floor,” said Mallory. “How hard a choice can it be?”

  Jeeves shrugged and sat down on a chair. Mallory sat on another, leaving the one between them empty. A moment later a tape recorder played “Hail to the Chief” and the theme from Rocky, and then a woman entered the room. Her skin was green and covered with scales, she sported a truly impressive tail, the nails on her hands were as long as Felina's and didn't appear to be retractable, and her face, while clearly feminine, was nonetheless reptilian, topped off by green shoulder-length hair. She wore a red velvet gown, but the shoe had never been created that could cover her splayed feet, and so she was barefoot.

  “You may sit,” she said in a harsh voice.

  “We are sitting,” replied Mallory.

  She frowned. “Who gave you permission to sit?”

  “You did, eight seconds ago.”

  “Well, that's all right then,” she said. “I am the Dragon Lady. I see all, know all, predict all, and am never wrong except on certain unique occasions which we never refer to.”

  “I'm John Justin Mallory, and this is Jeeves.”

  She stared at them for a moment. “Jeeves, your family will disown you. Still, if you're set on it, I suggest a honeymoon at the Passionfire Motel just outside Natick, Massachusetts. Free breakfast, mirrors on the ceiling, a heart-shaped tub, and they never ask any questions. Say I sent you and you'll get a discount.”

  Suddenly she smiled. “I trust that solves your problem, and I predict that you will be very happy together.”

  “I'm afraid not,” said Mallory. “We came here with a different problem.”

  The Dragon Lady closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. Suddenly she looked at Mallory. “Not to worry. No matter what the doctors tell you, it's benign.”

  “Would you like to hear what we came for, or are you just going to keep guessing all night?”

  She glared at him for another moment, then shrugged. “All right. You talk, I'll listen.”

  “A dragon went missing this afternoon,” said Mallory. “A very valuable dragon.” He pulled out one of Fluffy's photos and tossed it onto the desk. “She stands eleven inches at the shoulder.”

  “Are you the fuzz?” asked the Dragon Lady.

  He shook his head. “I'm private.”

  She studied the photo. “Pretty little feminine thing.”

  “Jeeves can answer any questions you may have about her.” Mallory paused. “And there's a time limit.”

  “Oh?”

  “She's due in the ring at Eastminster at four o'clock this afternoon.”

  The Dragon Lady turned to Jeeves. “What does she eat?”

  “Elephant-shaped chocolate marshmallow cookies,” replied the gremlin.

  “Sounds tasty,” said the Dragon Lady. “What name does she answer to?”

  “Fluffy.”

  “Does she fly, or are the wings just for show?”

  “She flies very short distances.”

  “How short?”

  Jeeves frowned. “Maybe ten feet. Unless she's jumping off the top of the Vampire State Building. Then she can fly a couple of thousand feet. But she lands with a splat.”

  “Any habits I should know about?”

  “Well,” said Jeeves, “I snore, and I bite my nails, and—”

  “Not you, idiot—the dragon!” she snapped.

  “She's never been alone long enough to develop any habits.”

  “Poor little thing,” said the Dragon Lady. She began rummaging through her desk drawers. “Now where the devil is it?” She began tossing papers, pens, rulers, small liquor bottles, and pencils onto the floor. “Ah!” she said with satisfaction after a couple of minutes. “I've got it!”

  She pulled a crystal ball out of a drawer and set it on the desk in front of her.

  “Stay back,” she warned. “This could be dangerous.”

  Jeeves tensed and got ready to race for the door. Mallory looked unimpressed.

  “Boil and bubble, cauldron of trouble!” she intoned, then looked up. “That's just for effect, you understand. Crystal balls hardly ever boil.”

  “We'll take your word for it,” said Mallory. “Could you get on with it, please?”

  She quoted stanzas from “The Face on the Barroom Floor,” “Casey at the Bat,” and “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” followed by two of the more salacious verses of “The Ring Dang Doo,” then peered into the crystal for a long moment.

  “Well,” she said when she looked up again, “I can give you bad news or no news.”
>
  “You want to explain that?” said Mallory.

  “There's no live dragon in Chinatown that fits Fluffy's description. Either she's been processed and served at Ming Toy Epstein's Kosher Chinese Eatery down the street, or she never got to Chinatown.” She paused. “I wish I could help you further, but I never leave the premises and I don't have a phone.”

  “Use mine,” said Mallory, pulling out his cell phone.

  “Finally an acknowledgment!” exclaimed Belle. “I am yours, just as you are mine!”

  “Does it bite?” asked the Dragon Lady, staring at Belle.

  “I only bite the superstud here,” said Belle. “Little love bites. It drives him crazy.”

  The Dragon Lady picked up the phone as if it was a loaded bomb that might go off any second, quickly punched out the numbers as Belle cried “Ouch!” at each touch, and then held it a few inches from her ear.

  “Hello?” she said. “Yes, this is me. I need to know: Have you got any dragon on the menu today? No. How about a few hours ago? Thanks. And as long as you ask, yes, send over a pig, a chicken, and a duck. No, don't kill them; I like them fresh. Yes, I'll be waiting.”

  She handed the phone back to Mallory.

  “No dragon?” he asked.

  “None.”

  “Thanks for your trouble.”

  “Thanks for your fifty dollars,” she said.

  “For that?” he demanded.

  “Okay, three ninety-five.”

  He pulled out four ones and placed the on the desk. “Keep the change.”

  “Maybe it isn't benign after all,” the Dragon Lady yelled after him as he and Jeeves rejoined Joe and Felina out on the street.

  CHAPTER 15

  1:19 AM–1:48 AM

  “Where to now?” asked Joe.

  “Doesn't make much difference,” said Mallory. “Winnifred's due to call in a few minutes, and we'll see where she wants to meet.” He shrugged. “She's sure as hell not going to want to traipse all the way down to Chinatown, so I suppose we might as well start heading back to Brody's place.”

  “Doesn't it make more sense to meet at your office?” asked Jeeves.

  “Why?” asked Mallory.

  Jeeves shrugged. “She might not be able to find Mr. Brody's building.”

  “She was there just a few hours ago,” said Mallory, “and she knows her way around this Manhattan better than I do.” He began walking. “Let's go.” He raised his voice. “I hope you're enjoying all this.”

  “I most certainly am not,” said Jeeves.

  “I wasn't talking to you.”

  “I am, now that we're together forever, Sweetcakes,” said Belle.

  “I wasn't talking to you, either.” He raised his voice. “Are you just going to sit on your ass, or are you going to give me a little help?”

  “I am ethically forbidden from helping you, even when you are toiling in my service,” said the Grundy's disembodied voice.

  Joe pulled out his sword and looked around for the voice's owner. Jeeves started trembling. Felina merely yawned.

  “It's been seven or eight hours, and I haven't turned up a single lead,” said Mallory. “If you want her found by ring time, screw your ethical system. Hunt up a higher categorical imperative and tell me where to look.”

  “You're a bright man, John Justin Mallory,” said the Grundy. “You know almost everything you need to know. You'll figure it out.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Mallory. “I don't know a goddamned thing!”

  He waited for a reply, but none came.

  “I just hate know-it-all demons!” he muttered.

  A single amused laugh floated toward him on the cold night wind.

  “What was that?” asked Jeeves.

  “The Grundy.”

  “Why are you conferring with him? Surely he's responsible for the theft.”

  Mallory shook his head. “It's too difficult to explain, but he wants me to find Fluffy as much as you do.”

  “That doesn't make any sense,” said Jeeves.

  “It doesn't make any sense to a rational mortal,” said Mallory. “It makes perfect sense to a demon who considers himself a sportsman.”

  “He's the most powerful demon on the East Coast,” continued Jeeves. “If he wants her found, he must know where she is.”

  “He does. But he won't tell me.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you want my opinion,” answered Mallory, “he took too damned many philosophy courses in college.”

  “Do demons go to college?” asked Joe. “I mean, other than to eat professors and make out with gorgeous coeds?”

  “How the hell do I know?” said the detective.

  “You just said—”

  “Forget it.”

  “Just trying to be helpful,” said the goblin.

  “I know,” said Mallory. “I'm just frustrated. It's been a pretty unproductive evening.” He paused. “Well, what the hell—maybe Winnifred will have unearthed a couple of leads to the dragon.”

  “Bird,” said Felina.

  “No, dragon,” said Mallory.

  “No, bird!” she repeated, her face pressed against the window of a building they were passing.

  Mallory stopped to see what she was looking at and found himself staring into the interior of a wax museum. There were Errol Flynn and Douglas Fairbanks wielding swords, Gary Cooper reluctantly drawing his gun, Mae West asking Cary Grant if he was carrying a pistol in his pocket or if he was just glad to see her, Jean Harlow chewing gum and announcing to general disbelief that she had just read a book, Marilyn Monroe breathing deeply, Bette Davis declaring that the place was a dump, and highlighted in the center were Humphrey Bogart, Peter Lorre, and Sydney Greenstreet, all gathered around a table and examining the Maltese Falcon.

  “I want it!” said Felina, rushing into the museum.

  “Hey, mister,” said the doorman, who looked exactly like Lionel Barrymore, “get your cat out of here or pay me twenty-five cents for her admission.”

  “Only a quarter?” said Mallory.

  “Raised our prices in 1946. No one's told us to raise ’em again.”

  “Here's a dollar for the three of us and the cat-girl,” said Mallory, handing him a bill.

  “Thanks, mister,” said the doorman. “It gets mighty lonely around here. These days everyone wants Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts and Leonardo whatever-the-hell-his-name-is. Tradition doesn't mean anything to them anymore.”

  “Maybe it'll come back.”

  The doorman shook his head. “Not a chance. They even tore down Yankee Stadium. Nothing's sacred these days.”

  Mallory couldn't think of anything comforting to say, so he simply entered the museum, followed by Joe and Jeeves. Felina, crouching and silent, was stalking the falcon. She was just about to pounce when Bogart suddenly looked up.

  “I wouldn't do that if I were you, sister,” he said with a slight lisp.

  Felina drew back and hissed at him.

  “Hey, fella,” Bogart said to Mallory, “if you can't control your woman, get her out of here.”

  “She's not exactly a woman and she's not exactly mine,” replied Mallory.

  “Good!” said Belle. “Hold that thought.”

  Bogart turned to Felina and pulled a revolver out of his pocket. “You touch the dingus, sister, and I'll ventilate you.”

  “No!” said Lorre's high nasal voice. “Let me!”

  “Felina, get away from there,” said Mallory. “It's not real anyway.”

  “Yes it is,” she insisted. “It's a big black bird.”

  “It's a phony,” said Mallory.

  “A phony?” laughed Greenstreet. “By gad, sir, you are a card! Do you know how many years it took me to get my hands on this bird, how many men I had to cheat out of it? A phony indeed!”

  “I hate to disillusion you,” said Mallory, “but the bird is just lead.”

  “And why should we believe you?” demanded Lorre. “You just wan
t to cut yourself in!” He pulled a knife out of his pocket. “If there's any cutting to do…”

  “Don't kill him,” said Bogart.

  “Why not?” asked Lorre.

  “We need a fall guy. He looks like he fits the frame.”

  “You don't want me,” said Mallory. “I'm a shamus, just like you.”

  “Yeah?” said Bogart with a slight grimace. “You know, I'm in the market for a new partner.”

  “Some other time, perhaps,” said Mallory. “I'm after a dragon at the moment.”

  “It could be worse,” said Greenstreet jovially. “The dragon could be after you.”

  “Not this one,” said Mallory. “It's as small as the falcon.”

  “Bring it by,” said Bogart. “If you're right about the dingus, maybe the stuff's hidden under the dragon's skin.”

  “The dragon has a prior commitment,” said Mallory.

  “Well, think about it,” said Bogart. “And about hiring on as my partner. The last one got himself shot.”

  “Too bad,” said Mallory.

  “When a man's partner is killed, he's supposed to do something about it,” continued Bogart.

  “You're sending the girl over, right?” asked Mallory.

  “A honey like that?” said Bogart. “You've got to be kidding! What I'm doing about it is hiring another partner.”

  “I'm available starting a week from Tuesday,” offered Joe.

  “Come by then,” said Bogart. “We'll talk.”

  The three men went back to examining the falcon, and Mallory began looking around the museum. There was no Indiana Jones, but he spotted Jones's predecessor, Charlton Heston, in leather jacket, khaki pants, and battered fedora from Secret of the Incas. There was no Star Trek or Star Wars either, but off in a corner Walter Pidgeon was being menaced by his id in Forbidden Planet. Elsewhere Clark Gable seemed just on the verge of telling Vivien Leigh that he didn't give a damn.

  “So where are Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland?” asked Mallory of no one on particular.

  “They're preparing a musical in the old barn,” said Marjorie Main.

  “Oh, my God—another one?” complained W. C. Fields.

  Suddenly Mallory was momentarily blinded by a flashlight.

  “Quick, Watson!” said Basil Rathbone, shining the light in the darkest area of the museum. “The game's afoot!”