by Mike Resnick
“Now!” she said severely.
He held the bottle up to the light. “What's in it, really?” he asked dubiously.
“Dreams, hope, thoughts, conclusions, deductions, and a hell of a lot of caffeine,” answered Aunt Granny. “Now drink it up.”
Mallory stared at the bottle.
“Don't force me to become severe with you, young man.”
He sighed, opened the bottle, brought it up to his mouth, and drained it.
“Well?” she said expectantly.
“It's not Dom Perignon,” replied Mallory. “If truth be known, it's now even Old Peculiar.”
“But is it working?” she persisted. “Are you thinking more clearly.”
“Of course not,” he said. “It's probably just unsweetened coffee.” He made a face. “It's really pretty awful. Tastes kind of like—” Suddenly he froze.
“Are you okay, Mr. Mallory?” asked Dawkins.
“His heart is beating,” announced Belle.
Suddenly Mallory blinked his eyes rapidly. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed.
“What is it?” asked Dawkins.
“I know where Brody's hiding!”
CHAPTER 23
5:55 AM–6:41 AM
As they passed a crowded delicatessen, Felina pressed her face up against the window, staring at the lox on a diner's plate.
“Looks pretty good, doesn't it?” said Dawkins, moving next to her. “But I prefer the matzo ball soup, and maybe some chopped liver.”
“I want those!” she said, pointing a claw toward a pile of sardines on another plate.
“I wonder how they'd go with a knish or two?” mused Dawkins.
“Uh…I hate to be a killjoy,” said Mallory, walking back to them when he noticed they had stopped, “but we're about to apprehend the villain and rescue the princess.”
“What princess?” asked Dawkins.
“Well, she's a princess among eleven-inch dragons,” said Mallory. “Do you suppose you two could drag yourselves away from the deli's window, or do I have to order Dugan to drag you?”
“But we're hungry!” protested Felina.
“When are you ever not?” said the detective.
“A month ago last Blisterday, at fifteen o'clock in the twilight,” she replied.
“If Brody's hiding, he probably isn't about to go anywhere,” said Dawkins, stepping aside as a pair of trolls in yarmulkes entered the deli. “So perhaps we have time for some blintzes, and maybe a corned beef sandwich.”
“Now,” said Mallory.
“How about a bagel and cream cheese?”
“See those sauerkraut balls?” said Mallory, pointing to a plate on another table. “You come with me now, or yours will end up on the same plate.”
“Okay, I'm coming, I'm coming,” whined Dawkins, his hands covering his groin.
“Felina?”
“I'm not afraid of you or Dead End Dugan,” announced the cat-girl.
“Are you afraid of never being fed again?” asked Mallory.
Felina bounded past him. “Stop loafing, John Justin!” she said. “We're closing in on the Bad Guy!”
“I'm sorry to be slowing you down,” said Mallory dryly.
“Where are we going?” asked Dawkins.
“The one place he knew I'd never think of looking.”
“A men's clothing store?” asked Dawkins.
“The shower?” chimed in Felina.
“It wouldn't have to be security,” muttered Mallory to himself. “I'm adaptable. Maybe the Grundy needs a butler or a gardener.”
“I'm glad to hear that,” said Belle. “I love a man who's adaptable.”
“He can't quit,” said Felina. “Who would skritch my back?”
“Or my front?” added Belle.
“I don't want to hear this,” said Mallory wearily. He looked ahead. “Turn right at the corner.”
They walked in silence for a few blocks. Skyscrapers were replaced by apartment buildings, fine restaurants by sandwich shops, elegant groceries with Noodnik's Emporium and other of its ilk. Then Felina stopped and turned to the detective.
“This is wrong, John Justin.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “If we keep walking this way, we'll be at your office in another block.”
“That's right.”
“But that's the last place we want to be,” said the cat-girl.
“And that's what Brody's counting on.”
“You want to explain that, Hot Lips?” said Belle.
“It was when we were talking to Aunt Granny,” said Mallory. “She mentioned Bohemian coffeehouses, and everything fell into place.”
“You work in a Bohemian coffeehouse?” asked Belle, confused. “I thought you were a shamus.”
Mallory shook his head, then realized that she couldn't see him from inside his pocket. “No,” he said. “But it was the word. I'm a detective. One of the great detective stories was A Scandal in Bohemia, where Irene Adler hides the letters Sherlock Holmes wants by leaving them in plain sight.”
“But if Brody's in your office, he's not in plain sight,” Dawkins chimed in.
“It's the principle that counts,” said Mallory. “You hide something valuable in an easily accessible place, and whoever's searching for it walks past it a dozen times, looking for clever hiding places.” He paused and stared at three confused faces, one human, one nonhuman, and one no longer human. “Look,” he said, “he knows Winnifred or I could go to the office any time we want. We have the keys, so he can't lock us out. But he hasn't had to. We left the office to find him. We've been all over the city looking for him. The one place we'd never consider searching is our own office. Remember, he's not hiding out for days or weeks; he just has to stay hidden another nine or ten hours. Where better to do it than the office of the two people who are searching the city for you and your dragon?”
“The Bronx?” guessed Dugan.
“Borneo?” suggested Dawkins.
“The moon,” said Felina with absolute certainty.
“That was a rhetorical question,” said Mallory disgustedly.
“I like redheaded questions,” announced Felina.
Mallory was about to correct her, thought better of it, and just resumed walking. He reached his building at 7 Mystic Place in five minutes, opened the door, and walked down the corridor. His office was actually a converted apartment that he'd appropriated from a magician when he'd first arrived, and the landlord was constantly taking down the Mallory & Carruthers Investigations sign he had on the door.
He stood before the door and turned to Felina. “Well?”
The cat-girl inhaled deeply. “People smoke too much in the hallways,” she announced. “Mr. Miller has a girlfriend. Miss Pringle has two…no, three…boyfriends.” She grinned. “One of them's really strange.”
“What about Brody and Fluffy?”
“Oh, they were here,” said Felina. “Didn't I tell you that?”
“Were here?” said Mallory sharply.
“In the hallway. I won't know if they're in the office until you open it.”
Mallory inserted his key in the door, and turned to Dugan. “You first,” he said as he opened the door.
The zombie walked into the office. “I almost remember that I liked those kind of pictures back when I was alive,” he said, staring at the Playmates on the wall behind Mallory's desk. He pointed a mottled forefinger at the undergarments Winnifred had meticulously drawn on the models with a magic marker. “I don't remember those though.”
“Sometimes my partner can't keep her artistic sensitivities in check,” said Mallory, standing by Winnifred's meticulously arranged desk. “Felina, are they here?”
The cat-girl shook her head. “No, John Justin.”
“How long ago did they leave?”
Felina walked around the office, sniffing the air. “Maybe twenty minutes.”
“You're sure?” persisted Mallory.
“Of course I'm sure,” she said with dign
ity. “I'm a cat-person.” A pause. “I have a question, John Justin.”
“Yeah?”
“How long is a minute?” said Fellina. “Is it longer than a mile?”
“If you don't know how long a minute is, how do you know they've been gone for twenty of them?”
“Okay, thirty, then,” she said agreeably.
“Shit!” said Mallory. “I'm better call Winnifred and tell her they're still at large.”
He pulled Belle out of his pocket, and an instant later the room reverberated to an earsplitting shriek.
“What the hell was that?” demanded Mallory.
“Naked women on the wall!” she screamed. “And after all we've meant to each other! How could you?”
“They're not naked anymore,” Dawkins put in helpfully.
“But they were once!” moaned Belle.
“Most people were once,” said Mallory. “Now, are you going to call Winnifred for me, or do I use my desk phone?”
“That's right!” cried Belle. “First humiliate me, and then abandon me!”
“It'd be hard to do it the other way around,” said Mallory, unimpressed.
“I've fallen for a sadist!”
“You've got ten seconds to call Winnifred.”
“All right,” she sniffed. “But my heart is absolutely shattered. It may affect your reception.”
Mallory held the phone to his ear.
“Hold me as if it was for the last time,” breathed Belle.
“Just call her, or it will be the last time.”
“Squeeze me a little. Run your fingers over my numbers. Give me something to remember you by.”
“One more word and I'll give you more than you bargained for to remember me by,” growled Mallory.
“Hello?” said Winnifred's voice.
“Hi. Just checking in.”
“Any progress, John Justin?”
“Not so's you'd notice it. You might as well leave Harry's and join up with us. Brody's not going to be at any of those addresses until after the show.”
“You're sure?”
“Yeah. He's also not in our office, though Felina tells me he was here recently.”
“How recently?”
Mallory stared at the cat-girl. “That's a point of some debate.”
“So what's next?”
“I'm stuck for ideas,” he answered. “Come on back to the office and we'll put our heads together.”
“On my way,” said Winnifred, hanging up.
“You'll put your head together with the fat broad but not with me?” said Belle, on the verge of tears again.
“Strictly speaking, she didn't leave Harry's,” added Dawkins helpfully. “She left Joey Chicago's.”
Mallory turned to the zombie. “Talk to me, Dugan.”
Dugan blinked and looked mildly confused. “What should I say?”
“Whatever comes into your head.”
“Nothing's coming into my head,” replied Dugan. He frowned. “Why am I talking to you?”
“Because everyone else in this office is driving me crazy.”
“Oh,” said Dugan. He stared silently at the detective.
“Well?” said Mallory.
“I'm thinking. Nothing's coming.”
“You know,” Mallory mused aloud, “until tonight I actually envied Harry the Book. He sits there in his booth at the bar, he sends you guys out to collect his money, he has his own personal mage.” Mallory sighed deeply.
“I had no idea what the poor son of a bitch puts up with.”
“True, true,” said Dawkins. “It's a tension-ridden, time-consuming, economically unstable job.”
“That too,” agreed Mallory, as Winnifred entered the office. “That was fast,” he said to her.
“I caught an express bus.”
“The kind with wheels, or the kind with a trunk and tusks?”
“With wheels,” she replied. “They're getting rarer and rarer these days.”
“So are Brody and Fluffy,” Felina chimed in with a cherubic smile.
“Imagine the nerve of that man!” said Winnifred in outraged tones.
“Paying us to hunt all over the city for his dragon, while all the time he was hiding her here in our office!” She hung up her coat, unbuttoned her cuffs, and rolled up her sleeves. “Well, let's get to work.”
“I thought that's what we've been doing,” said Dawkins.
“And now we're going to work some more, this time at finding some clue to tell us where he might have gone,” said Winnifred, starting to go over the papers that were neatly stacked on her desk.
“Dawkins, check the kitchen,” said Mallory. When he saw the huge smile on Dawkins's face, he held up a hand. “On second thought, I'd better check it. Start going through wastebaskets, shelves, anything.” Suddenly he froze. “Oh, hell—I keep forgetting: We've got a witness.” He walked over to the magic mirror. “Hey, Periwinkle—wake up!”
A face formed in the mirror. The eyes blinked. The mouth yawned. “Can't a guy get a few winks of sleep every now and then?” complained Periwinkle.
“I need your help.”
“How thoughtful. You want me to choose between showing you Fifi von Climax or Bubbles La Tour.”
“You couldn't have slept the whole time Brody and his dragon were here.”
“Ugly beast,” remarked Periwinkle.
“We're being paid to find that ugly beast, and Brody took it on the lam before I could confront him here,” said Mallory.
“I was referring to Brody.”
“Do you have any idea where they went?”
“Has he got a girlfriend?” asked the mirror.
“How the hell do I know?”
“Well, he kept saying that he'd stayed here as long as he felt he could, and they were going over to Gracie's. So find a girl named Gracie who knows him, and the case is solved.”
“Just Gracie?” said Winnifred. “No last name?”
“It was garbled,” replied Periwinkle. “Manfried, Manly, something like that.”
“There's no sense going through the phone book, not with eight million people in Manhattan,” said Winnifred unhappily.
“Just a minute,” said Mallory. He turned to Periwinkle. “Think carefully now. Instead of Manfried or Manly, could he have said Mansion?”
“It's possible,” said Periwinkle. “Silly name for a girl, though.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed Mallory. “But not for the mayor's residence.”
“I don't know, John Justin,” said Winnifred dubiously. “He's a stranger in town. How would he have access to Gracie Mansion?”
“Maybe a relative works there,” said Mallory; “or maybe a dragon breeder who's entered tomorrow and is only too happy to help him hide the favorite. Who knows?”
“But the mayor's house?” persisted Winnifred. “That would be making him complicit in a crime.”
“I don't know if it is a crime to pull your entry,” said Mallory. “Besides, if the mayor doesn't know what's going on, how can he be complicit?” He paused. “I supposed we'd better be off. East End and Eighty-eighth Street, right?”
“No,” said Periwinkle. “The name was garbled, but I heard the address plain and clear: 666 Dybbuk Place.”
“All right, let's go,” said Winnifred, holding the door open for Dawkins, Dugan, and Felina. “You have the strangest expression on your face, John Justin.”
“I don't think we're in Kansas anymore,” said Mallory. “Or on the way to the mayor's house, either,” he added grimly.
CHAPTER 24
6:41 AM–7:53 AM
“So where is this Dybbuk Place, anyway?” asked Mallory as they proceeded down obscure side streets he never knew existed.
“Just off Bleak Street, as I recall,” replied Winnifred.
“Figures,” muttered Mallory, stepping around a drunk who was snoring noisily in the middle of the sidewalk.
“We must be getting close,” said Winnifred. “We're passing one moldering Victorian
monstrosity after another.”
“Those aren't Victrola monsters,” said Felina. “They're just houses.”
“Big, dark, foreboding houses,” added Gently Gently Dawkins nervously.
A banshee swooped down toward them. ”Beware!” it intoned, flying off just before Felina could leap up and catch it.
“I don't like this area,” said Dawkins. “I especially don't like banshees that say ‘Beware.’”
“You'd prefer ‘Nevermore’?” asked Mallory.
“I'd prefer to be back in my favorite restaurant, or in bed, hiding under the covers,” replied Dawkins.
As he spoke, a cloud of bats flew down the length of Bleak Street. One by one they landed, each in front of a different decaying mansion, morphed into black-clad men and women, and entered the houses.
“What was that all about?” asked Dawkins in a quavering voice.
“Just a bunch of vampires beating the sunrise after a night on the town,” said Mallory. “Nothing unusual.” Suddenly he chuckled.
“What's so funny, John Justin?” asked Winnifred.
“I was just amused by how quickly I've adjusted to this Manhattan,” said Mallory. “Suddenly it makes perfect sense that I'm walking down Bleak Street in the middle of the city, looking for Dybbuk Place and watching a bunch of vampires returning from dinner.”
Suddenly Dead End Dugan stopped walking and looked right and left with a puzzled expression on his face.
“What's the matter?” asked Mallory.
“I think this is the very spot where I was killed,” said Dugan. “The first time,” he added.
“How many times have you been killed?”
Dugan frowned. “Four, I think.”
“You don't know?” asked Mallory, surprised.
“Maybe five. I lost count.”
“Probably it was the bullet to the head the second time,” suggested Dawkins.
“You think you can bring yourself to join us and start walking again?” said Mallory.
“I think so,” said Dugan, not moving.
“What now?” said the detective.
“He'll start walking in a minute,” said Dawkins. “He's like the dinosaurs. It takes a long time for a thought to travel from his brain to his legs.”
Sure enough, Dugan fell into step a few seconds later. Felina led the way, leaping over every square that displayed the builder's insignia.