Stalking the Dragon

by Mike Resnick

  “Do they still make plugged nickels?” asked Mallory pleasantly.

  “Damn it, you know what I mean!” said Brody. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket, felt around for a lighter, couldn't find it, and hurled the cigar against the far wall.

  “You're not thinking this through,” said Mallory. “If she wins the show, the bookies will pocket your bets and let bygones be bygones. It's if she doesn't show up and word gets out about what you pulled that you're a walking dead man…and not like the one I have guarding your escape route.”

  “Then don't tell them, and I'll make it worth your while!” urged Brody desperately.

  “Too late,” said Mallory. “Harry the Book and Hot Horse Hennigan already know, and I'm sure they're not keeping it a secret.”

  “It's all your fault!” said Brody. “You've ruined me!”

  “I'm sure glad to see you know where to place the blame,” said Mallory.

  “I thought society encouraged entrepreneurs,” said Brody bitterly. “Whatever happened to innovation and creativity?”

  “Innovation and Creativity sounds like a bad rock band,” said Mallory.

  “There aren't any good ones,” said Winnifred.

  “I've got every bookie in town after my scalp, and you're talking about rock bands,” moaned Brody. “What's going to become of me?”

  “Well, if you'd broken any laws, I'd say a hotshot lawyer would have you back out on the street before the cops finished filling out their paperwork,” said Mallory. “But bookies aren't courts and judges. If I were you, I'd take Fluffy into the ring, try my damnedest to win the show, and write the losses off.”

  “I can't!” yelled Brody. “I mortgaged everything I own and borrowed from all my friends to make those bets!”

  “I'd say you've got yourself a hell of a problem, Mr. Brody,” replied Mallory. He tossed Fluffy another cookie. “Where's her leash?”

  “You go to hell!” said Brody.

  “I may, eventually,” answered Mallory. “But I'm going to Eastminster first.”

  Winnifred scouted around in the closet for a few seconds and withdrew a leash and a collar.

  “Asbestos,” she remarked. “Makes sense.”

  “Put it on her and let's be on our way,” said Mallory. “Somehow, I don't feel confident letting Mr. Brody hold on to the other end of the leash.”

  Winnifred knelt down and called to Fluffy. The little dragon approached her, and stood still while she attached both the collar and the leash.

  “Such a friendly animal!” enthused Winnifred. “She hardly acts like the winningest dragon in the country.”

  “She probably doesn't know she is,” said Mallory. He tossed another cookie on the floor, and Fluffy emitted a happy little screech and pounced on it.

  “I think I'd better take the rest of these,” said Mallory, pulling a dozen cookies out of the drawer and setting them atop the dresser. “Who the hell knows if we can find more before the show?”

  “Let me check the bathroom and see if I can find something to put them in,” said Winnifred. “I know it's cold out, but once we're inside Madison Round Garden they'll probably melt if you have them in your pocket.”

  “So what?” said Mallory. “They'll taste the same.”

  “If she won't eat a chocolate marshmallow cookie shaped like a rhino or a hippo, she won't eat one that's totally lost its structural integrity,” replied Winnifred.

  “Okay, that makes sense,” agreed Mallory.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the leash. “I'll go look.”

  As she disappeared into the bathroom, Brody made a break for the door, opened it, and slammed it shut behind him. Winnifred raced out the bathroom, a plastic bag in her hand.

  “What happened, John Justin?” she asked.

  “Brody flew the coop,” answered Mallory. “I didn't want to choke the dragon to death chasing after him, and I didn't want to let go of the leash and maybe have her escape while I was after him.”

  “But he'll get away!” said Winnifred.

  “I don't think so,” replied Mallory. “We've posted our people at both elevators, remember.”

  “I hope Harry's men are dependable,” she said. Winnifred quickly put the cookies into the plastic bag, and placed it in her purse. “Well, let's go see which of them caught him.”

  They went out into the corridor. Mallory took a step toward the main elevator bank. “Felina!” he called. “Did he come your way?”

  The cat-girl shook her head, grinned, and pointed toward the service elevator.

  Mallory picked Fluffy up, tucked her under an arm, and walked toward Dugan, followed by Winnifred.

  “Well?” he said when he arrived.

  “Well what?” asked Dugan.

  “Where is he?”

  The zombie shrugged. “I don't know.”

  “I know he came this way. Tell me you didn't let him get on the elevator.”

  “I didn't let him get on the elevator,” said Dugan.

  “Good. Where is he?”

  “On the elevator.”

  “But you just said he didn't get on it.”

  “You told me to say that,” replied Dugan reasonably.

  “I also told you not to let the guy you saw at Grazi's pass!” snapped Mallory.

  “No you didn't,” answered Dugan. “You told me if he came running out of the room with a dragon under his arm, not to let him pass. He didn't have a dragon.” Dugan's eyes fell on Fluffy, who was still tucked under Mallory's arm. “Should I let you pass?”

  Mallory growled an obscenity, turned, and walked toward the main elevator bank.

  “I'm starting to loathe zombies,” he said to Winnifred.

  “You have to adjust to his limitations,” she replied.

  “That's like telling the dinosaurs they had to adjust to a comet hitting the Earth,” said Mallory. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turned back to Dugan. “All right—come on.”

  When the five of them were assembled, they summoned an elevator, went down to the main floor, walked out through the lobby, and were soon on the sidewalk.

  “What now?” asked Winnifred.

  “What time is it?”

  She checked her wristwatch. “Ten oh seven.”

  “Well, she's not due in the ring for a few hours,” noted Mallory, “but as long as we've got her, we might as well take her over to the Garden.”

  They began walking toward Madison Avenue. When they were still half a block away two shots rang out.

  “Was that a car backfiring?” asked Dawkins.

  “Those were gunshots,” said Winnifred with absolute certainty. “Are you all right, John Justin?”

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  “I'm fine,” she replied. “Mr. Dawkins?”

  “I'm okay.”

  “Mr. Dugan?”

  “I feel a draft,” replied Dugan.

  Mallory turned to the zombie, and saw two fresh holes in his chest.

  Another shot, and the store window behind them blew apart.

  “What is it, John Justin?” said Winnifred, crouching down behind a car and pulling her gun out of her purse.

  “I have a feeling that finding Fluffy was the easy half of this job,” said Mallory, ducking behind a van and trying to spot the shooter. “Getting to the Garden without being killed is going to be the hard part.”

  As if for emphasis, a bullet thudded home into the wall an inch above his head.

  CHAPTER 28

  10:09 AM–10:21 AM

  Two more shots rang out.

  “Can you see anyone?” asked Winnifred.

  “No,” said Mallory. “They seem to be coming from the left of that pet shop across the street, but I can't be sure.”

  “I can't see anyone either,” said Belle from inside Mallory's pocket. “Or anything. It's dark in here.”

  “You're safer there,” said Mallory.

  “How's Fluffy?” asked Winnifred.

  He looked at the little dragon that
was still tucked under his arm. “I guess she's okay. How do you tell?”

  He looked around. Dawkins was kneeling behind a parked van, eating one candy bar after another for comfort. Felina, who was right next to Mallory, had found an anthill between cracks in the street, and was enjoying herself torturing the ants. Dugan was standing, oblivious of the danger and the snow that was starting to fall, watching a trio of banshees circling high above them.

  Mallory dared another look across the street, saw the flash of a gun, heard the thunderous report, and ducked back behind a 12-cylinder Dusenburg.

  “Grundy,” he said softly, “I hate to be a pest, but if you want me to get this dragon to the ring, I think we're going to need your help.”

  “Are you talking to me, John Justin?” asked Winnifred. “I can't quite hear you.”

  “He's talking to the Grundy,” said Felina helpfully.

  “As if we didn't have enough trouble already,” moaned Dawkins.

  “Don't worry,” replied Felina. “The Grundy's not answering.”

  Mallory tried to spot the shooter again. All he got for his trouble was a bullet hole through the brim of his hat.

  “Grundy!” he said, louder this time. “How about it?”

  “I'm busy grooming Carmelita,” said the Grundy's disembodied voice.

  “Can't you see what's going on here?”

  “Of course I can,” replied the demon. “What do you want?”

  “You're kidding, right?” snapped Mallory. “Get us out of this jam!”

  “You have the wherewithal to extricate yourself with no risk to you or the dragon.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Mallory.

  “You're a bright man,” said the Grundy. “You'll figure it out. Now please stop bothering me. I have a show to prepare for.”

  “You want to give me a hint, at least?” said Mallory.

  There was no answer.

  “What was that all about, John Justin?” asked Winnifred.

  “I'm not sure,” said Mallory, frowning. “I have to think.” Suddenly a huge smile spread across his face. “I'm an idiot!” he exclaimed.

  “I always knew it, John Justin,” said Felina.

  “Don't you dare say that to the man of my dreams!” retorted Belle.

  “Shut up, both of you,” said Mallory. “Dugan?”

  The zombie looked down to where the detective was crouching behind the van. “What?”

  “Brody's across the street, shooting at us.”

  “I thought I heard some noise,” said Dugan.

  “Go take his gun away and bring him to me,” said Mallory.

  “Take his gun away and bring him to you,” said Dugan. “Got it.” A pause. “When?”

  “Now would be nice,” said Mallory.

  Dugan walked across the street, undeterred by the hail of bullets that tore into him. Suddenly the zombie's voice called out: “It's not Brody.”

  “Disarm him anyway, and bring him here!” yelled Mallory.

  Mallory heard a scream, and a moment later Dugan came back, dragging a man by the foot. He handed the man's gun to the detective, who in turn put Fluffy on the ground and gave her leash to Winnifred.

  “Was he the only one?” asked Mallory.

  “The only one of what?” asked Dugan.

  “The only one shooting at us?”

  “Yes,” said Dugan. “Probably.”

  Mallory stared at the zombie. “You've been pretty well ventilated,” he observed. “This can't be the first time. How do they patch you up?”

  Gently Gently Dawkins climbed laboriously to his feet and walked over. He reached into his mouth and pulled out some freshly chewed bubble gum, which he dabbed onto the bullet holes. “This will do until we can stop for morticians’ putty at Creepy Conrad's All-Night Mortuary. That's where Harry sends me or Benny Fifth Street to pick it up whenever Dugan comes back from what Harry calls a difficult collection.”

  “I take it this isn't a new problem?” remarked Mallory.

  “Yes it is,” said Dugan. “This guy has never shot me before.”

  “I stand corrected,” said Mallory dryly.

  “Do you suppose he has any more henchmen waiting along the way?” asked Winnifred.

  “Who knows?” replied Mallory. “I didn't think he had this one.” He paused. “Theoretically he's dead broke and in hock up to his ears, but I suppose he could have paid for some firepower in advance.”

  “How could he know we'd figure out his scam?”

  “He couldn't. This was just insurance. We're not the main targets anyway.”

  “We're not?” said Dawkins, surprised.

  “It's Fluffy,” answered Mallory. “He can't afford to let her reach the ring. She's what this guy was after. Dugan, put him on his feet and let's find out what he knows.”

  The zombie picked up the gunman and set him upright, none too gently.

  “Hi,” said Mallory with a smile. “I get the distinct impression that you want to talk to us.”

  “You go to hell,” said the gunman as Dugan held him motionless.

  “My mistake,” said Mallory easily. “I guess you'd rather play with my cat.”

  “Your cat?”

  “Felina,” said Mallory, “say hello to the nice man.”

  Felina approached him with a toothy smile, the morning sun glinting off her claws.

  “Call her off!” said the man, trying to back away but unable to free himself from the zombie's viselike grip.

  “She doesn't answer to ‘Off,’” said Mallory. “Are you sure you wouldn't rather talk to me than play with her?”

  “You win!” said the man in panicky tones. “I'll talk!”

  “My God, you're so masterful!” exclaimed Belle.

  “That'll be all for now, Felina,” said Mallory, ignoring the cell phone. The cat-girl made a face and hissed at him. “But stick around, in case he decides he doesn't want to talk after all.” He turned to the man. “You got a name?”

  “Bullseye.”

  Mallory looked amused. “You miss ten shots from right across the street and you're Bullseye?”

  “If you were a bull you'd be dead,” Bullseye assured him. “People's eyes are smaller and harder to hit.”

  “I'll take your word for it,” said Mallory. “How long have you been working for Brody?”

  “Brody?” repeated Bullseye. “Is that who I'm working for?”

  “You don't know?” said Winnifred incredulously.

  “Hey, I'm temping for Gunsels R Us—just until I catch up on my Christmas bills, you understand. I guess this Brody made a down payment a couple of months ago.” He tried unsuccessfully to shrug free of Dugan's grasp. “My supervisor tells me to tail the guy with the horns, and if anyone takes the dragon away, get it back or kill it.”

  “Did Brody hire just one of you?”

  “They tell me he put money down on two more, but they're not from my organization. They're real specialists.”

  “Any idea who they are?”

  “The scuttlebutt around the office is that they're Marius the Mage and Percy Picayune.”

  “Percy?” said Belle suddenly. “Watch out for him!”

  “More dangerous than the magician?” asked Mallory.

  “Infinitely,” said Belle. “He used to be an IRS auditor. He is absolutely without mercy.”

  Mallory turned back to Bullseye. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  “No.”

  “You're sure?” said Mallory.

  “Well, I can tell you that the track's coming up muddy at Jamaica, and never buy commodities on margin, and beware of aggressive redheads named Thelma.”

  “But nothing about Brody?”

  “No.”

  “All right,” said Mallory. “Get out of here, and don't let me see you again.”

  “You weren't supposed to see me the first time,” said Bullseye bitterly. He paused awkwardly. “Can I have my gun back?”

  “Hell, no,” sa
id Mallory.

  “How about if I say ‘please’?”

  “You just tried to kill us with it.”

  “That was business,” said Bullseye. “We're all friends now—except maybe for the cat-thing.”

  “Go away before I turn you over to her.”

  “But that's not fair!” complained Bullseye. “I'm a freelance assassin. How am I going to make ends meet if you keep the tool of my trade?”

  “That's the risk you take when you don't kill your target,” said Mallory.

  “What the hell,” said Bullseye with a shrug. “Maybe I can borrow my mom's. I just hate to walk that far with the snow starting to get worse.”

  “We all have to live with life's little inconveniences,” said Mallory.

  “All right,” said Bullseye. “But promise you won't tell any of the guys. This is the third kill I've blown this month, and I hate all their teasing. It's good-natured, I know that, but it's still humiliating.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Well, good-bye, then,” said Bullseye, shaking his hand. “And good luck making it to the Garden. You haven't got a chance, what with Marius and Percy waiting for you, but I hope you at least give them a run for their money.”

  And with that, he turned and began walking down the increasingly slippery street, sidestepping the occasional skidding car.

  “Does anyone know anything about this Marius the Mage?” asked Mallory, turning back to his team.

  Nobody answered.

  “What about Percy Picayune?”

  “Just what I told you,” said Belle.

  “It would be nice to know what they looked like, at least,” said Mallory.

  “Is Percy twice as big as a dinosaur, with blue skin and huge claws and beady eyes and each of his teeth as long as a grown man?” asked Felina, looking just over the detective's shoulder.

  “An IRS auditor?” said Mallory. “I sure as hell doubt it. Why?”

  “Then that must be Marius the Mage walking down the street toward us,” said the cat-girl.

  CHAPTER 29

  10:21 AM–11:49 AM

  Mallory looked up the street, which was fast becoming covered with snow. He'd seen a lot of strange sights in this Manhattan, but none of them had quite the effect of the enormous blue monster strolling down the middle of the street, some forty feet at the shoulder and four times that long.