by Mike Resnick
But it was nothing compared to the effect when it faced him directly and hissed “John Justin Mallory, turn over that dragon or face the consequences!”
“No!” screamed Belle. “Not now that I've finally found him!”
“Shut your pocket up!” hissed the creature.
“You can't!” cried Belle. “I mean, we haven't even—”
The creature roared. Gently Gently Dawkins fainted dead away. Dead End Dugan displayed no fear whatsoever (nor did he display courage, or interest, or animation). Winnifred pulled out her Magnum and tried to figure out where the creature's most vital spot might be. Felina yawned, turned her back, and began assiduously licking a forearm.
“Anyone got any suggestions?” asked Mallory of his companions.
“We're not giving Fluffy up without a fight,” said Winnifred. “I faced creatures this big when I was a white hunter.”
“With a handgun?” asked Mallory.
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” said Winnifred.
“If he falls, he could collapse the subway for a whole block.”
“Are you convinced there's no escape?” demanded the huge blue creature.
“Grundy?” said Mallory.
There was no answer.
“Winnifred?”
“Let him try to take Fluffy away,” she said, never lowering her Magnum. “I'm ready for him.”
“Put that silly toy away!” thundered the creature. “My skin is three inches thick and armor-plated. You couldn't pierce it with a rocket. Just hand over the dragon and I might let you live.”
An arm suddenly sprouted out of its neck and continued growing to enormous length as it reached for Fluffy. The little dragon jumped back in terror, yanking on the leash and spinning Winnifred halfway around. As she tried to turn back the gun went off.
There was an inhuman howl of anguish—and standing there on the street, where the blue creature had been, was a skinny, undersized man in a monk's robe. He was barefoot, and blood was spurting out of the big toe on his left foot, turning the snow around him a bright red.
“What the hell happened?” asked Mallory.
“Is he gone?” asked Belle.
“Kind of,” said Mallory, frowning.
“Good!” she said. “Now I don't have to die an almost-virgin.”
“Amazing!” said Winnifred. “I never saw anything like that before!”
“Where did he go?” said Dawkins, who was awake again and cowering behind Dugan. “One second he was blotting out the sun, and now he's gone and I'm being snowed on again.”
Even Felina appeared interested in the skinny man.
“What did you want to go and do that for?” he whined, kneeling down and wrapping a handkerchief around the toe. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You were about to kill us,” said Mallory.
“Hey, did I touch you?” said the man.
“You threatened to.”
“They were just words. That's no reason to blow a man's foot off.”
“Stop sniveling!” said Winnifred. “It's only a toenail. It'll grow back.”
“Put your damned gun away,” said the man. “Who the hell knows where you'll aim it next?”
“May I assume that your name is Marius?” asked Mallory.
“Of course it's Marius!” said the man angrily. “You don't suppose that Spellsinger Sol or Big-Hearted Milton could turn into a creature half as impressive as that?” He got to his feet with all the dignity he could muster. “I am the greatest magician in Manhattan. Hell, in all five boroughs. Maybe even in the whole state.”
“So why is the greatest magician working for a small-time crook?” asked Mallory. “Why aren't you delving into all the secrets of the universe?”
Marius looked up and down the street to make sure no one could overhear him. “You promise you won't tell anyone?” he said. He paused as if considering how to proceed. “The one secret of the universe I could never solve was claimers who were moving up in class on a muddy track. It seems to be an eternal verity that they win when I bet against them and lose when I bet on them.”
“So you're in hock to your bookie?”
Marius nodded unhappily. “Eight thousand dollars,” he admitted. “Brody sent a retainer to my management firm a month or two back and said that if he needed my services—it would just be for a few hours, tops—he'd cover my debt.” He shrugged. “He got word to me this morning that I should keep an eye on the dragon.”
“Brody's broke,” said Mallory. “He can't cover his own bets, let alone yours.”
“What am I going to do?” said Marius. “I can't let word get out that I couldn't even magic Gallant Gertie out of that traffic jam on the far turn!”
“Who's your bookie?”
“Hot Horse Hennigan.”
“Tell you what,” said Mallory. “You ride shotgun for us until we get to the Garden, and I think I can convince Hennigan to cancel your debt.”
“Can you really do that?” asked Marius hopefully.
“If the dragon doesn't get there, he stands to drop a hell of a lot more than eight grand.”
“It's a deal!” said Marius enthusiastically.
Mallory turned to Dugan. “Put Dawkins on his feet.”
“He's awake,” said Dugan.
“Do it anyway.”
“My God, you're so forceful!” cooed Belle.
Dugan grabbed Dawkins's arms and jerked, and the rotund man almost flew to his feet.
“You want a little mustard with that?” Mallory asked Felina, who had begun assiduously licking her other forearm.
She smiled at him. “Yes, John Justin.”
“Next mustard farm we pass,” he said. “All right, let's get going.”
They began walking, made it to Madison Avenue, and turned right. They passed a few blocks of run-down stores and shops in the process of being refurbished, then came to a movie theater that advertised a triple feature of The Man Who Would Be King.
“How can there be a triple feature of one film?” asked Winnifred.
“Easy,” answered Marius. “The first one is the film John Huston tried to make in the 1940s, with Humphrey Bogart and Clark Gable. Warner Brothers, which owned Bogart, and MGM, which owned Gable, couldn't come to an agreement, and Huston put it on the back burner for almost two decades. The second film on the bill, with Marlon Brando and Richard Burton, fell apart when he couldn't get the financing. And then there's the one he actually made, with Sean Connery and Michael Caine.”
“That's the most fascinating triple feature I ever heard of,” said Winnifred.
“I prefer The Wizard of Oz triple feature myself,” replied Marius. “There's the version with Judy Garland as Dorothy and Frank Morgan as the Wizard, and there's the one MGM wanted to make, with Shirley Temple and W. C. Fields.”
“And the third one?”
“That's the one with Bette Davis as Dorothy and Groucho Marx as the Wizard.”
“Bette Davis?” said Winnifred in surprise.
“It was a stretch,” admitted Marius.
Suddenly a pair of thugs burst out of an alley, their guns trained on Mallory and Winnifred.
“Freeze!” commanded the first one.
“Except for the fat broad,” said the second. “I want you to bring the dragon over.”
“What did you call me?” said Winnifred ominously.
“Do something quick!” Mallory whispered to Marius.
“Don't worry,” said the mage. “They probably won't hurt her.”
“I'm not worrying about her,” said Mallory. “I've seen that look in her eye before. Do something before she kills them!”
“Really?” said Marius, his face alight with interest. “I'd pay to see that.” Suddenly the interest vanished. “If I had any money.”
He pointed toward the two thugs. “Abra cadaver!” he intoned.
Suddenly instead of wicked-looking guns, the two thugs found themselves holding wicked-looking rats, which immediately
began gnawing on their hands. They screamed and threw the rats to the ground, then pulled out knives.
“Presto!” cried Marius, and the knives changed into two pieces of spaghetti. The spaghetti instantly morphed from pasta to steel and wrapped itself around their wrists, handcuffing them. The thugs looked at their wrists, then the rats, then Marius, and suddenly bolted back into the alley.
“Not bad,” said Mallory.
“Not bad?” repeated Marius. “It was goddamned brilliant!”
“You go ahead to the show,” said Felina, stealthily tiptoeing through the snow toward the rats. “I'll make sure the poor things aren't in any pain.”
“For long,” said Mallory dryly.
“Cute little furry little plump little things!” purred Felina.
“You're all heart,” said Mallory.
“I'll catch up with you in a few minutes,” she said as one of the rats bolted for the alley and she blocked his line of retreat.
“Let's go,” said Mallory to his party. “It's too cold to stand and wait for her. Besides, she likes to play with her dinner. You really don't want to watch.”
They kept walking. The area was in transition, with elegant seventy-year-old buildings and ugly twenty-year-old buildings being torn down and replaced by characterless twenty-week-old buildings, though the same grifters and panhandlers—some human, some reptilian, some defying all description—had made their adjustments and were plying their trade.
Mallory's party ran the gamut of entrepreneurial goblins selling everything from Everglades real estate to thick tomes of philosophy by Descartes and Schopenhauer (but filled with full-page pornographic illustrations to liven up the text) to flea circuses complete with tightropes and trapeze. By the time they were within a block of Madison Round Garden, uniformed police—some human, some with scaly green tails—had dispersed the goblins, and Felina rejoined them as they began their final approach to the stadium.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” asked Mallory.
“They make great playmates,” replied Felina happily, stifling a ladylike burp.
“What's that up ahead?” asked Dawkins, pointing to where a crowd had gathered just outside the Garden.
“I don't know,” said Mallory. “They're not in one of the ticket lines.”
“I smell smoke,” said Belle.
Mallory frowned. “Something's on fire.”
“Not yet,” said Marius, staring ahead. “Something's hanging, and they're trying to set it on fire.”
“Oh, that's probably Heartless Herman,” said Dawkins knowingly.
“The coach of the Manhattan Misfits?” asked Mallory.
“Well, he is three-and-forty-nine for the season,” said Dawkins.
“So they're hanging him in effigy,” said Mallory with a shrug. “You have to expect it with a record like that.”
“They're not hanging a dummy, John Justin,” said Winnifred suddenly as she peered ahead. “They're hanging him!”
Mallory stared intently for a few seconds. “Son of a bitch!” he said. “That is him!”
“It's snowing,” observed Felina. “Maybe the fire will warm him up.”
“Stand back,” said Winnifred, stepping forward.
A single shot rang out. The bullet severed the rope that was holding Herman up, and he fell to the ground just before they could set him afire. Winnifred kept her handgun out in plain sight and pushed her way through the crowd.
“Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?” she demanded.
“You betcha!” said one man disgustedly. “I'm ashamed I ever bought season tickets once they announced Heartless Herman was going to be the coach.”
“I'm ashamed we didn't think of this sooner,” added a woman.
“I want you to break this up and go about your business,” said Winnifred.
“Don't be silly!” said another woman. “Hanging Herman is our business.”
Winnifred fired a shot in the air. “You heard me!”
“The fat broad's got some moxie,” whispered Belle. “I'll give her that.”
“Yes, she does,” said Mallory admiringly.
“She's a lot of woman,” agreed Marius.
“I wouldn't word it quite that way,” said Mallory. “She's a little sensitive about some things.”
“Of course, if you ever touch her,” added Belle, “I'll scratch your eyes out.”
Mallory resisted the urge to ask what she'd scratch his eyes out with, and watched as the crowd, ugly and grumbling, slowly dispersed.
When they'd all gone, Winnifred walked over to the fallen coach. “You can get up now,” she said.
Herman got to his feet, brushed himself off, and turned to her. “You saved my life,” he said. “I owe you a—” He broke off and stared at her, his mouth hanging open.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Winnifred?” he said slowly. “Winnifred Carruthers?”
“That's right.”
“It must be Fate!” exclaimed Herman. “I had a crush on you when we were in grammar school together.”
“Herman Bouillabaisse?” she said, staring at him.
“Yes!” he said happily. “It's me!”
She reached over and slapped his face.
“What was that for?” demanded Herman.
“For what you tried to do that afternoon near our lockers.”
“What the hell did I do?”
She slapped him again. “That's for not remembering.”
“You always had a lot of spunk,” he said ruefully, rubbing his jaw.
“You're one very lucky man,” said Winnifred.
“That you showed up?”
“That you're three-and-forty-nine. If you were two-and-fifty, I'd probably have lit the fire myself.” She looked around. “If I were you, I'd leave before they came back.”
“You're right,” he said. He trudged off a couple of steps, then turned back to her. “You know something? You're still very special. I was right to have fallen for you all those years ago.”
Mallory watched her turn her head and wipe a tear away, while all other eyes were on Herman, who scuttled off without another word and soon disappeared between buildings across the street from the Garden.
“Well, so much for that,” Winnifred said to Mallory with forced nonchalance. “Shall we proceed?”
“Might as well,” said Mallory. He turned to Marius. “You kept your end of the bargain. I'll speak to Hennigan.”
“Thanks,” said Marius. He checked the hourglass suspended from his neck. “If I hurry, I can make it out to Jamaica in time to dope out the Daily Double.”
He spun around three times and vanished in a puff of smoke, which startled Mallory, Winnifred, Dugan, and Dawkins, but elicited nothing more than another burp from Felina.
“Okay,” said Mallory, heading toward the exhibitors’ entrance. “Let's go.”
A uniformed man was standing just in front of the door. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “May I help direct you?”
“Why not?” said Mallory agreeably.
“Are you here for the dragon show, the snake-charming seminar, the basketball game, the Steel Cage Tunisian Death Match betweenWilbur the Slug and Mad Dog Marvin, or perhaps the Travel Patagonia slide show?”
“The dragon show,” said Mallory.
The guard studied the little group. “Excuse me, sir, but would your name happen to be John Justin Mallory?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” said the guard with a smile. “Will you and your party come this way, please? One of our directors, Percy Picayune, is waiting to personally process you.”
CHAPTER 30
11:49 AM–1:15 PM
“I don't like the feel of this, John Justin,” said Winnifred softly.
“Neither do I,” said Mallory. “But we can't get to the ring if we don't enter the building.”
They fell into step behind the guard and were ushered down a narrow corridor to a small office. Seated behind a long wooden desk was a baldi
ng, slightly plump man with exceptionally thick glasses. He wore an expensive blue sharkskin suit, and a number of rings glinted on the fingers of both hands.
“John Justin Mallory?” he said as the guard left the office and shut the door behind him.
“You know it is,” answered Mallory.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Percival Picayune.”
“I know who you are.”
“I must admit I am surprised that you got this far,” said Picayune. “I was under the impression that Marius the Mage was hired to stop you.”
“He failed,” said Mallory. “So did the gunmen. You might consider that before you go too far out on a limb.”
“Gunmen?” repeated Picayune, arching an eyebrow. “I strongly disapprove of such methodology. I am an enforcer of the law; I have never broken it, and I don't intend to break it today.” He stared at Mallory. “Are you aware that you don't exist?”
“You wouldn't say that if you'd been as intimate with him as I have!” snapped Belle.
“There is no record of your birth,” continued Picayune, ignoring the cell phone. “There is no record of you attending school. You don't have a Social Security number. You do not have a driver's license. You are legally a nonperson. I think we may have to arrest you for impersonating a human being.”
“Try to keep me away from the show and they may have to arrest you for impersonating a human being with a split lip, a bloody nose, and a black eye,” said Mallory angrily.
“Others have tried,” said Picayune confidently.
“I'm not others,” said Mallory. “Dugan, open the door and let's get to the ring.”
Dugan grabbed the knob and turned it. “It's locked,” he announced.
“Put the damned thing off its hinges,” ordered Mallory. “Put your back into it.”
The big zombie pulled. Nothing happened.
“There's a magical force field around it,” Picayune informed them, “and only I know the words that will open it. Now let's all sit here calmly and quietly, and I'll end the spell when our discussion is over. It shouldn't take more than another six or seven hours.”
Suddenly Winnifred's Magnum was in her hand, pointing at Picayune. “I think you'll do it now,” she said.
“I don't yield to threats,” he said calmly.