AHMM, May 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  I shook my head sadly. “Dragons are dumb beasts. They wouldn't know an air freshener from one of their own turds."

  "The hornets then, not all of them went to the convention. A few stayed behind.” Earl was desperate now.

  "Too small,” I countered. “Even working together, there weren't enough of them left to haul the flowers to the Wood of Suicides or place the air freshener in the tree. It was you, Earl.” I shrugged apologetically. “It simply couldn't have been anyone else."

  A shock ran through my veins as my gaze caught the face of Earl's captor. His eyes glimmered like submerged flames, then his demonic face contorted and tears streamed down his lumpy cheeks. Satan crying? I trembled. What next?

  The tears lasted only a moment. Our master stiffened his jaw and shook Earl so hard the imp's head dangled like a rag doll's. “Why?” His breath exploded in a searing blast. “For countless years, you've been my right-hand man, my loyal servant. Why have you betrayed me?"

  Earl's eyes rolled back in his head, and his tongue lolled limply on his chin. I answered for him. “Earl's sabotage really shouldn't come as a surprise. Downtrodden workers have sought revenge on their masters since the dawn of time. The kitchen slave spits in the teapot or puts ground glass in the stew. The sweatshop seamstress jams her machine with her scissors. Earl must have been feeling pretty put-upon lately. He was trying to irritate you the only way he could think of."

  And it worked, too, I added to myself.

  I made my getaway before the real punishment started. Earl wasn't such a bad guy—believe me, I'd run into far worse since my damnation—and I didn't want to witness what happened next. I felt kind of bad about the whole thing, so was I ever relieved to hear that Earl had escaped the abyss reserved for the most extreme torment.

  Pity wasn't involved. Oh no. It seems that our master recognized an opportunity in this sorry tale of a disgruntled employee. In the end, Old Horny sentenced Earl to a long stretch up top as a supervisor in the Department of Internal Revenue. With strict instructions to set impossible quotas and to push and belittle his employees at every turn, Earl was to become a true boss from Hell who would tempt his frustrated workers into lying, stealing, and worse. When Earl had set enough souls on the path to the fiery gates, the imp would be allowed to return. Old Earl would be back before we knew it.

  And me? I'm still rolling along. Nothing much changes here, but I did get one small reward for solving the case. And it wasn't horny bucks, either. When the boss handed out new roommate assignments, he gave me a little company to fill those lonely nights. I'm sharing my hovel with Lena DiMarco, wanton adulteress.

  Copyright © 2007 Beverle Graves Myers

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CATHEDRALS R US by EDMUND X. DEJESUS

  Standing in the doorway of his Suits You Fine haberdashery, Rick scowled at the storefront across the mall—Cathedrals R Us. He looked like a more than usually successful millionaire, dressed in an impeccable gray suit—number 702 from the SpringWeave Collection—complemented by a white linen shirt and an understated blue silk tie. His black oxfords gleamed in the track lighting.

  "I just don't get it,” Rick said, glaring at the cardboard models of cathedrals arranged in the windows.

  "Oh, not that again,” said Donna, owner and proprietor of the Get Nailed salon and boutique. She wore black capri pants and a scoop-necked bare-midriff top that showed off her genuine figure and artificial tan.

  Besides the elderly mall walkers in their Reeboks and pastel sweats, there were few others around so soon after opening time. Rick continued to frown at the other store. It had a very narrow front: just a door with one window on each side. Fake marble columns flanked the windows, which contained posters of famous cathedrals.

  "It just doesn't make sense,” he continued, gesturing at Cathedrals R Us. “The mall's hardly opened, and somebody's already gone in there. More people go in there in a day than have been in here in the last month."

  Donna was pouting up at Rick's store sign, her arms crossed, the better to exhibit her nails against her tan arms. She had great nails.

  "Maybe you could change the name of your store,” she said. “Like maybe Suits You Just Fine. Or Suits You Well."

  It annoyed Rick to have to take literary criticism from someone who had named her shop Get Nailed. “It's a franchise,” he said. “All the stores have the same name. Besides, the home office in Japan did a consumer study. The name of the store includes the word ‘suits’ plus the word ‘you’ to make, like, a psychological connection; the word ‘fine’ describes both the suits and how you look in them."

  "Just wondering,” said Donna.

  "These stores are unbelievably popular in Japan,” he continued. “Businessmen come in on their lunch hour and buy a new suit. They like having the suits, shirts, ties, and belts all in one store. It's a big thing there."

  "But not here."

  "No, not here."

  "Same with me,” Donna said with a shrug. “Business is real slow."

  "Not at Cathedrals R Us,” he said with frustration.

  "They can't really be selling cathedrals, can they?” asked Donna.

  Rick shook his head. “No. It has to be a front for something. Maybe people bring stuff in or take stuff out or something."

  "You mean like smuggling? Or drugs?"

  "I don't know. Something."

  "What kind of people?"

  He shrugged. “Mostly older people, it looks like. Well-dressed people. Hell, they should be coming in here to buy their suits."

  "Or getting their nails done,” Donna said.

  Rick fumed. “I just don't get it."

  "Come on,” Donna said, walking past him. “Let's get something at Food 4 Thought."

  "Their food stinks,” he said, reluctantly turning to follow her anyway.

  "Yeah, but at least it's overpriced."

  * * * *

  After they returned from lunch, Donna asked, “Do you think maybe they—?"

  She was interrupted by a customer entering Suits You Fine. Rick blinked in surprise and seemed momentarily unsure of what to do. He followed the customer into the shop, and Donna walked idly back to Get Nailed. She knew it would take a while for Rick and his assistant, Phil, to carry out their carefully choreographed customer-wrangling routine.

  Phil would emerge from the back with an armload of shirts on hangers, which he would carry up the right side to hang near the front of the store. Rick would walk over to him, say something, and point to the left side of the store. Phil would nod and Rick would retreat to the counter at the back where he would examine a pile of green invoices, write a note on each one, and transfer it to another pile. If the customer looked at him, Rick would smile, examine one more invoice, then join the customer. Phil would move between the customer and the door, so if he tried to leave without buying anything, Phil could suggest he check out the sale rack. The sale rack contained only suits of hideous materials in sizes for dwarves and gorillas. The theory was that the customer, appalled, would realize the other suits were wonderful by comparison and buy one. The whole performance took time.

  At Get Nailed, Donna sat in the empty front booth and corrected a microscopic anomaly on her left thumbnail with a file. She glanced up at Cathedrals R Us just as an older man came out, carrying nothing. How could they be smuggling or dealing drugs if their customers came out of the store empty handed?

  She'd been about to ask Rick if he thought they were scamming old people. Like, maybe people donated money to help build a cathedral, but Cathedrals R Us really kept it. She could imagine some naive people falling for that.

  The customer emerged from Suits You Fine with only a small bag. Rick came out a minute later and trudged over to the salon.

  "Tie,” he said, shrugging. “Something, anyway."

  "Sure. It's something,” Donna said. Then she told him her idea about the cathedral-building scam.

  "Could be. I was wondering if maybe people brought them money, like a
lot of money like from drugs, and they laundered it somehow. Put it into some cathedral-building fund or something."

  "Maybe,” Donna said, not quite following this concept.

  Rick straightened up. “I'm going in there."

  She blinked up at him. “What do you mean?"

  "I'm gonna go in there. Say I'm interested in cathedrals. See what they say."

  She shook her head. “No. It wouldn't work."

  He frowned. “Why not? I'm dressed well, as well as their customers."

  "That's just it. You're dressed well every day. They'd spot you as the manager of Suits You Fine in a second."

  "Oh, yeah. You're probably right."

  She brightened. “I'll go in."

  "You?"

  "Sure. Tomorrow's my day off. I'll come in wearing a business suit, something totally different from what I usually wear. They won't recognize me then."

  "It's a good idea.” He paused. “You know, that Judy, she talks all day."

  "She does?"

  "Yeah. When you're not here, she spends the whole day on the phone."

  Donna glowered. “That sneak."

  * * * *

  Rick was wiping a fingerprint off the front window when a well-dressed woman walked into his store. Like clockwork, Phil appeared from the back with an armful of shirts, and Rick strolled over to meet him.

  "Hold it, guys, it's me,” the woman said.

  "Oh, hey, Donna,” said Phil, twirling around and lugging the shirts to the back again.

  "Wow, you look good,” Rick said.

  Donna was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a skirt that reached her knees and a modest ivory blouse with a brooch at the collar. She spun around and asked, “Do you think they'll recognize me?"

  Rick shook his head. “No way. Excellent disguise."

  They walked to the door together, in time to see an older man enter Cathedrals R Us.

  "Good timing,” Donna said. “I can listen to what they talk about."

  "Hey, good luck,” said Rick.

  Donna stepped across the wide mall corridor, passing a man on a bench reading a newspaper. She felt butterflies in her stomach. It was like being a spy. Or that time when she was eight years old and some kids dared her to go ring old Mrs. Creek's doorbell.

  She noted the posters of cathedrals in the windows as she neared the storefront. The door was solid oak, with an ornate carved handle, like the door of a church. She took a deep breath, pulled the handle, and entered.

  Inside, she was surprised to see the floor tiled in marble. Small oak pews were arranged to face more framed posters. A stained-glass window, depicting somebody handing something to somebody else, was mounted on one wall.

  The older man was seated in a pew. Across a small table from him sat another man, young and wearing a tweed suit, obviously the salesman. A small, red leather portfolio was open before them on the table. As she entered, they both looked up at her.

  The young man smiled and said, “Good morning. I'll be with you presently."

  She smiled and nodded, then turned to examine the posters. They depicted various famous cathedrals all over the world. She scrutinized each one closely before moving on to the next.

  Behind her, she heard the customer say, “I don't know. I just can't make up my mind."

  The salesman said, “There's no hurry, of course. But what if we get another person's perspective?"

  She happened to turn just then and saw that they were both looking at her. She blinked back at them.

  The young man rose. “Excuse me,” he said. “I wonder if we could ask your assistance? This gentlemen has narrowed his choice to two fine cathedrals, and we would greatly appreciate your opinion about them."

  Donna swallowed. “All right,” she said.

  Both men smiled as she walked over to them. The older man pointed to a photograph of a large solid-looking cathedral. “It's between this Romanesque style,” he said, “and this Gothic one,” pointing to another photograph.

  "Ah,” said Donna. She perused both photographs in a way she hoped looked knowledgeable.

  The older man continued. “The Romanesque one is larger, of course. But the Gothic has a special kind of quality."

  Donna nodded sagely. “I see. Do they cost the same?"

  The salesman tilted his head to one side apologetically. “Naturally, the Gothic would be more."

  "About twenty percent more,” said the customer.

  "Easy to see why,” Donna murmured. She was pleased to see the older man nod vigorously.

  She shrugged. “Well, personally, I like the Gothic better."

  The older man looked at the photographs again, then at her, a twinkle in his eye. “You know, so do I.” He nodded decisively. “Yes. Hang the cost. Why not get what you want?"

  "Precisely,” said the salesman.

  The two men shook hands. “I'll make all the arrangements and stop back next week,” said the older man. He nodded at Donna and left.

  The salesman began gathering the papers back into the red leather portfolio. “Thank you,” he said to Donna, as he carried the portfolio to a counter at the back. Donna noticed half a dozen similar portfolios stacked there. She inclined her head and continued her examination of the posters.

  Eventually, the man finished arranging the folders and came up behind her. “Saint Paul's, in London,” he said. “Very nice."

  She turned to face him.

  "Simon Parr,” he said, and they shook hands. “Are you interested in something in a cathedral?"

  Donna turned her gaze to the posters, then back to him. “Let's say I'm looking."

  He nodded. “It's not something to jump into. Cathedrals—well, cathedrals must present two very different faces to the world, mustn't they? They must appear solid and stable, to remind us of the power and strength of God. Yet, they must also be light and ethereal to turn our thoughts toward heaven."

  Donna fixed him with a look. “They're kind of a front, then, aren't they?"

  Simon Parr glanced down, then met her gaze again. “I suppose. In a way. Yes."

  She turned away and strolled to the next poster. “That guy who was just here, is he buying a cathedral?"

  "He may,” Parr said.

  She turned to him again. “May because he might change his mind? Or may because he might not get what he paid for?"

  A look of curiosity came over Parr's face. “Are you really interested in buying a cathedral?"

  She smiled sweetly. “If I were, could I really buy one here?"

  She turned back to the poster again, and Parr said, almost automatically, “That's one of ours. Cincinnati."

  She looked at the poster, at him, then back at the poster again.

  He sighed. “I think that you aren't really what you seem. What is it that you do want?"

  She stopped and faced him with a thoughtful look. “I want to know what you're really doing here. Nobody sells cathedrals in a mall."

  "Perhaps not,” he said with a small smile. “But people buy them all the same."

  Her eyes beamed with triumph. “Then I was right. You're scamming these people for money."

  He drew back, affronted. “Certainly not. No money changes hands."

  Her face grew puzzled. “Then, what—?"

  He looked at the poster for a moment, then back at her. “I think that I'd better explain. But I must ask you to keep this strictly confidential."

  "All right,” she replied guardedly. “As long as it's not illegal or anything."

  "Illegal?” he said with surprise. “No, of course not. Mr. Appleton, that gentleman who was just here, he suffers from a kind of religious mania. It's a type of guilt, really, but it takes a very singular form. He feels that in order to atone for his imagined sins, he must build a cathedral."

  Donna blinked but said nothing.

  "Very like the Renaissance, actually. Even then, the wealthy didn't foot the bill for cathedrals purely out of generosity. They also were trying to atone for their sins and
win the favor of heaven, like this man. And he's not alone, unfortunately. There are at least a dozen others like him in this area that we know about. Desperate to atone for sins they think are horrible, but are really quite trivial. Left to themselves, they would haunt the cathedral downtown or try to fly to famous cathedrals in other countries. It's a real problem for the Church and for the mental health authorities. Hence this.” He gestured around him.

  "So you—"

  "We provide Cathedrals R Us, where these people are free to come and look through brochures and make plans. And leave the real cathedral and the authorities alone. It's a joint project of the diocese and the psychiatric hospital. It's working quite well."

  "Then you're—"

  "A psychiatrist. Actually, my name is Jay Conley. Can't let the customers know that, though. They'd be onto me in a moment."

  "So you really are putting on a front here?"

  He nodded. “Yes, I suppose we are. But for the best reasons. And now, I hope that you'll keep our secret and not spoil things for our customers."

  Donna shook her head. “No, I won't. I mean, I'll keep your secret. It's a fascinating idea."

  He shrugged modestly. “Well, we're trying and, I think, making a difference."

  She nodded with a wistful look. “I'll be going then."

  "Please come back and visit, if you like. You were very helpful with Mr. Appleton."

  She laughed and went out the door.

  Rick was leaning in the entrance to Suits You Fine with his arms folded, waiting for her. She started across the corridor when a voice beside her said, “Excuse me, miss?"

  She turned to see a short, middle-aged man, the same one who had been reading a newspaper when she entered Cathedrals R Us. “Yes?” she replied.

  "I wonder if I could have a word with you, miss?” he said. He spoke very respectfully, but there was a seen-it-all look in his eyes that reminded her of her uncle Martin, the retired police detective.

  "Okay,” she said.

  "If we could just walk as we talked, miss.” He held out a hand and she followed his lead.

  When they had walked a few steps, he said, “May I ask if you spoke with the young man in—that store?"