“Then, I refuse to cooperate with you further.” I crossed my arms.
“Then we shall have a quiet night of it,” said Mahoney, mirroring my gesture. For a moment, the only sound was the squalling weather.
The inspector broke first.
“Mr Mortlake,” he sounded reluctant to make his next statement. “Cards on the table, time. We suspect you instigated the murder of Robert Hawkins. Your man carried out the deed but it was at your bidding.”
“What rot!” I scoffed. “Complete and utter hogwash! To what end?”
“To gain access to a valuable exhibit,” said Mahoney who apparently had an answer for everything.
“Piffle! I have no use for such things.”
“Where is it, Mr Mortlake?”
“Where is what?”
“The body.”
“You’ve got the body. It was in the box.”
“Not that body. The original body.”
“Well, I cannot say. Because I do not know. Oh, this is quite preposterous. I wish to speak to the British ambassador. I understand he was present at this evening’s event.”
“In good time. Maybe. Tell us again how your valet was acquainted with the deceased.”
Damn and blast. I felt there was little I could add that would get my Cuthbert off the hook. I repeated what I had said earlier with an addendum to the effect that I may have misremembered the name. Perhaps it was another Bobby with whom my valet had worked.
Mahoney remained unconvinced.
Silence returned. The thunder rumbled like an elephant riding down stairs on a tea tray. The room was cast into stark relief by sheets of lightning. The momentary illumination made visible a shadow in the recesses of the room. Only I perceived this shape; it was behind Mahoney’s shoulder and his two brutes were at the door. At first I dismissed it as a trick of the light but with each subsequent flash, I became increasingly certain that the form was moving - more than that, it was approaching us.
The lightbulb popped, plunging the room into darkness. I held my breath, waiting for the next flash to reveal the unknown presence’s next move.
I did not have to wait for long.
Thunder and lightning crashed and flashed almost simultaneously, and I was shown a scene of absolute horror. Hairy hands were around the inspector’s throat, choking the very life out of him. The policemen lurched forward to intervene but upon seeing the assailant’s face they sprang back.
It was the face of a dog.
A wild creature, like a jackal, its fangs bared and its eyes yellow and glaring.
The body of Inspector Mahoney hit the table and then dropped to the floor. The killer turned its attention to the policemen who were scrambling to open the door.
In flashes of white light, I watched the scene unfold, as the dog-faced man tore the men apart. I was certain I would be next. The beast was between me and the exit.
It’s the god Xolotl, my mind screamed. He’s come to get me!
Bugger that!
I picked up my stool as though to fend him off like a lion-tamer. The fiend growled, the rumble of thunder coming from its throat. I shoved the table toward him, trying to buy myself a few extra seconds of life.
Slowly, he stalked toward me. I backed away, trying not to whimper or soil myself.
“Nice doggy...” I muttered, feebly. “Who’s a good boy?”
His clawed hand flipped the table, smashing it against a wall. It gave me an idea. I hurled the stool at the window, breaking the glass. I clambered out as the creature lunged at me.
The rain on my face was like a bucket of water. It cleared my thoughts, consolidating them into one idea alone: escape!
I was high on a ledge, sidling away from the window as fast as I dared. The bricks at my back and beneath my feet were slick with rain but I pressed myself to the edifice and kept inching along.
The monster did not emerge from the window.
I had escaped only to face a peril of a different nature. I was going to fall to certain death before I could alert anyone of the danger they all were in. I would be dashed to the flagstones below or impaled on the railings before I could tell them - tell them what?
That the Aztec god Xolotl was back?
Golly.
Chapter Four
I edged around the building, slowly but surely. I was soaked to the skin but my shivers were a result of the horror I had witnessed. I came to a drainpipe, my means to travel to the ground. A few minutes later, I was on terra firma, albeit in a puddle that surged over the tops of my shoes and soaked my feet. I had made it; I was free!
But free to do what?
Cuthbert was still in the museum along with that creature. This trouble with the police was a worry, to be sure, but I was certain it could all be ironed out as soon as the more pressing danger was over.
I headed to the main entrance where the people peering out were astonished to see my approach. I was aware of the picture I must have presented, splashing my way towards them like a - yes, like a water nymph, I suppose. They parted to allow me entry, unwilling to get their clothes wet from contact with mine.
“You must all leave now!” I addressed the assembly. “While you still can!”
My words either fell on deaf ears or were greeted with scorn.
“You don’t understand!” I implored them. “You are all going to die!”
“Well, really!” said several of them. Tongues tutted and eyes looked away. I was an embarrassment, a raving lunatic and an annoyance, when all I was trying to do was save their sorry lives.
I pushed my way through to the nearest hall, calling for Cuthbert. It was the Natural History room. Examples of the taxidermist’s art were in abundance. Animals from every country were frozen together in attitudes of attack or repose. The bared fangs of a wolf gave me pause. Then I hurried by, still calling for my valet. If he could hear me and respond, I stood a chance of tracking him down.
Perhaps it was my imagination but I believe something moved. I was being followed! The dog-headed god was stalking me!
I pushed through to the next salon, a less dramatic arrangement of insects under glass. I skidded on the floor as I hurried along. The police were probably holding Cuthbert in a back room or office. How I longed to see him! And if I could alert his guardians to the monster in the building, they would have greater resources at their disposal to deal with it.
And how does one deal with a god on the rampage?
Unanswerable question! I knew I could not frame my announcement in such a manner as to invite derision and disbelief. There’s a wild animal at large, I could say, or a madman in a mask.
But first, I had to find them.
From insects I moved through to seashells. After seashells it was dried plants. It seemed to me the Johnsonian kept all the good stuff up front. The further into the building you got, the drier and duller the exhibits became. No dinosaur bones or man-eating lions back here.
I kept my ears alert for signs of pursuit. Was Xolotl chasing me? Or would he not bother? Would he let me exhaust myself, drive myself to distraction and then materialise in front of me and bring an end to me once and for all?
I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.
Calling out to Cuthbert, I pushed through a door marked PRIVATE and bounded up a narrow flight of stairs. A row of doors lined one side of the corridor I reached. Offices. I shoved the doors as I reached them. The offices were all empty but when I came to the last in the line and pushed the door inwards, I was greeted by the barrel of a gun.
“Mr Mortlake,” said a woman’s voice. “Why don’t you come on in?”
The gun-toting hoodlum brandished his weapon. I knew if I turned and fled he would plug me in the back. I raised my hands in a show of good faith and stepped over the threshold.
“Mmmmmpgh!” said Cuthbert, tied to a chair with a gag across his mouth.
Behind me, the gunman shut the door.
“Come in, come in,” said the woman and I saw then that she was elderly and had a patch over one eye.
“Join the party.”
The gun prodded me in the back, urging me to occupy an empty chair. I obliged and rough hands yanked my smooth ones behind my back and bound me to the furniture. My ankles were similarly hampered. I gritted my teeth in anticipation of the gag.
But the woman - who I presumed to be Helen of kitchen fame - shook her head to defer my silence.
“Going to need to be able to hear every word you say, honey pie,” she cackled, taking a seat of her own behind a desk. “And I do love a British accent.”
I cringed. I am not the one with the accent, old duck, I wanted to say. And to call the manner in which I speak a ‘British accent’ is meaningless. There is no such thing, or rather there are many such things.
But, I could sense this was not the time to argue semantics with this one-eyed, wild-haired harpy.
A bird’s nest of dirty white hair sprang from her head in every direction going. Her face was red - from years in the kitchen, I expect - but it was craggy and creviced as a desert landscape, or perhaps the surface of Mars. Her lips were so thin as to be almost non-existent and what teeth remained in her receding gums were black and crooked. Her attire was a filthy conglomeration of garments, each of them shapeless and colourless, apart from the suspicious stains that spattered them on every side.
“Madam,” I said coldly. “My detention here is altogether unlawful. I demand you release both me and my manservant forthwith.”
The harridan cooed. “Now did you hear that, Lummox?” she addressed the hoodlum behind my chair. “Like nectar to my ears, that is. Go on; say something else.”
“I have nothing further to add,” I said, jutting my chin and averting my gaze.
“Oh, I think you might be persuaded,” the haggard old bird hopped around the desk, but it was not I she approached but Cuthbert. From deep within her skirt she produced an evil-looking knife, the blade of which was nicked and worn from use - but use for what, I hated to guess. Cuthbert, in his bonds, shrank back. She grabbed one of his fingers and bent it upwards. Cuthbert cried out in pain. The woman brandished the knife.
“Wait!” I cried. I could not bear to think of any part of Cuthbert coming to harm.
The woman halted and turned her good eye to me. “I don’t guess he’ll be much use to you without his fingers.”
She didn’t know the half of it!
She lowered the tip of the blade to the webbing between his digits. A bead of blood appeared.
Cuthbert’s eyes implored me to speak. Or not to speak.
“There are police here,” I informed her. “Not far behind me, I shouldn’t wonder.”
She laughed, which was not the effect I had expected.
“Roads are closed, sugar. On account of the storm. Ain’t no cops here yet.”
I opened my mouth, ready to contradict her but a sudden chilling notion sprang to my mind. I had not been shown any form of identification by Maloney. I had taken him and his uniformed confederates at face value. After all, I am not au courant with American police fashion.
And his raincoat had been bone dry! I had noticed as much as soon as he approached me.
What a fool I had been!
All I knew was we were sitting ducks in this poky office. Should Xolotl put in an appearance, I doubt any of us would get out with our lives.
“Maybe if I turn my attention to other parts of your boy’s anatomy, you might be a tad more talkative...”
She toyed with the knife as though weighing up the options.
“An ear, perhaps. Or an eye. I’ve got a spare patch he can borrow.”
Cuthbert squirmed. The gag muffled his outcry.
“Or... maybe I should go downtown...”
I guessed by this she was not suggesting we adjourn to another location. Cuthbert yelped. He nodded, encouraging me to say something.
“So,” I began, “this poor dead boy. Bobby.”
“I’m listening,” said Mad Helen, resting her backside against the desk but keeping her knife pointed towards Cuthbert.
“You told my valet, who was then in your employ, that his friend Robert was deceased. Evidently that was not true.”
“A spot of fiction,” Helen shrugged. “You’d know all about that.”
I took this to mean my profession as an author rather than acknowledge the unspoken insinuation behind her smile.
“I don’t know what else I can tell you. And that, madam, is no fiction.”
Helen clicked her tongue. She stood up and pressed the flat of the blade against Cuthbert’s cheek. Cuthbert whimpered and I couldn’t blame him.
“You will tell me, Mr Mortlake honey, what you did with the body?”
“What body?”
“The body in the box!”
“Bobby’s body?”
“No, before that. Before you put Bobby in the box.”
“Madam, you are quite mistaken. Until he flopped out onto the floor, I had never laid eyes on the unfortunate Bobby in my life.”
Her knife-hand twitched. Cuthbert squeaked.
“And you expect me to buy that?”
“Madam, I care not one way or t’other. The truth is irrefutable. Now, I suggest you let us go and we’ll say no more about it. If it’s a question of an emolument, I am able to forward you a considerable sum.”
“Ain’t about the money, honey,” she almost sounded disappointed. “This is something much bigger than money.”
I was at a loss to imagine what such a thing might be.
“Then, madam, I think it is time you answered my questions. Perhaps I - perhaps we shall be able to assist.”
“I doubt it, sugar.”
“Try me.”
Helen’s eye rolled around like a ball in a roulette wheel as she made a calculation. As she thought, she patted the palm of her hand with the flat of the knife.
“Ain’t no point,” she said but it was not an assessment of her implement.
“Try me!” I was more insistent. At my back, I sensed the hoodlum, Lummox, stir. Helen waved him back.
“There was a man,” she said. “He was looking for a young boy - I didn’t ask questions. He paid me handsomely and I let him take poor Bobby. To me, he was as good as dead.”
Cuthbert groaned and strained against his bonds. Helen ignored him.
“And then, there he is, in the papers. Some new exhibition coming to the museum from South America. Well, I couldn’t believe my eye. I couldn’t have him running around New York, blabbing to folks about the way I’d sold him into who-knows-what.”
“So, you came here to silence him?”
“Well, no - well, yes, I guess. But somebody else got to him first. And now I want to see his body to make sure, this time, see?”
“And you think I had something to do with it?”
“Well, yeah. Knowing how your man and Bobby used to be pretty tight, yeah? I thought you might have done something to protect your interests. Or a jealous rage kind of a deal, you know?”
“No, madam, I do not know.”
“So, what am I going to do with you two now?”
“That is nothing of a conundrum. Release us and there’s an end to it.”
Helen thought for a second and then made a what-the-hell gesture and applied the knife to Cuthbert’s ropes. Lummox kept his revolver trained on my valet lest he try anything untoward. With hands free, Cuthbert tugged at the gag and took in gulps of air.
“Thank heavens for that,” he cried and began to unknot the coils around his ankles.
Mad Helen turned her ministrations to me. At that moment, I heard a dreadful sound in the corridor: the low, guttural growling of the dog-headed god!
“Quickly!” I urged. “We have to flee.”
Helen made no sign of speeding up.
“Can’t you hear that?” I was frantic.
Helen cocked her head. “You hear that, Lummox? Our Mr Mortlake is afraid of thunder!”
“That’s not thunder, you demented harridan!” I cried.
Helen’s single eyebrow rose up. She slashed at my face with the knife. Cuthbert launched himself on her back. Lummox’s gun went off and the door crashed open with a bang.
The low growl was louder than ever, filling our heads and making our insides tremble.
“Coo,” said Cuthbert. “Indoor thunder! Whatever next?”
We did not have to wait long to find out.
Chapter Five
There was a metallic clang as something dropped from the ceiling, braining the gun-toting Lummox. At the same time, a length of rope dropped from the skylight like a snake. I had just enough time to glimpse a flash of red hair and a beckoning arm before the canister Belle Pepper had let fall filled the room with a thick pall of smoke. Spluttering, I seized Cuthbert by the arm and urged him to climb as though his life depended on it. Which, of course, it did.
He reached the roof before me and so I had two pairs of hands to haul me from the room. What became of one-eyed Helen and her burly henchman, I cannot say but the growls and the roars, the cries and general commotion rising from below gave me a good idea.
Miss Pepper slammed the skylight shut, cutting off the tendrils of smoke that were coiling into the night air. The rain was still pelting down but the thunder and lightning seemed to be taking a bit of a breather.
“Howdy, Mr Mortlake,” the perky young woman teased me with a salute in the American fashion. “How grand to see you again!”
“Likewise, I’m sure,” I said curtly. “I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude, Miss Pepper.”
“Shucks. A simple ‘thank you’ will do.” She laughed and then turned her attention to Cuthbert. “Now, ain’t you a fine figure of a man!”
Xolotl Strikes! Page 4