"That's Hoozit," Massha retorted, "and I'm certainly not going to pay. I don't have any money."
"No money?" the proprietor gasped.
"No. I just came in here to get out of the rain."
"Rain? Rain? But it isn't raining!"
"It isn't?" my apprentice blinked. "Then, goodbye."
With that she ambled off, making a hole in yet another tent side as she went.
The Deveel sank down in the shattered remains of his display and cradled his face in his hands.
"I'm ruined!" he moaned. "Ruined!"
"Excuse me for asking," I said. "But why didn't you call out their names and get them under control?"
"Call out their names? I can't remember the name of every Djin I collect. I have to look them up each time I sell one."
"Well, at least that problem's behind you."
That started him off again.
"Ruined!" he repeated needlessly. "What am I going to do?"
"I really don't know why you're so upset," I observed. "Weren't you just saying that you were insured?"
"Insured?"
The Deveel's head came up slowly.
"Certainly. You're paying to be sure things like this don't happen, aren't you? Well, it happened. It seems to me whoever's protecting your shop owes you an explanation, not to mention quite a bit of money."
"That's right!" the proprietor was smiling now. "More the latter than the former, but you're right!"
I had him going on now. All that was left to be done was the coup de grace.
"Tell you what. Just so your day won't be a total washout, I'll take this one. Now you won't have to stay open with just one Djin in stock."
I flipped him the smallest coin in my pouch. True to his heritage, he was sneering even as he plucked it out of the air.
"You can't be serious," he said. "This? For a Djin? That doesn't even cover the cost of the bottle!"
"Oh come, come, my good man," I argued. "We're both men of the world...or dimensions. We both know that's clear profit."
"It is? "he frowned.
"Of course," I said, gesturing at the broken glass on the floor. "No one can tell how many bottles were just broken. I know you'll just include this one on the list of lost-stock and collect in full from your insurance in addition to what I just gave you. In fact, you could probably add five or six to the total if you were really feeling greedy."
"That's true," the Deveel murmured thoughtfully. "Hey, thanks! This might not turn out so bad after all."
"Don't mention it," I shrugged, studying the small bottle in my hand. "Now that we're in agreement on the price, though, could you look up the name of my Djin?"
"I don't have to. That one's new enough that I can remember. It's name is Kalvin."
"Kalvin?"
"Hey, don't laugh. It's the latest thing in Djins."
Chapter Seventeen
The best laid plans often go fowl."
-Wile E. Coyote
"WELL, except for that, how are things going?"
"Except for that?" Shai-ster echoed incredulously. "Except for that? Except for that things are going rotten. This whole project is a disaster."
"Gee, that's tough," I said, with studied tones of sympathy.
I had gotten to be almost a permanent fixture here at Fat's Spaghetti Palace. Every night I dropped by to check the troops' progress...theirs and mine.
It was nice to be able to track the effectiveness of your activities by listening to the enemy gripe about them. It was even nicer to be able to plan your next move by listening to counter-attacks in the discussion stage.
"I still don't get it," Guido protested, gulping down another enormous fork-full of spaghetti. "Everything was goin' terrific at first. No trouble at all. Then BOOM, it hits the fan, know what I mean?"
"Yeah! It was like someone was deliberately workin' to put us out of business."
That last was from cousin Nunzio. For the longest time I though he was physically unable to talk. Once he got used to having me around, though, he opened up a little. In actuality, Nunzio was shy, a fact which was magnified by his squeaky little voice which seemed out of place coming from a muscleman.
"I warned you that Deveels can be a nasty lot," I said, eager to get the subject away from the possibility of organized resistance. "And if the shopkeepers are sneaky, it only stands to reason that the local criminal element would have to have a lot on the ball. Right, Guido?"
"That's right," the goon nodded vigorously, strands of spaghetti dangling from his mouth. "We criminal types can beat any honest citizen at anything. Say, did I ever tell you about the time Nunzio and me were..."
"Shut up, dummy!" Shai-ster snapped. "In case you haven't noticed, we're footing the bill for these local amateurs. We're getting our brains beat out financially, and it's up to you boys to catch up with the opposition and return the favor...physically."
"They're scared of us," Guido insisted. "Wherever we are, they aren't. If we can't find 'em, they can't be doin' that much damage."
"You know, brains never were your long suit, Guido," Shai-ster snarled. "Let me run this past you once real slow. So far, we've paid out six times as much as we've taken in. Add all our paychecks and expenses to that, and you might have a glimmer as to why the Big Boys are unhappy."
"But we haven't been collecting very long. After we've expanded our clientele..."
"Well be paying claims on that many more businesses," Shai-ster finished grimly. "Don't give me that 'we'll make it up on volume' guff. Either an operation is self-supporting and turning a profit from the beginning, or it's in trouble. And we're in trouble so deep, even if we could breathe through the tops of our heads we'd still be in trouble."
"Maybe if we got some more boys from back home...." Nunzio began.
Shai-ster slapped his hand down on the table, stopping his lieutenant short.
"No more overhead!" he shouted. "I'm having enough trouble explaining our profit/loss statement to the Big Boys without the bottom line getting any worse. Not only are we not going to get any more help, we're going to start trimming our expenses, and I mean right now. Tell the boys to...what are you grinning at?"
This last was directed at me.
"Oh, nothing," I said innocently. "It's just that for a minute there you sounded just like someone I know back on Klah...name of Grimble."
"J.R. Grimble?" Shai-ster blinked.
Now it was my turn to be surprised.
"Why, yes. He's the Chancellor of the Exchequer back at Possiltum. Why, do you know him?"
"Sure. We went to school together. Chancellor of the Exchequer, huh? Not bad. If I had known he was working the court of Possiltum, I would have stuck around and said 'hi' when I was there."
Somehow, the thought of Shai-ster and Grimble knowing each other made me uneasy. There wasn't much chance of the two of them getting together and comparing notes, and even if they did, Grimble didn't know all that much about my modus operand!. Still, it served as a grim reminder that this was a very risky game I was playing, with some very dangerous people.
"I still think there's another gang out there somewhere," Nunzio growled. "There's too much going down for it to be independent operators."
"You're half right," Shai-ster corrected. "There's too much going down for it to be a gang. Nobody's into that many things...not even us!"
"You lost me there, Shai-ster," I said, genuinely curious.
The mobster favored me with a patronizing smile.
"That's right. As a magician, you don't know that much about how organized crime works. Let me try to explain. When the Mob decides to move in, we hit one specialty field at a time...you know, like protection or the numbers. Like that. Focusing our efforts yields a better saturation as well as market penetration."
"That makes sense," I nodded, not wanting to admit he had lost me again.
"Now you take a look at what's happening here. We're getting all sorts of claims; vandalism, shoplifting, armed robbery, even a couple cases of
arson. It's too much of a mix to be the work of one group. We're dealing with a lot of small-time independents, and if we can make an example of a few of them, the others will decide there are easier pickings elsewhere."
In a way, I was glad to hear this. I owed Aahz one more back-pat. He was the one who had decided that the efforts of our team were too limited. To accelerate our "crime wave," he had introduced the dubious practice of "insurance fraud" to Deva...and the Deveels were fast learners.
Is your stock moving too slow? Break it yourself and turn in a claim for vandalism. Trying to sell your shop, but nobody wants to buy, even at a discount? Torch the place and collect in full. Better still, want to fatten up your profit margin a little? Dummy up a few invoices and file a claim for "stolen goods." All profit, no cost.
The Deveels loved it. It let them make money and harass the Mob at the same time. No wonder Shai-ster's table was fast disappearing under a mountain of claims and protests.
It was terrific...except for the part about making an example out of everyone they caught. I made a mental note to warn the team about being extra careful.
"If it's not a gang, and they aren't working against us," Nunzio scowled, "why is everything happening in our areas? My dad taught me to be suspicious of coincidences. He got killed by one."
"How do you know it's just happening in our area?" Shai-ster countered. "Maybe we picked a bad area of the Bazaar to start our operation. Maybe the whole Bazaar is a bad area. Maybe we should have been suspicious when Skeeve here told us there were no police. You get this much money floating around with no police, of course there'll be crooks around."
"So what are we supposed to do?" Guido snarled, plucking his napkin from under his chin and throwing it on the table. "My boys can't be two places at once. We can't watch over our current clients and sign on new accounts, too."
"That's right," Shai-ster agreed, "so here's what we're going to do. First, we split up the teams. Two-thirds of the boys patrol the areas we've got under protection. The others go after new clients...but we don't just take anybody. We investigate and ask questions. We find out how much trouble a new area or a new shop has had before we take them as a client. Then we know who the bad risks are, and if we protect them at all, they pay double. Capish?"
Both Guido and Nunzio were thinking, and it was obvious the process hurt.
"I dunno," Nunzio squeaked at last. "Sumpin' sounds kinda funny about that plan."
"Crime wouldn't pay if the government ran it," I murmured helpfully.
"What's that?" Shai-ster snapped.
"Oh, just something my teacher told me once." I shrugged.
"Hey! Skeeve's right," Guido exclaimed.
"What you're sayin' is that we're going to be policemen and insurance investigators."
"Well, I wouldn't use those words...."
"'Well nothin'. We ain't gonna do it!"
"Why not?"
"C'mon, Shai-ster. We're the bad guys. You know, crooks. What's it going to do to our reputation if it gets back to the Mob that we've turned into policemen?"
"They'll think we're valuable employees who are working hard to protect their investment."
"Yeah?" Guido frowned, unconvinced.
"Besides, it's only temporary," Shai-ster soothed. "Not only that, it's a smoke screen for what we'll really be doing."
"What's that?" I asked blandly.
Shai-ster shot a quick look around the restaurant, then leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but remember that I was telling you about how the Mob focuses on one field at a time? The way I see it, maybe we picked the wrong field here at Deva. Maybe we shouldn't have tried the protection racket."
"So you're going to change fields?" I urged.
"Right," Shai-ster smiled. "We'll put the protection racket on slow-down mode for a while, and in the meantime start leaning on the bookies."
"Now you're talking," Guido crowed. "There's always good money to be made at gambling."
"Keep your voice down, you idiot. It's supposed to be a secret."
"So who's to hear?" Guido protested.
"How about them?"
Shai-ster jerked his thumb toward a table of four enormous beings, alternately stuffing their faces and laughing uproariously.
"Them? That's the Hutt brothers. They're in here about once a week. They're too busy with their own games to bother us."
"Games? Are they gamblers?"
"Naw...well, except maybe Darwin. He's the leader of the pack. But he only gambles on businesses."
"Which one is he?"
"The thinnest one. I hear his fiancée has him on a diet. It's making him mean, but not dangerous to us."
Shai-ster turned back to our table.
"Well, keep your voice down anyway. How about it, Skeeve? The gambling, I mean. You've been here at the Bazaar before. Do you know any bookies we can get hold of?"
"Gee, the only one I know of for sure is the Geek," I said. "He's a pretty high-roller. If you boys are going to try to pull a fast one on him, though, don't tell him I was the one who singled him out."
Shai-ster gave me a broad wink.
"Gotcha. But anything we get from him, you're in for a percentage. You know, a finder's fee. We don't forget our friends."
"Gee, thanks," I managed, feeling more than a little guilty. "Well, I'd better be going. C'mon, Gleep."
"Gleep!" echoed my dragon, pulling his head up out of a tub of spaghetti at the sound of his name.
Fats had taken an instant liking to my pet, founded I suspect on Gleep's newfound capacity for the maggot-like stuff barely hidden by blood-red sauce that was the parlor's mainstay.
I had never been able to screw up my courage enough to try spaghetti, but my dragon loved it. Knowing some of the dubious things, edible and in, living and non, that also met with Gleep's culinary approval, this did little toward encouraging me to expand my dietary horizons to include this particular dish. Still, as long as I had Gleep along, we were welcome at Fats, even though my pet was starting to develop a waddle reminiscent of the parlor's proprietor.
"Say, Skeeve. Where do you keep your dragon during the day?"
I glanced over to find Shai-ster studying my pet through narrowed, thoughtful eyes.
"Usually he's with me, but sometimes I leave him with a dragon-sitter. Why?"
"I just remembered an 'interruption of business' claim we had to pay the other day...had to pay! Heck, we're" still paying it. Anyway, this guy sells dragons, see, except for over a week now he hasn't sold a one. Usually sells about three a day and says since he paid us to be sure nothing happens to his business, we should make up the difference in his sales drop...and, you know, those things are expensive'."
"I know," I agreed, "but what does that have to do with Gleep?"
"Probably nothing. It's just that this guy swears that just before everything went to pot, some little dragon came by and talked to his dragons. Now they won't roar or blow fire or nothing. All they do is sleep and frolic...and who wants to buy a dragon that frolics, you know?"
"Talked to his dragons?" I asked uneasily. For some reason, I had a sudden mental image of Gleep confronting Big Julie's dragon, a beast that dwarfed him in size, and winning.
"Well...they didn't exactly talk, but they did huddle up and put their heads together and made mumbly puffy noises at each other. Wouldn't let this guy near 'em until it was over. The only thing he's sure of is the little one, the one he says messed up his business, said something like 'Peep!' Said it a couple of times."
"Peep? "I said.
"Gleep!" answered my dragon.
Shai-ster stared at him again.
"C'mon, Shai-ster," Guido said, giving his superior a hearty shove. "Talking dragons? Somebody's pullin' your leg. Sounds to me like he got a bad shipment of dragons and is trying to get us to pay for them. Tell him to take a hike."
"It's not that easy," Shai-ster grumbled, "but I suppose you're right. I mean, all dragons lo
ok pretty much alike."
"True enough," I called, heading hastily for the nearest exit. "C'mon, Peep...I mean, Gleep!"
Maybe Shai-ster's suspicions had been lulled, but I still had a few of my own as we made our way back to the Yellow Crescent Inn.
"Level with me, Gleep. Did you do anything to louse up somebody's dragon business?"
"Gleep?" answered my pet in a tone exactly like my own when I'm trying too hard to sound innocent.
"Uh-huh. Well, stay out of this one. I think we've got it in hand without you getting in the line of fire."
"Gleep."
The answer was much more subdued this time, and I realized he was drooping noticeably.
"Now don't sulk. I just don't want anything to happen to you. That's all."
I was suddenly aware that passers-by were staring at us. As strange as the Bazaar was, I guess they weren't used to seeing someone walking down the street arguing with a dragon.
"Let's hurry," I urged, breaking into a trot. "I don't know what we can do about the Mob moving in on the bookies, but I'm sure Aahz will think of something."
Chapter Eighteen
"Life can be profitable, if you know the odds."
-Ripley
THE sports arena we were in was noticeably smaller than the stadium on Jahk where we had played in the Big Game, but no less noisy. Perhaps the fact that it was indoors instead of being open-air did something to the acoustics, but even at half-full the crowd in the arena made such a din I could barely hear myself think.
Then again, there was the smell. The same walls and ceiling that botched up the acoustics did nothing at all for ventilation. Even a few thousand beings from assorted dimensions in these close quarters produced a blend of body odors that had my stomach doing slow rolls...or maybe it was just my nerves.
"Could you explain to me again about odds?"
"Not now," the Geek snarled, nervously playing with his program. "I'm too busy worrying."
"I'll give it a try, hot stuff," Massha volunteered from my other side. "Maybe I can say it in less technical jargon than our friend here."
"I'd appreciate it," I admitted. That got me a black look from the Geek, but Massha was already into it.
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