And they grew, lord how they grew! From tiny, round fur balls with slit mouths they expanded in all directions, becoming plump, little footballs with the front defined by the mouth and the back by a stub of protruding tail. Tiny limbs descended from their undersides, unfolding like the landing gear of airplanes, each ending in a delicate and shiny hoof. The front ends with the mouths bulged outward, and a pinch forming behind the bulge became their necks, even as the bulges became clearly differentiated heads. All of them started making cute little whuffling noses as their nostrils flared. And as they opened their eyes, pup by pup, the first thing they saw was me.
“They’re getting too big to all stay in the box,” I said, offering a stack of waterlogged file folders to three of the buffalitos, making them jump for it.
Dr. Penrose shook her head. “We can’t handle them yet. They’re still too hungry. If you reach in to pick one up you’re likely to lose a couple fingers, if not a whole hand.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“We need to move the whole box, carry it into the vault and let them loose in there. We can shove their food inside, and seal them in until they’re sated if necessary.”
“That won’t work; it’s a three man job,” I said. As the noon hour had approached, Mandelbrot had left us to patrol our security perimeter, on the off-chance that Gregor had somehow found me. “We can’t carry the box and keep feeding them. They’ll chew it up before we can get to the vault.”
“Not if we give them something extra chewy first,” she said.
I looked around. Other than the paint supplies, the only thing the pups hadn’t devoured was more piles and piles of file folders, and that was only a matter of time. I’d saved the supplies, partly because I thought they might actually be useful, and partly to avoid the mess, but I rushed to them now. Among the cans and rollers was a large bucket of spackle! I hauled it over, popped the lid, and started scooping out large dollops into the gaping maws of the pups. They chewed and chewed and chewed some more, amidst tiny smacking sounds as they worked their jaws. I kept scooping; I had enough time to empty the bucket and leave glops of spackle in the box for when they finished their current mouthfuls. Then we picked up the box, carried it into the vault, and set it on the floor alongside a much smaller Carla Espinoza who was happily gnawing on some metal shelving.
“How much longer are they going to eat?” I said.
“Probably another hour or two, but they’re not sightless anymore and they’re big enough to move on their own now. We can pile up more junk for them to eat, just make piles of it in the vault where they can make their way to it. Once they’ve had their fill and completed this initial growth spurt, their metabolisms will slow down. They’ll fall into a digestive torpor for eight hours or so, and awake as normal buffalitos.”
I nodded and began pulling down more shelving and other treats for the pups. They’d almost finished the spackle and several had already started chewing on their box.
I lay sprawled comfortably on a tropical beach. A redheaded masseuse was working me over with scented oils while I sipped from a bottle of Uncle Waldo’s™ raspberry rootbeer. Carla Espinoza slept in the sand nearby, soaking in the hot sun and looking as contented as she’d ever been. Gregor must have materialized barely a meter away. I felt his shadow on me, and with equal parts fear and annoyance I opened my eyes and rolled over. My island paradise wavered and was replaced by a grimy hospital morgue. Instead of a beach blanket, I was laying on an autopsy table. Swell.
Wordlessly Gregor glanced at Carla who had remained in the scenario, transferred now to the basin of a stainless steel sink.
“You are pinning much hope on this one, Conroy.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “this was a private beach.”
He laughed at that, and the fluorescent lights overhead flickered in time. “You lead me on merry chase, but I am thinking you are closer to hospital than beach.” His eyes glazed over a moment, and then he smirked. “I have you now, in Philadelphia at intersection of North Broad Street and Old York Road.”
“That’s a neat trick,” I said. “But actually, I think it was St. Bart’s.”
“And below ground,” he added. “Always being amazing, but not amazing enough. I will join you there in less than hour. But do not worry, I will let you sleep until I am there to wake you personally.”
His eyes glazed again and a wave of drowsiness engulfed me. Yawning against it, I sat up and swung my legs off the table. “Sorry, I don’t think that’s going to work.”
Gregor stepped closer and gripped my chin in one meaty hand. “What you think does not matter here,” he said. “In dreamscape, I am master.”
I tried to push his hand away but my arm seemed paralyzed. I bit back a sudden surge of panic and stared the dream tracker in the eye. “Maybe, but dreams are just another state of consciousness, and I know all about consciousness. If you don’t believe me, come see my show some time.”
“No more shows for you,” he said, laughing.
“Quetzalcoatl persimmon,” I said, activating the wakefulness trigger I’d installed using the bathroom mirror back at the safe house. The words worked as intended and I surged to complete wakefulness as an adrenaline rush hit. My dream shattered in an instant, but not before I caught a glimpse Gregor clutching his head in pain. Hah!
I opened my eyes. I was still in the basement foyer in front of the vault, sacked out on the floor, with my coat as a makeshift blanket. Dr. Penrose snored softly in a nearby chair. I stumbled to my feet and shook her shoulder, repeating the trigger phrase. She came around with a jolt and a shiver, staring blankly ahead of her.
“Wha? I. . . There was...”
“I know. Gregor’s found me.”
“What time is it?” she said, and her voice sounded different, firmer somehow. “How long have I been asleep?”
I checked my watch. “About five o’clock in the afternoon. Not bad, we managed a good four hours of rest. And better still, he’ll be fighting rush hour traffic to get here, so that might give us a bit more time.”
“More time for what? He’s coming to rip your arms off.”
“Not if I have the money he wants.”
“You don’t, and you can’t give him one of the pups, we haven’t sexed them yet.”
I reached for my phone and buzzed Mandelbrot.
He answered back almost instantly. “I’m awake,” he said. “I’ve been walking the perimeter. We’re secure.”
“I never doubted it,” I said. “Doesn’t matter, Gregor’s on his way. I need you to phone Andrews at Wada. Tell him you know where I am, and sell him the address. Think of it as a bonus to what I’m paying you.”
“You do realize he’ll show up here with enough firepower to overrun the building, right? “
“Someone’s got to save me,” I said. “I thought it might be fun to let him play the hero. Make the call, and then get down here. I need you in the vault safeguarding the pups.” I hung up and found Dr. Penrose facing me.
“Before you begin revealing your master plan, Mr. Conroy, there’s something you should know.”
“You’re Bess, aren’t you?” I said.
“Right the first time. I can bring Lisa back, if you need her, that’s one of the perks of being eldest. But if things are going to get dicey you’re better off with me here. So what exactly do you think we have time to do?”
My new ally was truly strange, but I didn’t have the luxury of freaking out. Besides, I’d spent years making people believe they were someone else up on stage; Lisa/Bess/Betsy just managed the trick without hypnosis. I’d ask her about it later, for now I had to go with it.
“How old are you?” I said.
She grinned, but still didn’t make eye contact. “More than twice your age,” she said. “Don’t let biology fool you. Now, tell me, why are you contacting Andrews?”
“According to what Lisa told me earlier, Carla’s pups should look fully mature. So, as far as Wada or anyone else can tell, they’re just nine
undocumented buffalo dogs. And Carla herself looked like she was back or close to her pre-pregnancy weight and shape. Moreover, she should be infertile now, just like her tag says.”
Bess nodded. “I think I see where you’re going. You’re going to take the position that Carla was never pregnant, and thus the Wada Consortium has no claim on the other nine buffalo dogs that just happen to be here.”
“They don’t know how I managed to sneak Carla in. Why should I tell them my secret method of acquiring nine other buffalitos?”
“But they know Carla was pregnant. They have vid of her girth and her weight from customs. At a minimum, they’ll attempt to tie you up in court for years, and their claim will block your use of your new buffalitos. We’ve got to get them out of here before Wada sees them or even learns how many there are. It’s the only way.”
“If Wada was the only one I was hiding from, I’d consider it. But Gregor’s on his way, and he’s not going to fight his battles with lawyers. I need Andrews to run interference, or losing the pups is going to be the least of my worries.”
“You think Andrews will help you?”
“He’s not going to have a choice. Wada doesn’t want a long court battle. This started because a free buffalo dog smelled like too much profit for them to let go easily. The allure of a claim to a whole litter has to be what’s making them nuts.”
“It’s not just the litter, Mr. Conroy. If they’ve figured out Carla was pregnant, then they’re envisioning a possible breeding program. With that kind of motivation, there’s no way you can beat them.”
I shook my head. “I’ve got something in mind, but I need a shrewd corporate lawyer to go over it, plug the loopholes, and put it into legalese. I need to talk to your other sister.”
“Oh,” said Bess. Then she closed her eyes and bit her lip as a tremor raced through her body. Her posture changed, she ran a hand through her hair as she opened her eyes.
“Okay, Mr. Conroy,” said Betsy, “tell me how I can help.”
The rush hour traffic bought us a little extra time. Mandelbrot’s surveillance cameras dutifully reported the arrival of a small fleet of armored vehicles on both sides of the building, blocking traffic without regard as they disgorged nearly a hundred men and women in matte black riot gear. Their matching helmets bore full-face anonymity shields complete with Wada Consortium logo holograms gleaming above the forehead. Andrews clearly liked things splashy.
We’d emptied the basement’s foyer of everything except a desk and a couple of chairs before Dr. Penrose and I had gone to sleep, and the pups had already eaten most of it. I had Mandelbrot’s compadd, and as soon as the cams announced Wada’s arrival, I’d sealed the vault up tight with him and the pups inside. Betsy sat at the desk, furiously editing a document on a compadd. I stood in the middle of the room with Carla Espinoza tucked under one arm, waiting for Andrews to walk down the stairs.
He didn’t. Gregor Ivanovich Skazhitski did, dressed in a white linen suit that I hoped he wanted to keep free of any bloodstains. He carried a butcher’s cleaver in each hand.
“Conroy, Conroy, Conroy,” he whacked his cleavers against one another to mark the second syllable of my name each time he said it. “Why are you such bothersome person, can you tell me this?”
I glanced over at Betsy. She had looked up as Gregor spoke, but returned her attention to the compadd, trying to finish up. Where was Andrews?
“Gregor, I’m glad you’re here. I have a business proposition I want to discuss with you.”
“How sad to be you then. It is past noon, past time for talk. Now you have only two things that you can give me to restore my sister’s honor: my money or your arms. I see that you have your arms, Conroy. Do you have my money?”
Damn. Where was Andrews?
“That’s what I wanted to discuss, Gregor.”
“So, you do not have my money!” He threw both cleavers to the ground and advanced towards me, flexing his fingers.
I took a step back, and then another. Where was Andrews?
Eight men in black burst through the door from the ground floor. They rushed down the stairs wielding stun batons and smoke-grey polymer shields. All eight of them rushed Gregor and quickly pinned him against the wall.
By some pre-arranged signal a ninth figure in black entered. He had a buffalo dog with him, muzzled and carried somewhat gingerly away from his body. Glenn Andrews Andrews, vice president in charge of resource acquisitions for the Wada Consortium.
“Mr. Conroy, how very nice to see you again. We have much to talk over.” He smiled as he made his way down the steps, stopping when he was still halfway across the foyer. He nodded toward Gregor. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” I said. “In fact, I’ve been looking forward to introducing you. Glenn Andrews Andrews, Vice President of the Wada Consortium, may I present Gregor Ivanovich Skazhitski, dream tracker and professional enforcer of black market Russian beef. I’m sure you have much in common.”
Andrews’s smile faded. He signaled to his men and one of them drove the end of a baton into Gregor’s solar plexus, causing the man to double over in pain. He fell to his knees and a moment later had his shoulder slammed back against the wall.
“Don’t be droll, Mr. Conroy. This isn’t a social call. I’m here for your other buffalo dog, and I have all the resources of the Wada Consortium to make sure I leave with it. You can simply hand her over, or I can take her.”
“But you don’t have the authority,” I said and nodded to Betsy. Andrews’s gaze took her in and I had the pleasure of watching his smug expression slip to pure confusion when he recognized her.
“Miss Penrose? What are you doing here? I’ve had people searching for you.”
“I’m serving as a witness,” she said, pushing back from the desk. She held up a phone, aiming its camera at Andrews. “Wada contracted with Mr. Conroy for the delivery of a single buffalo dog, which he delivered. You have no legal basis for demanding another.”
“But I do. The animal he delivered was defective.”
“Defective?” I said. “How can a buffalo dog be defective?”
Andrews squatted and set his buffalo dog onto the floor. He removed the muzzle and I recognized him at once.
“Reggie?”
Hearing his name, the buffalito’s ears perked up. He galloped over to me and I knelt to scoop him up under my free arm. Reggie squirmed and writhed in an eager and partially successful attempt to lick at my face. Carla began squirming too, apparently also pleased to see the father of her pups.
“He won’t eat,” said Andrews. “Not a bite. And by definition, a buffalo dog that won’t eat is defective. Moreover, he intimidates the other buffalitos, disrupting them from their training and schedules. He’s a ‘bad seed’. The Wada Consortium paid you handsomely for the delivery, and the creature you delivered does not measure up.”
“So you think that justifies you taking this other one?”
“I do, and I believe the courts will uphold such an action.”
“And that’s it. That’s all you want? A trade?”
“As simple as that, Mr. Conroy. You arrived with two buffalo dogs yesterday. I simply want the other one instead. Hand her over and we’re done.”
I shot a glance over to Betsy. “You get all that?”
“Every word,” she said. “Witnessed and recorded as a binding contract.”
“Give me the other buffalo dog, Mr. Conroy. Now.”
I shrugged, did my best to ignore the eight armed thugs, not to mention Gregor’s seething rage as he remained pinned to the wall. I walked forward and placed Carla Espinoza into Andrews’s arms. “There you go. You know the way out. Be careful not to trip on your goons.”
Andrews took Carla and inspected her. “Wait. This isn’t the same animal.”
“Same as what?” I said.
“The same as you had at the port. That buffalo dog was bigger.”
“Bigger?”
“Pregnant. St
op playing games, Mr. Conroy. Give me the pregnant buffalo dog you carried off theBucephalus.”
“That’s her,” I said, pointing to the tag hanging from her ear. “Carla Espinoza. But she’s not pregnant, not any more.”
“But that’s not possible, she wasn’t due. . . This is unacceptable. The trade is off. Where are the pups?”
“What, you think you’re going to take them too?” I turned to look at Gregor, then back to Andrews. “Is money the only thing that motivates you people? Tell me, Andrews, is it you that’s so greedy, or your company? Because if it’s just you, then we have a problem, but if it’s your company, I think I can offer you a solution.”
Gregor snorted. “I will take great pleasure in hurting you Conroy. Slow pleasure.”
Andrews ignored him. “What kind of solution?”
“The Wada Consortium makes money using the voracious appetites of buffalo dogs for terraforming and other projects. You pay the Arconi ten million credits for each buffalito, and because Wada can’t acquire them from anywhere else and can’t breed them either, you’re stuck paying that much.
“But I’m going to help your consortium, Andrews. My attorney, Ms. Penrose here, has drawn up an agreement. In consideration of Wada dropping any claims on me and mine, my company will give Wada right of first purchase on every third buffalo dog we make available, and at half the price you’ve been paying.”
“Half...?”
“Five million instead of ten million. Think of it as one free buffalo dog for every one you buy.”
Betsy tossed the compadd to him. “You’re an authorized representative, Mr. Andrews. Look over the agreement and sign it.”
“Why should I? You obviously have other fertile buffalo dogs that you plan to breed. Why not just take my chances in court? The Wada Consortium has the resources to wait out any legal battle.”
“That’s true,” I said, “Except, if you walk out without signing, I’ll phone the Arconi consulate on Earth. When they find out that you’re attempting to set up your own breeding operation do you really think they’ll continue to sell you buffalo dogs while you wait to win in court? If you even win? That’s not going to be good for business.”
Buffalito Bundle Page 7
