by Mike Resnick
Mallory stopped to survey his surroundings. The rug, which was actually just a runner that had been laid down along the main corridor, was faded and starting to fray at the edges, the paper was starting to peel away from the walls, and he could hear a steady dripping from a bathroom at the far end of the corridor. Most of the rooms had dusty Christmas wreaths on the doors, and on the wall next to the elevator there was a small blackboard with the message: “Only 358 shopping days until Christmas!"
"What now?” Mallory asked McNasty.
"I could show you much better if you'd untie my feet,” said the leprechaun.
"I'm sure you could,” agreed Mallory. “What now?"
"The staircase."
Mallory looked around and saw a door with an EXIT sign above it.
"Is that it?” he asked Kris.
The desk clerk nodded, and the detective approached it and opened the door.
"Now climb down two flights."
Mallory led the way, and a few moments later they were facing a door that bore the numeral 12.
"That'll be fifty dollars, please!” said Kris triumphantly.
"Go fuck yourself!” said McNasty. “We're not done yet."
"This had better not be your notion of a joke,” said the detective ominously.
"It isn't!” replied McNasty. “Now go up to the fourteenth."
"Why?"
"If you want to see where Gillespie lives, just do what I tell you!” snapped McNasty.
"And if you want to live long enough to see the sunrise, you'd better not be jerking us around,” growled Mallory, starting to sweat from his exertion. “You're no goddamned featherweight, you know."
They climbed up one flight to the fourteenth floor.
"Now down a flight, and you're there,” promised the leprechaun.
They climbed down again—but when they reached the door, it bore the numeral 13.
"What's going on here?” said Kris, frowning. “We don't have a thirteenth floor!"
"Every building does,” said McNasty smugly. “You just have to know how to get to it.” He grinned. “That'll be fifty dollars, please."
"I've been up here a thousand times and I never saw this door before!” said Kris.
"That's hardly my fault,” said the leprechaun. “Okay, tough guy—keep your end of the deal."
"In a couple of minutes,” said Mallory, testing the door.
"What's going on here?” demanded McNasty. “A deal's a deal!"
"I'm not going to let you loose inside the building—and if I took you outside and set you free, I don't know for a fact that I could find my way back here."
"But if Gillespie's in there he'll kill me!” protested the leprechaun.
"If you say so,” replied Mallory, opening the door.
"Are you sure you don't have any leprechaun blood in you?” muttered McNasty.
Mallory stepped through the doorway and found himself not in a corridor, but in a small, cluttered, windowless room.
"Felina?” Whispered the detective. “Is he here?"
The cat-girl shook her head. “No, the room's empty."
Mallory turned on a lamp and looked around.
There was an unmade doll's bed in a corner, with sheets that looked like they hadn't been changed in years. On a tiny table right next to it were Beta, VHS, and Umatic cassettes of Debbie Does Dallas, but there were no video decks of any format in the room. The floor was littered with girlie magazines, most of them opened to the centerspreads. There was an ancient dresser with all its drawers missing, a chair with the legs sawed down to half their original length, and a hot plate that was warming a pot of weak coffee. A small table held half a dozen Flash Gordon Big Little Books, perhaps two dozen fishhooks, and a long-overdue library text on the anatomy of unicorns. There were some two hundred balls of string lying around the room and sitting on shelves, each bearing a label scrawled in an unfamiliar language. A large cardboard box at the foot of the bed contained diamonds, marbles, still more fishhooks, and a red golf ball.
"So much for a pot of gold,” said Mallory. “He'd need fifty pots to hold all this junk."
Felina picked up a ball of string and sat down in the doorway to play with it, while the two men searched the room.
"We didn't miss him by much,” said Kris. “He's got half a cup of coffee here that's still warm."
Mallory placed McNasty on the floor and walked over to take a look.
"Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed, examining the mug.
"What is it?” asked Kris.
"The little bastard even robbed me! This is my New York Mets mug!"
Kris looked at it and shrugged. “Are you sure? All those sports team cups look alike. You can buy ‘em in any supermarket."
"I'm sure,” said Mallory. “I broke the handle off a few weeks ago and glued it back on."
"You're not the only guy ever to glue a mug together.",
"But it was missing a piece, so I used a section of a cigarette filter to make it fit,” said Mallory, pointing to the filter. “I'll be damned! I wonder what else he swiped from me?"
"What have you got that's worth stealing?"
"Not much,” admitted Mallory. He began walking around the room. “See if you can find anything like a map of the city, or something with an address scribbled on it."
"Hurry up, you guys!” hollered McNasty. “I've got to get back to Bubbles Malone!"
"Shut up,” said Mallory. He stopped in front of an old desk that was covered by mail-order lingerie catalogs and began opening the drawers. One was filled with flashy tie clips, cuff links, and cigarette lighters, some of them quite expensive, all of them obviously stolen; another contained ten more balls of string; a third held two sapphire rings, a hard-boiled egg, and a broken Rubik's cube; and the fourth and final drawer had blank stationery from twenty of Manhattan's finest hotels, plus a pile of canceled three-cent stamps.
Next Mallory opened a small trunk, which contained some fifty hand-knitted argyle socks, no two of them identical. All were far too large for a leprechaun, and it was obvious that he had stolen them from fifty different pairs.
"I've found an address book, if that means anything to you,” announced Kris, who had been rummaging under the bed.
"Good!” said Mallory, walking over to him. “Let me see it."
He opened the book and began thumbing through it. There were only six names—Bubbles, Cuddles, Dimples, Freckles, and two Velmas. Each name had some graphic notation scribbled after it; two said “Big boobs!” three more said “Great knockers!” and one of the Velmas had “Fantastic jugs!” leaving Mallory to wonder which description ranked higher on Gillespie's 10-scale. There were no last names, no addresses, and no phone numbers. Mallory went over it again, thumbing through it page by page to make sure he hadn't missed anything, then tossed it onto the bed.
"No good, huh?” asked Kris, looking up from a pile of girlie magazines he was reappropriating. Suddenly he bent down. “What's this?"
"What have you got there?” asked Mallory.
The desk clerk straightened up and held out a leather strap. “Looks like a leather dog leash to me."
Mallory took it from him and examined it, frowning.
"Felina?” he said at last.
The cat-girl looked up from her ball of string. “Yes?"
"Have there been any dogs in here lately?"
She sniffed the air and shook her head.
"Damn!” muttered Mallory.
"You look upset,” noted Kris.
"If this is what I think it is, I am upset.” Mallory put the leash in his pocket and took one last look around the room. “All right,” he said. “I've seen everything there is to see here."
He picked McNasty up and walked to the door.
"Just a minute!” said Kris. He picked up his magazines, then walked over to the cardboard box and selected a couple of diamonds. “For the Kristem,” he explained with a grin.
"That's fine by me,” said Mallory.
Th
ey returned to the stairway, climbed down to the twelfth floor, and took the elevator down to the foyer from there.
"Thanks for your help,” said Mallory as he walked to the front door.
"What about my fifty bucks?” demanded McNasty.
"We never shook on it,” said Kris.
"How could I shake on it? My hands are tied?"
Kris shrugged. “What the hell. Now that I know how to get up to Gillespie's room, what's fifty bucks?” He pulled the bill out and tucked it into the little leprechaun's pocket.
"Are you sure you can find your way back?” asked Mallory.
"Simple,” replied the desk clerk. “Fifteen, twelve, fourteen, thirteen.” He frowned. “Or was it twelve, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen?"
"It depends on the weather and the day of the week,” said McNasty with a gleeful cackle.
Mallory took the leprechaun outside, where he unbound his hands and feet.
"You've got thirty seconds, little man,” said the detective.
"To do what?” asked McNasty, hopping around and waving his arms to get some circulation back into his hands and legs.
"To get the hell out of here before I turn Felina loose."
"What are you talking about?” demanded McNasty. “You got what you wanted!"
"I don't like leprechauns."
"Are you some kind of religious maniac or something?” shrieked McNasty, starting to back away. “Everyone knows that leprechauns are God's chosen people!"
"They're also cat-people's chosen appetizers,” said Mallory meaningfully.
Filthy McNasty took one last look at Felina and then raced off at high speed, cursing all the way.
"Wait here a minute,” said Mallory to Felina. “I've got to make a phone call."
He walked back into the Kringleman Arms and phoned the Morbidium to see if Mürgenstürm had arrived. He hadn't.
"Well,” said Mallory, returning to the cat-girl, “I think it's time for us to get over to the Stock Exchange."
"You look puzzled,” noted Felina, who was sitting on the sidewalk playing with the ball of string she had brought down from Gillespie's room.
"I am."
"Why?"
"Something very strange is going on,” he said, frowning.
"I know. The Grundy stole a unicorn."
He shook his head. “It's more than that. I've got a feeling that I have enough pieces now to start putting things together, but they just don't fit.” He paused. “I know what's happening, but I don't know why!"
"I don't know what you're talking about,” said Felina. Suddenly she smiled. “But I do know one thing."
"Oh? What's that?"
"You owe me one of those silver things."
"What silver things?” asked Mallory, thoroughly confused.
"You promised to buy it for me if we found Gillespie's room."
"Oh, that! So I did,” he sighed. “All right—we'll walk south on Broadway. If it's cheap and tawdry, it'll be for sale there."
He began to search for a street with which he was familiar. Once he got his bearings it took less than five minutes for him and Felina to reach the shining neon lights of the Great White Way, where he entered a souvenir shop and soon emerged with a silver-sequined G-string, which Felina immediately wrapped around her arm.
"That's not where you're supposed to wear it,” he commented.
"I want to be able to see it,” she said, holding it up to the light. She displayed it proudly for Mallory, who paid no attention. “You're still frowning,” she said.
"I'm still trying to figure things out,” he answered distractedly.
"Can I help?"
"I don't think so.” He swore softly. “Damn! I'm so goddamned close to putting it together that I can taste it!"
He checked his watch and sighed deeply.
"We'd better get on over to the Stock Exchange and see if Winnifred or Mephisto had any better luck than we did."
But even as he said it, he knew that his companions’ quests would have turned out to be fruitless. Deep down in his gut he was absolutely certain that he had learned everything he needed to know, that if he could just find some way to juggle and rearrange the bits of knowledge and information he possessed the entire picture would finally take shape and become clear.
He was still moving the pieces around without any noticeable success when they reached Wall Street.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 11
2:12 AM-2:38 AM
The rain had stopped by the time Mallory and Felina arrived at the Stock Exchange, and a cold, bone-chilling wind had taken its place. There was no one waiting for them.
The detective looked up and down Wall Street; a few stray pieces of paper were skimming along the ground, and an old dog limped down the center of the sidewalk a block away, but there was no sign of Winnifred or Mephisto.
"Well, we're a couple of minutes early,” he said, checking his watch. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. It looks like we're going to have to wait for a while."
Suddenly he heard an eerie wailing.
"What was that?” he asked.
Felina tensed and looked around. “Something's dying,” she said with conviction.
He shook his head. “It's probably just the wind."
"Something old and feeble,” she purred, her nostrils twitching as she tested the wind for scents.
"Nothing old and feeble could sound that loud,” said Mallory as the wailing sound came to his ears again. It seemed to bespeak an infinite sadness, and terminated in a low, mournful moan.
"Something old and sick and feeble and tasty,” crooned the cat-girl.
"I'll settle for it just being feeble,” said Mallory devoutly.
A sheet of paper flew by, carried by the wind, and Mallory grabbed it out of the air. It was a newspaper, dated October 29, 1929.
BLACK TUESDAY! proclaimed the headline. STOCK MARKET CRASHES!
Curious, Mallory began reading the lead story, then lost interest and skimmed an article explaining why talking pictures would drag Hollywood down to financial disaster. Finally he flipped the sheet over and began reading an item about a promising two-year-old named Gallant Fox.
When he was through, he tossed the paper onto the ground and looked down the street again.
"Still no sign of them,” he said. He heard another mournful wail. “I wonder what the hell that is?” he asked uneasily.
It was then he discovered that he was alone.
"Felina!” he yelled, but there was no response.
He ran to a corner and looked down the cross street, calling her name again, but couldn't see any sign of her. He then walked back to the front of the building. When he heard the sound of the wind blowing ropes against metal, he checked the various flagpoles that jutted out over the sidewalk, hoping that she might be perched atop one of them. She wasn't.
"Our noble little group seems to keep getting nobler and littler,” he muttered, putting his hands in his pockets and pacing up and down in front of the building. After a moment he decided to have a cigarette, and turned his back to the street to shield his lighter from the wind. When he turned around again he found himself facing the Great Mephisto, who had his cape wrapped tightly around his tuxedo.
"Sorry I'm late,” said the magician. “Where are Winnifred and the little horse?"
"They haven't shown up yet."
"And the cat-girl?"
"She was here a minute ago,” said Mallory, frowning.
Mephisto stepped into a recessed doorway. “This damned cape!” he complained. “It's great against snow and rain, but it doesn't do a damned thing for wind.” He grimaced. “Serves me right for not getting a name brand, I suppose."
"What did you find out?” asked Mallory.
"I still don't know where Larkspur is,” replied Mephisto, “but I do know that the Grundy doesn't have him."
"Where is the Grundy now?"
Mephisto shrugged. “I haven't the slightest idea."
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Mallory frowned. “Just a minute. I thought you just saw him."
"I never said that. I said that he didn't have Larkspur."
"How could you know that if you don't know where he is?"
Mephisto smiled. “There's more than one way to skin a cat—with apologies to your feline friend. The Grundy's too well-protected for anyone, even the world's greatest magician"—he bowed—"to just walk over to his headquarters and see what's going on.” He paused. “I gave serious consideration to using my crystal ball, but it's rather like a two-way television set: if I looked in on him, he'd be able to see me. I didn't like that idea very much; in fact, I positively hated it."
"So what did you do?"
"A number of his flunkies—mostly goblins and trolls—tend to gather at a little pub not too far from here for drinks and cards. So I went over there, bought a round of drinks for the house, sat in for a few hands, and kept my ears open.” He grinned triumphantly. “I even won twelve dollars."
"What did they say?” asked Mallory, stubbing out his cigarette and trying to light another. The wind kept blowing out his flame, and he finally gave up and put it back in his pocket.
"Well, most of them weren't there,” said Mephisto, “but the two who were told me that he's absolutely livid about something."
Suddenly Mallory chuckled. “I'll just bet he is."
"What are you talking about?” demanded Mephisto.
"The last piece just fell into place,” Mallory announced.
"What piece?"
"The last piece of the puzzle,” said Mallory. “I knew most of it when I left the Kringleman Arms; you just gave me the rest."
"What's the Kringleman Arms?"
"That's where Gillespie lives."
"You actually found him?” exclaimed Mephisto.
"No."
"But you learned something anyway?” persisted the magician.
"Just about everything,” replied Mallory. “But one thing kept bothering me: if the Grundy is so goddamned powerful, why are Mürgenstürm and I still alive? He may not know about you and Winnifred yet, but it's obvious that—"
"Yet?" yelped Mephisto, so upset that he let his cape fall open. “What do you mean—yet?"
"He's bound to find out about you sooner or later,” said Mallory reasonably.
