Stalking the Unicorn: A Fable of Tonight

by Mike Resnick

  "Are you guys really looking for a battle?” asked Mallory.

  "Absolutely!” said Major MacMasters. “When all is said and done, battling is our function in life."

  "I might be able to help you out,” said Mallory.

  "Oh? How?"

  "Well, since it's obvious that you're not going to be sent to the front, how would you feel if the front came in here?"

  "You mean into Pinnochio's?” asked Captain Captain uncomprehendingly.

  "Right,” said Mallory. “I think there's an excellent chance that the guy doing the shooting out there is one of the enemy's most accomplished spies."

  "There is?” asked Major MacMasters, his little black eyes shining with excitement.

  Mallory nodded. “I have reason to believe that he's on a reconnaissance mission.” He paused. “I think I can lure him in here."

  "Capital!” cried Major MacMasters. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “Why would he follow you in here?"

  "Because he's trying to kill me."

  "But you're a civilian,” interjected Captain Captain. “What does he have against you?"

  "I'm fighting a private little war against the Grundy,” answered Mallory.

  "Let me think this out,” said Major MacMasters. “If you're against the Grundy, and this man is out to kill you..."

  "Then he must be with the Grundy!” concluded Captain Captain triumphantly. “Of course we'll help you, Mallory! We may not know who the enemy is, but we know that he must be in league with the Grundy!"

  "I'd prefer that you just detained this guy for a while, rather than killing him,” said Mallory.

  "We'll be the best judge of whether he deserves killing or not,” said Major MacMasters firmly.

  "Well, before you put him to the sword, you ought to know that he's got some possessions that might prove very useful to you,” said Mallory.

  "Such as?"

  "Well, for starters, he's got a magic mirror that can give you direct access to the Grundy."

  "Oh, Tactical would give a pretty penny to get their hands on something like that!" exclaimed Captain Captain happily. “Thanks for the information, Mallory."

  "I want you to do me a favor in exchange for it,” said Mallory.

  "We're already saving your life,” complained Major MacMasters. “What else do you want?"

  "Give the mirror a nice setting,” said Mallory. “Something classy. Maybe a wall of the War Room in the Pentagon."

  "What difference does it make?"

  "I promised it."

  "You made a promise to a mirror?” asked Major MacMasters. “That's most irregular!"

  "It's not a normal mirror,” said Mallory, feeling distinctly foolish.

  "Obviously not,” agreed Major MacMasters. He considered the proposition. “All right, Mallory—we'll agree to your terms."

  "And don't worry,” added Captain Captain. “By the time the Department of Redundancy Department gets through with him, he won't be worth killing!"

  "All right,” said Mallory. “Get your men ready."

  He took a deep breath and walked back out onto the street. There was no sign of Mephisto, and since he didn't want to get too far from Pinnochio's front door, he decided against walking up and down the street to attract the magician's attention, but instead leaned against the nearest streetlamp.

  After five uneventful minutes Mallory put a cigarette in his mouth and pulled out his lighter. Then a shot rang out, and the cigarette was cut in half.

  "I've got you now!” cried Mephisto, stepping out from around a corner. “Hands over your head, Mallory!"

  Mallory raised his hands and started backing away from the magician.

  "It was a nice try,” continued Mephisto, “but you've got to get up pretty early in the morning to pull the wool over my eyes!"

  "That's the stupidest metaphor I ever heard,” said Mallory, still backing up toward Pinnochio's door.

  "If you're so goddamned smart, how come I've got the gun?” laughed Mephisto.

  "Dumb luck,” replied Mallory.

  "The world is divided into winners and losers,” said Mephisto. “And the winners make their luck."

  "If you say so,” said Mallory, diving through the open door of the tavern.

  "You're not getting away from me twice!” yelled Mephisto, breaking into a run.

  Mallory ducked down behind a table and watched as the magician burst through the doorway, only to be instantly subdued and disarmed by Major MacMasters and his fellow officers.

  "What's going on here?” bellowed Mephisto. “Let me go!"

  "Looks decidedly like a Russkie to me,” remarked Major MacMasters, staring at him while two men held him motionless.

  "I don't know,” said another. “I think he might have a trace of Arab blood."

  "Definitely Slavic,” offered a third. “Note the beady eyes and weak chin. Definitely an untrustworthy type."

  "We'll find out soon enough,” said Captain Captain, shouldering his way through the crowd. “What's your name, fella?"

  "The Great Mephisto!"

  "Do you capitalize the G in Great?"

  "What the hell difference does it make?” demanded the magician.

  "We need to know these things for our records,” replied Captain Captain.

  "I never thought about it,” admitted Mephisto.

  "We'll come back to that,” said Captain Captain. “I'm a patient man. Now, how do you spell Mephisto in English, German, French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Swahili, and Serbo-Croatian?"

  Mallory stood up and walked to the door.

  "You'll keep him on ice for a few hours?” he asked.

  "Mallory!” screamed Mephisto. ‘I'll kill you!"

  "Shut up, you!” said Captain Captain. He turned to the detective. “I'd say it's going to take the Department at least a week just to get his name, rank, and serial number right. He'll be filling out forms for the next six months before we can even begin to process him."

  Mallory grinned, saluted him, and went back out into the street. He could still hear Mephisto's threats and curses when he was two blocks away.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 17

  5:05 AM-6:13 AM

  Mallory turned north on Fifth Avenue. The street was almost deserted except for a few elephants carrying passengers and a number of street-cleaners riding rhinoceroses which pushed the slush from the broad thoroughfare with metal plows that were attached to sturdy leather harnesses.

  He stopped at an all-night newsstand and purchased a paper to see if there were any coverage of Flypaper Gillespie's death, and was relieved to find that there was absolutely no mention of the leprechaun. The lead story was devoted to the capture of a foreign spy by off-duty military officers in a local tavern, but no details had been released.

  He tossed the paper in a trashcan, checked his watch to make sure he was on schedule for his next checkpoint, and began walking north again.

  At 38th Street he came to a huge crowd that had gathered around a trio of breakdancing gremlins, and had to step into the street to circle around them. Before he could make it back to the sidewalk he had been joined by a tall, somber-looking, bearded man in a turban and a flowing white robe.

  "I'm pleased to see that such vulgar displays don't interest you, Sahib,” said the man, falling into step beside him. “You strike me as a man of rare perception."

  "What are you selling?” asked Mallory wearily.

  "Eternal peace."

  "Let me guess,” said the detective. “You're an undertaker?"

  The man smiled patronizingly. “I am a mystic, who has divined the answers to the great mysteries of the ages."

  "Which you dispense for a small honorarium?” suggested Mallory.

  "I take no money for myself!” replied the man with great dignity.

  "You give these answers away for free?” said Mallory skeptically.

  "Absolutely! All I ask is a small donation to cover my overhead."

  "Your overhead co
nsists of a turban,” said Mallory, increasing his pace.

  "Not so, Sahib!” the man corrected him. “I am the proprietor of Abdullah's Mystic Emporium."

  "Never heard of it."

  "It's on the next block. Perhaps you would care to stop in and join your fellow seekers after Ultimate Truth?"

  "I don't think so,” said Mallory.

  "Have you never felt a desire to probe the eternal mysteries?” said the man persuasively.

  "Like life and death?"

  The man wrinkled his nose contemptuously. “We have gone beyond such simplistic questions."

  "Then what the hell mysteries do you answer?” asked Mallory.

  "Those that affect our daily lives, of course."

  "Such as?"

  "Why can't adults open childproof bottles?” said the man meaningfully. “Why do elevators all arrive at the same time?” He paused to assess Mallory's reaction, then continued. “Why can you never find a taxi when it's raining?"

  "They're fascinating questions,” agreed Mallory. “But I think I'd rather let them remain great unsolved mysteries."

  "We're also having a sale on transistor radios."

  "Not interested."

  "Ah, Sahib, my heart bleeds for you! You are making such a mistake!"

  "Do you really want some business?” asked Mallory suddenly.

  "Most certainly,” the man assured him.

  "There's an ugly little elf about half a block behind me."

  The man looked back down the street. “I do not see him."

  "He's hiding,” said Mallory. “It's kind of a game we're playing. Anyway, collecting radios is one of his hobbies."

  "It is?” asked the man eagerly.

  Mallory nodded.

  "I also happen to have some stereo headphones marked down to cost."

  "Right up his alley,” Mallory assured him.

  The man stopped walking, bowed low, and made a gesture with his hand. “A thousand blessings upon you, Sahib!"

  "My pleasure,” replied Mallory with a smile.

  The detective continued walking north. After another six blocks he stopped and looked behind him, and saw a green shape dart into a recessed doorway some two blocks away.

  "One side, buddy!” cried a voice, and Mallory turned to see a pair of elephants plodding up the middle of Fifth Avenue, towing what looked for all the world like a basketball court. Half a dozen wildly exuberant young men sat atop each elephant, swigging beer and singing their college fight song. The elephants were turning onto a cross street, and Mallory found his way blocked as the court slowly began edging around the corner.

  "What the hell is going on?” asked Mallory.

  "We came, we saw, and we conquered!” yelled one of the young men triumphantly.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The big game! We won 55-54 in overtime!” replied the student.

  "Anyone can cut down the basketball net for a trophy!” cried another. "We're taking home the whole goddamned court!"

  "Where are you guys from?” asked Mallory.

  "Florida!” they chorused proudly.

  "And you're going to pull the court all the way home?"

  "That's right!"

  "I hate to tell you this,” said Mallory, “but you're going the wrong way."

  "We're stopping off in St. Louis first to visit my girlfriend,” explained one of the young men.

  "Lots of luck,” said Mallory.

  "Keep out of the way, or you'll need luck more than we do!"

  The elephants kept pulling, and Mallory stepped into a store to wait until his path was clear again.

  He found himself in a gallery which displayed some 200 very large paintings, most of them landscapes and city scenes. The quality of the work was unexceptional, and he wondered how the proprietor managed to sell enough of them to cover the overhead of a Fifth Avenue location.

  "Welcome to the Reverie Travel Agency,” said a friendly voice, and Mallory turned to find a well-dressed middle-aged woman approaching him. “How may I help you?"

  "Travel agency?” he said, surprised. “It looks like an art gallery to me."

  "A popular misconception,” she agreed. “Actually, I wouldn't care to have any of these paintings hanging in my house. They're really not very good."

  "Then why display them?” asked Mallory.

  "How else would you know where you were going?” she replied.

  "I don't quite follow you."

  "These are our travel posters,” she said.

  "You should have chosen a better artist,” said Mallory.

  "Oh, there are better artists around, to be sure,” she answered. “But there is only one Adonis Zeus."

  "He's the painter?"

  She nodded. “A Greek gentleman. I don't know very much about him—he doesn't like to talk about himself, although he did mention once that he didn't come from Athens. I got the distinct impression that his people were mountaineers.” She paused. “Anyway, he tried to sell his paintings all over Manhattan, but every art gallery in the city turned him down. Then, about four years ago, he approached us, and we've been very happy with him."

  "I can't imagine why,” said Mallory honestly.

  "Then let me show you,” she said, walking over to a painting of a wooded landscape. “What do you think of this?"

  Mallory studied the painting. “Nothing special,” he said at last.

  She smiled. “Then watch."

  She reached into the painting and pulled her hand out a moment later holding a small dried leaf.

  "Do that again,” said Mallory, staring incredulously at the leaf.

  "Gladly."

  She reached in once more, and pulled out a small woodland flower.

  "That's amazing!” exclaimed Mallory. “And anyone can just reach into one of these paintings?"

  She looked amused. “You still don't understand. Anyone can take a vacation in one of these paintings."

  "Really?"

  She nodded, and led him past a number of paintings. “What's your fondest desire, Mr.... ah?"

  "Mallory."

  "What's your fondest desire, Mr. Mallory—Mallorca, the Greek Isles, Jamaica?” She pointed to each painting in turn. “A trip up the Amazon? A pastoral woodland? You no longer have to worry about passports and airline connections. You simply rent the painting for the length of your proposed trip, and make easy regular payments."

  "And you can go anywhere?"

  "Anywhere that Adonis Zeus has painted."

  "Even if the place he painted never existed?” asked Mallory curiously.

  She smiled. “Come with me into our Fantasy Showroom, Mr. Mallory."

  He followed her through a narrow doorway.

  "Not everyone is as imaginative as yourself,” she said, “so we tend to display only the more popular vacation spots out front. This room is for our more adventurous clients."

  She led him to a painting of a nearly naked man killing a lion with a knife. “Tarzan's Africa,” she explained. She pointed to another. “Alice's Wonderland.” She walked a few feet away and pointed to a painting of a cluttered Victorian room, filled with books, chemicals, and an odd assortment of trophies.

  "221-B Baker Street,” she announced. “A romantic chamber of the heart, a nostalgic country of the mind, where it is always 1895."

  She led him past another row of paintings. “Would you like to be lost in a harem? Have you a desire to re-animate dead tissue in your laboratory? Shoot it out with Rooster Cogburn? Raft down the Mississippi with Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer? Serve on the Pequod as it hunts for the White Whale? All of these trips we can arrange, and more."

  "How does it work?” asked Mallory.

  "Well, you can open an account if you plan to use us a minimum of three times a year. Otherwise, we'll require some form of identification for our records, and you can either pay us the full rental fee or make a deposit and subscribe to one of our payment plans."

  "I meant, how does the painting work?"

>   "All you have to do is choose your vacation and tell us how long you plan to be away, and we'll wrap the painting and turn it over to you.” She smiled. “Then you simply take the painting home, hang it on a wall, and step into it."

  "How do I get out?"

  "The very same way. If you plan to extend your vacation, do step out long enough to give us a call, though; we levy quite a large daily fine for overdue paintings."

  "What if I wanted to take a permanent vacation?” asked Mallory.

  "You mean a retirement rather than an excursion?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Exactly."

  "There's no problem at all, Mr. Mallory,” she said. “Any of our paintings can be purchased as well as rented.” She paused. “May I ask what type of retirement you had in mind?"

  "I'm not sure yet,” he said. “Do you mind if I look around a bit?"

  "Not at all,” she said pleasantly. “I'll be in the next room. When you've chosen what you want, simply bring it up to the sales desk."

  "Thank you,” said Mallory.

  He began walking up and down the rows of paintings, passing representations of the gods carousing on Mount Olympus, Ichabod Crane fleeing from the Headless Horseman, King Arthur leading his Knights of the Round Table into battle, the Gray Lensman firing his blasters at the agents of Boskone, Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet on a heffalump hunt, Pogo Possum and Albert the Alligator fishing in the Okefenokee Swamp, and Humphrey Bogart, Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre, and Mary Astor examining the Maltese Falcon.

  When he came to a painting of Captain Hook engaged in mortal combat with Peter Pan, he stopped and stared at it intently. When he found the item he was searching for aboard Hook's ship, he took the painting off the wall and carried it to the sales desk.

  "An excellent choice, Mr. Mallory,” said the saleswoman approvingly. “Second star to the right and straight on until morning."

  "How much will it be?” he asked.

  "Is this a rental or a purchase?"

  "A purchase."

  "The price is only two hundred dollars,” she replied. “We're having a sale on children's stories this week. You've made a most fortuitous selection.” She paused. “However, since you plan to retire into it, I'm afraid that payment will have to be made in full."

  "I'm from out of town,” he said hesitantly. “I don't know if my identification will be valid here."