by Joseph Lallo
“I haven’t been back here since the day she crawled at me. It seriously weirded me out.”
“So she was barely into the ambulatory phase when you checked out, and yet she fully recognizes and trusts you specifically, but not me. As far as I know, Blodgette is the first recorded case of a Structophis gastrignae raised in such an isolated way. Neither her parents nor a human family or community. Structophis gastrignae as a species have always been known to be very social, but we’ve never known the degree of recognition present in early development. This is… groundbreaking! I’d love to see how she reacts to Dimitrios. Does she feel more strongly about him than you? What’s the more vital period of emotional connection?”
“Yeah,” he groaned. “I’d like to know how she feels about Uncle Dimitrios too. Because that’d mean we’d have found Uncle Dimitrios, and thus this would be at least partially his problem to help solve. But Uncle Dimitrios is busy being Uncle Dimitrios.”
“Boy, that name’s a mouthful. Don’t you have a nickname or anything for him?”
“This coming from the girl who insists on calling Blodgette a Structophis gastrignae.”
“What would you prefer?”
“Pizza dragon. The common name for them.”
“That’s an oversimplification.”
“Yes, Gale, that’s what nicknames are.”
“Fine. You can call her that if you want, but I’m sticking with Structophis gastrignae.”
Markus looked wearily to Blodgette, who once again offered a subtle grin and clutched his hand in her mitt.
“Okay, Gale. Give me the run down. What’s it take to keep Blodgette happy and healthy?”
“Companionship plus social and intellectual enrichment will be key for her happiness. Talk to her a lot. Ask her questions, play games. We’ve been through the food. Make plenty of firewood and ore available to her. She’ll eat what she needs. Lots of ingredients too. Herbs and spices, flour, things like that. That should keep her healthy. Later she’ll develop other interests and compulsions, but those are for her to discover, not you.”
He nodded distantly. Blodgette mimicked him and then raised her hand for a high five, which he offered with a smirk. The positive expression didn’t last long. Blodgette squinted at him and warbled something low. Even without words, it seemed like a sound of concern.
“Remarkable emotional empathy even so near to emergence,” Gale observed, scratching another note into her pad. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a midterm coming up. Not going to be able to do that. I’ve got work tomorrow. That’s not going to happen. This is a huge monkey wrench in my life. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it work.” He sighed. “Thanks for helping out, though. I guess you can get going. I’ll call you if I have more questions. At least until they turn my phone off.”
“Nope.”
“Nope what?”
“I’m not going anywhere. This is my thesis now, buster. I’m a grad student. My room and board is paid for, so long as I’m working on course credits, and this here could keep me in research straight through to my doctorate if I play my cards right. Plus, all things considered she’s a bit of a problem child. So for her sake and yours, I wouldn’t want you fumbling around without my advice.”
“Really?”
“Yep. And right now, my advice is to get this young lady to that lake where she’ll be able to take better care of herself. How are we going to do that?”
“Uh…” He looked around and spied the keys on the hook beside the cash register. “Let me have that measuring tape. I’ve got to go measure the catering truck. We might be able to load her in there.”
Gale tossed the tape. Markus caught it and headed for the back door. He made it all of three steps before Blodgette realized he was going somewhere and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him into a clingy hug and churring worriedly.
“Okay,” he wheezed, waggling the tape measure in his hand since his arms were clamped to his sides. “You go measure.”
“Hang on,” she said, pulling up her camera and flipping it on. “This is a behavior worth documenting.”
“You’re sure this isn’t just because I look ridiculous,” he croaked as Blodgette swung her crinkled tail around in front of her and wrapped it around his legs in a sort of secondary hug.
“You don’t look ridiculous, you look adorable.”
She snapped a picture. The flash spooked Blodgette slightly, causing her to hug a bit tighter and watch Gale with suspicion until the girl took the tape measure and left the room.
“You know, at some point you’re going to have to let me go,” Markus said.
Blodgette churred happily, the deep sound reverberating all through her body, vibrating her hard enough to cause some of the smaller metal plates of her armor to jingle. She rocked side to side a bit, then traded the hug for a firm grip around his wrist again as she led him around the dining room, pointing her stubby fingers at some of the pictures on the walls.
This being a family establishment, it would have made sense if the pictures had been pictures of Dimitrios himself or maybe of his nieces and nephews. (He never had any children of his own.) Instead the pictures were primarily of other business ventures Dimitrios had embarked on. The bistro was his second major business, and so far the only one to have any degree of success. The two major endeavors joined possibly hundreds of lesser ventures that had ended catastrophically.
Blodgette pulled a framed photo of a goat ranch off the wall.
“Yeah, that’s Dimitrios’s ranch back in Greece. Goat’s milk and olives were what he was selling. Then for some reason he tried to switch over to camel milk. Didn’t work out.”
Blodgette dropped the picture absentmindedly, stepping back startled when it shattered on the floor.
“Maybe let’s not drop these,” he said, picking it up and placing it on a table.
She selected another picture from the wall.
“I think this was when he decided it would be a good idea to make cars that ran on yeast or something. Not only did they not work, but they were incredibly ugly. I think this was one of those situations when Uncle Dimitrios assumed he could do something simply because he didn’t understand why he couldn’t.”
They worked their way through the rest of the pictures on the wall, which formed a conga-line of half-baked and quarter-baked ideas. One was an attempt to combine bungee jumping and high diving. Another was a hot-air balloon service that attempted to serve hotdogs cooked on the balloon’s burner. His uncle was without a doubt a visionary. Unfortunately, he was a visionary in the same way that a frequent peyote user was a visionary.
“And this is a picture of Dimitrios investing in a distillery to make fifty-year brandy. I guess the first barrels of that are going to be showing up in another ten years,” Markus said, setting down the final picture. “Say what you will about my great uncle, the man didn’t blow all his money on get-rich-quick schemes. He was more than willing to get rich slow.”
He frowned as a thought came to mind. “Now that I think about it, you’re pretty much definitely part of one of those schemes. And I can’t think of a single use he might have in mind for you that wouldn’t severely sour my opinion of him…”
Gale stepped inside, dusting off her hands. Blodgette gave her a suspicious look and grabbed Markus’s arm.
“Okay, I measured the inside, I looked up the route to that quarry lake of yours, and I did the math. There’s just enough room for us to load you, Blodgette, and enough containers of water to keep her below critical temperature for the ride, assuming we are able to stop at least twice to top off the water.”
“Room for me in the back. But… Yeah… I guess she’s not going to let me out of her sight for a five-hour road trip.”
“I’m betting she’s not going to be fond of letting you out of her sight for long enough to take a bathroom break, even. So if I was you, I’d take care of that before we leave.”
“Th
at catering truck isn’t automatic, you know. Do you know how to drive a stick?”
“Markus, I’ve got ninety-four college credits. I think I can probably handle driving a truck with three pedals instead of two. Now come on. Time’s a-wasting and it looks as if there’re a bunch of shelves and stuff to clear out of the back before we can fit the two of you back there. Let’s get cracking!”
“Oh,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Speaking of cracking, do me a favor and hold my phone. Something tells me Blodgette’s affection’s as likely as not to break it before I can get her to figure out how fragile the world is compared to her.”
He handed it to her. She slipped it into her pocket.
“Everything will be just fine now that I’m helping plan this operation,” Gale said.
#
Several hours later, in Italy, Dimitrios Spiros sat in a strangely sterile waiting room. He’d done business with plenty of wealthy men and women in the past. Usually they liked to fill the areas where they would entertain clients and the like with things that would leave an impression of wealth and competence. Custom commissioned works of art from respected artists were common, or even masterpieces from the handful of painters whom the general public actually knew by name.
This place was considerably different. The walls were stark white and decorated with black-and-white photographs hung in black frames, each depicting mundane objects like ancient rotary phones or large rusty keys. The furniture was all matte black and perfectly angular: rectangular chairs with square cushions, oddly tall, spindly tables. It felt like the sort of room someone would put together to perform a dubiously ethical psychological experiment. Or it would have to anyone but Dimitrios. He took the room in, ran it through his brain for a few moments, and assigned it the label “modern.”
He was leafing through an architecture portfolio he’d found on the table when the door opened. The man who entered practically embodied the word “corporate.” He was dressed impeccably in a black suit that anyone could agree was worth fifteen thousand dollars, though few would be able to explain why. The man was dark skinned, with a strong, square jaw that could well have served as inspiration for the room itself. His expression was even and dispassionate, though his eyes had the sharpness and focus of a man just as comfortable ordering an assassination as a martini. This, too, was lost on Dimitrios, who gave the man the same amount of thought as the room and arrived at the label “management.”
“Dimitrios Aristotle Spiros?” asked the man.
Dimitrios stood, offering a hand. “That’s me. Quite a place you’ve got here. You run it?”
“That I do, sir. Donald Hearst. Hearst Limited.”
“Fine, fine. Very modern. You know I’m an entrepreneur as well.”
“So I’ve seen. I took the time during my flight to familiarize myself with your investment history. It has been quite diverse.”
“Never good to put all your eggs in one basket. And nothing ventured nothing gained.”
“Words to live by. Though it should be said that a bit more care could be taken as to which baskets you’ve chosen to store your eggs, as merely venturing is not nearly sufficient to guarantee gains.”
Spiros nodded, though his expression suggested he’d stopped listening after “words to live by.” “So, about that customer support question I had.”
“Yes, I would very much like to address that. Please, take a seat,” Hearst said.
Dimitrios did so. Hearst sat opposite him.
“Now, regarding these ventures of yours. One of them is Dimitrios’s Bistro, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve only got a single location in Colorado?” he asked.
“I was waiting to solidify my business plan before franchising,” Dimitrios said.
“Established 1964. A half century has not been sufficient to suitably solidify your business plan?”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Again, words to live by. Your knowledge of platitudes is encyclopedic, sir.”
“Why all the interest in my dining establishment?”
“I just needed to confirm ownership. One moment,” Hearst said.
He removed a sleek smartphone from his pocket and tapped the screen.
“I’ve indeed confirmed the Colorado location,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Spiros…”
“Call me Dimitrios, please.”
“Dimitrios, I’ve got a rather large staff supporting me at all times, and rather than take them away from their equipment and resources, I’ve left them at the home office. To keep them apprised of the content of this conversation, I’d like your permission to put the rest of it on speakerphone.”
“If that’s how you do business, I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
“A sensible man,” Hearst said, setting the phone down on the table. “There are a few more things I’d like to confirm before we address your ‘customer support’ issue. The item in question, you purchased it from an antiquities shop sometime between eight and thirteen years ago, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And in the time since your acquisition, the item has been stored at a more or less constant temperature between eight hundred and a thousand degrees Fahrenheit?”
“Well, we didn’t stick a thermometer in there, but roundabout there, yes.”
“Good. And have you shared the location and nature of this item with anyone in any official capacity since its acquisition?”
“It isn’t the sort of thing you spread around, Mr. Hearst.”
Hearst grinned. “No, it isn’t. And I am pleased to know you are intelligent enough to be mindful of that. Based upon the information provided, is it safe to assume that you’ve been keeping the item at the aforementioned bistro?”
“Yes. I’ve got to say, this is an awfully long customer survey before we get to my issue.”
“It was necessary. I don’t take action until I am certain it is warranted. Martinez, you may have the men move in,” he said, addressing the phone with his final statement.
“Move in?” Dimitrios said.
“Well, Dimitrios. You and I are quite aware of the specifics, as is my staff. I believe we can safely discontinue the circumlocution and establish the proper context for future discussions. Fifteen years ago, a theft was reported at the Abbatia Territorialis Sanctae Mariae Montis Oliveti Maioris, an abbey that, for reasons beyond the scope of this conversation, was housing a clutch of seven eggs of an exotic species. For two years local and national authorities had sought the eggs. Eight years ago a trail of clandestine purchases and exchanges led the investigation to Antiquariato di Carlo. A raid was able to recover four of the eggs. Three had been sold previously. Owing to the extreme illegality of trafficking such items, Carlo kept no records, and thus the location of the remaining eggs could not be determined. It was then that I initiated my own investigation. In short order, two more eggs were revealed, but improper storage had rendered them nonviable.”
Dimitrios shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “This isn’t a bust, is it?”
“No, sir. Quite the opposite. I do not represent the authorities. I am an interested party. For nearly twenty years I’ve been attempting to acquire a Structophis gastrignae, for reasons not relevant at this time. They are very tightly controlled, illegal for personal ownership, and cleared only for behavioral research. I was beginning to believe even my own considerable resources would not enable me to acquire one. Now it would appear that not only have I found one, but it has already hatched.”
“Ahem,” Dimitrios said, crossing his arms. “That’s my dragon you’re talking about.”
“We shall see… Martinez?” Hearst said.
“I’m getting a report from the field operatives now… there is no S.G. present at the location. Considerable evidence of recent damage, but no staff or personnel present. Interview with the upstairs resident of the property suggests a young man and woman rece
ntly departed in a large vehicle. The S.G. may have been transported from the premises.”
Hearst raised his eyebrow. “I may have underestimated you, Dimitrios. It takes a special man to get a step ahead of me.”
“Yes… Yes, you’ve got to get up pretty early to catch Dimitrios sleeping…”
“You had no idea the creature wouldn’t be there, did you?” Hearst said.
“Of course I did! I arranged the whole thing!” Dimitrios said. “And let me tell you this, Mr. Hearst. If you think you’re going to turn me in for having that thing, I promise you you’ll never find it. I’d rather see it turned in to… whoever takes those things from people who aren’t supposed to have them than see another business profit from my legwork!”
Hearst looked at him doubtfully. He glanced at the phone. “Martinez, do we have an ID on the likely transporters?”
“The man was identified as Markus Spiros. No word yet on the woman.”
“Get some men on Markus. Find out where he was, where he might have gone, et cetera.”
“Already on it.”
“Good.” Hearst looked to Dimitrios. “Now, sir. I can see you are a patient man, and recent evidence suggests you are a stubborn one. As time is money, that has the potential to make you a very expensive man. Fortunately for you, I understand the value of a dollar, and I’m more than willing to part with it to get what I want. What is the asking price for the Structophis gastrignae?”
“Bah! It isn’t livestock. I wasn’t raising it to sell it. I had plans for that creature. Serious, ongoing plans.”
“I see. And what were those plans?”
“And let you steal the idea? I’m not that foolish.”
“Evidence suggests the contrary. Dimitrios, I have no interest in stealing your idea. You’ll recall, I’m making a rather well-coordinated attempt to steal the creature. This discussion is occurring simply because there is the slim but real possibility that your obstinacy could keep me from my prize long enough for the authorities to intercept it or for the beast to be killed. If you’ve ever hoped to make a dime off the Structophis gastrignae, it would behoove you to talk business with me here and now. You won’t have another opportunity.”
