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I ACTUALLY LIKED our new office facilities better than the old. Even though Aahz had argued hard to keep the Even Odds as a bar (read “money-making venture”), the rest of us ganged upon him and insisted that since we had an extra building it would make more sense to remodel it into offices than to keep trying to do business out of our home. I mean, who really needs a lot of strangers traipsing in and out of your private life all the time? That practice had already landed us in trouble once, and the memory of that escapade was what finally convinced my old mentor to go along with the plan.
Of course, remodeling was more of a hassle than I had expected, even after getting one of the local religious temples to do the carpentry. Even working cheap they were more expensive than I had imagined, and the hours they kept ... but I digress.
I had a large office now, with a desk, “in” basket, Day-Timers Scheduler, visitor chairs, the whole nine yards. As I said, I liked it a lot. What I didn’t like was the title that went with it ... to wit, President.
That’s right. Everybody insisted that since incorporating our merry band of misfits was my idea, I was the logical choice for titular head of the organization. Even Aahz betrayed me, proclaiming it was a great idea, though to my eye he was hiding a snicker when he said it. If I had known my suggestion would lead to this, believe me I would have kept my mouth shut.
Don’t get me wrong! The crew is great! If I were going to lead a group, I couldn’t ask for a nicer, more loyal bunch than the one currently at my disposal. Of course, there might be those who would argue the point with me. A trollop, a troll, two gangsters, a moll, and a Pervert ... excuse me, Pervect ... an overweight vamp, and a baby dragon might not seem like the ideal team to the average person. They didn’t to me when I first met them. Still, they’ve been unswerving in their support of me over the years, and together we’ve piled up an impressive track record. No, I’d rather stick with the rat-pack I know, however strange, than trust my fate to anyone else, no matter how qualified they might seem. If anything, from time to time I wonder what they think of me and wish I could peek inside their heads to learn their opinions. Whatever they think, they stick around ... and that’s what counts.
It isn’t the crew that makes me edgy ... it’s the title. You see, as long as I can remember, I’ve always thought that being a leader was the equivalent of walking around with a large bulls-eye painted on your back. Basically the job involves holding the bag for a lot of people instead of just for yourself. If anything goes wrong, you end up being to blame. Even if someone else perpetrated the foul-up, as the leader you’re responsible. On the off chance things go right, all you really feel is guilty for taking the credit for someone else’s work. All in all, it seems to me to be a no-win, thankless position, one that I would much rather delegate to someone else while I had fun in the field. Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have the same basic opinion, and as the least experienced member of the crew I was less adept at coming up with reasons to dodge the slot than the others. Consequently, I became the President of M.Y.T.H. Inc. (That’s Magical Young Trouble-shooting Heroes. Don’t blame me. I didn’t come up with the name), an association of magicians and trouble-shooters dedicated to simultaneously helping others and making money.
Our base of operations was the Bazaar at Deva, a well-known rendezvous for magic dealing that was the crossroads of the dimensions. As might be imagined, in an environment like that, there was never a shortage of work.
* * *
I HAD BARELY gotten settled for the morning when there was a light rap on the door of my office and Bunny stuck her head in.
“Busy, Boss?”
“Well ...”
She was gone before I could finish formulating a vague answer. This wasn’t unusual. Bunny acted as my secretary and always knew more about what I had on the docket than I did. Her inquiries as to my schedule were usually made out of politeness or to check to be sure I wasn’t doing something undignified before ushering a client into the office.
“The Great Skeeve will see you now,” she said, gesturing grandly to her charge. “In the future, I’d suggest you make an appointment so you won’t be kept waiting.”
The Deveel Bunny was introducing seemed a bit slimy, even for a Deveel. His bright red complexion was covered with unhealthy-looking pink blotches, and his face was contorted into a permanent leer, which he directed at Bunny’s back as she left the room.
Now, there’s no denying that Bunny’s one of the more attractive females I’ve ever met, but there was something unwholesome about the attention this dude was giving her. With an effort, I tried to quell the growing dislike I was feeling toward the Deveel. A client was a client, and we were in business to help people in trouble, not make moral judgments on them.
“Can I help you?” I said, keeping my voice polite.
That brought the Deveel’s attention back to me, and he extended a hand across the desk.
“So you’re The Great Skeeve, eh? Pleased to meet you. Been hearing some good things about your work. Say, you really got a great setup. I especially like that little number you got working as a receptionist. Might even try to hire her away from you. The girl’s obviously loaded with talent.”
Looking at his leer and wink, I somehow couldn’t bring myself to shake his hand.
“Bunny is my administrative assistant,” I said carefully. “She is also a stockholder in the company. She earns her position with her skills, not with her looks.
“I bet she does,” the Deveel winked again. “I’d love to get a sample of those skills someday.”
That did it.
“How about right now?” I smiled, and then raised my voice slightly. “Bunny? Could you come in here for a moment?”
She appeared almost at once, ignoring the Deveel’s leer as she moved to my desk.
“Yes, sir?”
“Bunny, you forgot to brief me on this client. Who is he?”
She arched one eyebrow and shot a sideways glance at the Deveel. We rarely did our briefings in front of clients. Our eyes met again and I gave her a small nod to confirm my request.
“His name is Bane,” she said with a shrug. “He’s known to run a small shop here at the Bazaar selling small novelty magic items. His annual take from that operation is in the low six figures.”
“Hey! That’s pretty good,” the Deveel grinned.
Bunny continued as if she hadn’t heard.
“He also has secret ownership of three other businesses and partial ownership of a dozen more. Most notable is a magic factory, which supplies shops in this and other dimensions. It’s located in a sub-dimension accessible through the office of his shop, and employs several hundred workers. The estimated take from that factory alone is in the mid seven figure range annually.”
The Deveel had stopped leering.
“How did you know all that?” he demanded. “That’s supposed to be secret!”
“He also fancies himself to be a lady-killer, but there is little evidence to support his claim. The female companions he is seen in public with are paid for their company, and none have lasted more than a week. It seems they feel the money is insufficient for enduring his revolting personality. Food-wise, he has a weakness for broccoli.”
I turned a neutral smile on the deflated Deveel.
“And that, sir, is the talent that earns Bunny her job. Did you enjoy your sample?”
“She’s wrong about the broccoli,” Bane said weakly. “I hate broccoli.”
I raised an eyebrow at Bunny, who winked back at me.
“Noted,” she said. “Will ther
e be anything else, Boss?”
“Stick around, Bunny. I’ll probably need your help quoting Mr. Bane a price for our services ... that is, if he ever gets around to telling us what his problem is.”
That brought the Deveel out of his shocked trance.
“I’ll tell you what the problem is! Miss Bunny here was dead right when she said my magic factory is my prize holding. The trouble is that someone’s robbing me blind! I’m losing a fortune to pilferage!”
“What percentage loss?” Bunny said, suddenly attentive.
“Pushing fourteen percent ... up from six last year.”
“Are we talking retail or cost value?”
“Cost.”
“What’s your actual volume loss?”
“Less than eight percent. They know exactly what items to go after ... small, but expensive.”
I sat back and tried to look wise. They had lost me completely about two laps into the conversation, but Bunny seemed to know what she was doing, so I gave her the lead.
“Everybody I’ve sent in to investigate gets tagged as a company spy before they even sit down,” Bane was saying. “Now, the word I get is that your crew has some contacts in organized crime, and I was figuring ...”
He let his voice trail off, and then shrugged as if he was embarrassed to complete the thought.
Bunny looked over at me, and I could tell she was trying to hide a smile. She was the niece of Don Bruce, the Mob’s Fairy Godfather, and it always amused her to encounter the near-superstitious awe outsiders felt toward her uncle’s organization.
“I think we can help you,” I said carefully. “Of course, it will cost.”
“How much?” Bane countered, settling back for what was acknowledged throughout the dimensions as a Deveel’s specialty ... haggling.
In response, Bunny scribbled something quickly on her notepad, then tore the sheet off and handed it to Bane.
The Deveel glanced at it and blanched a light pink.
“WHAT!! That’s robbery and you know it!”
“Not when you consider what the losses are costing you,” Bunny said sweetly. “Tell you what. If you’d rather, we’ll take a few points in your factory ... say, half the percentage reduction in pilferage once we take the case?”
Bane went from pink to a volcanic red in the space of a few heartbeats.
“All right! It’s a deal... at the original offer!”
I nodded slightly.
“Fine. I’ll assign a couple of agents to it immediately.”
“Wait a minute! I’m paying prices like these and I’m not even getting the services of the head honcho? What are you trying to pull here? I want ...”
“The Great Skeeve stands behind every M.Y.T.H. Inc. contract,” Bunny interrupted. “If you wish to contract his personal services, the price would be substantially higher... like, say, controlling interest?”
“All right, all right! I get the message!” the Deveel said. “Send in your agents. They just better be good, that’s all. At these rates, I expect results!”
With that, he slammed out of the office, leaving Bunny and me alone.
“How much did you charge him?”
“Just our usual fees.”
“Really?”
“Well ... I did add in a small premium ‘cause I didn’t like him. Any objections?”
“No. Just curious is all.”
“Say, Boss. Would you mind including me in this assignment? It shouldn’t take too long, and this one’s got me a little curious.”
“Okay ... but not as lead operative. I want to be able to pull you back here if things get hairy in the office. Let your partner run the show.”
“No problem. Who are you teaming me with?”
I leaned back in my chair and smiled.
“Can’t you guess? The client wants organized crime, he gets organized crime!”
Guido’s Tale
“GUIDO, ARE YOU sure you’ve got your instructions right?”
That is Bunny talkin’. For some reason the Boss has deemed it wise to delegate to me her company for this job. Now this is okay with me, as Bunny is more than enjoyable to look at and a swell head to boot, which is to say she is smarter than me, which is a thing I do not say about many people, guys or dolls.
The only trepidation with which I view this pairin’ is that as swell as she is, Bunny also has a marked tendency to nag whenever a job is on. This is because she is handicapped with a problem, which is that she has her cap set for the Boss. Now we are all aware of this, for it was apparent as the nose on your face from the day they first encountered. Even the Boss could see this, which is sayin’ sumpin’, for while I admire the Boss as an organizer, he is a little thick between the ears when it comes to skirts. To show you what I mean, once he was aware that Bunny did indeed entertain notions on his bod, his response was to half faint from the nervousness. This is from a guy I’ve watched take on vampires and werewolf types, not to mention Don Bruce himself, without so much as battin’ an eye. Like I say, dolls is not his strong suit.
Anyway, I was talkin’ about Bunny and her problem. She finally managed to convince the Boss that she wasn’t really tryin’ to pair up with him, but was just interested in furtherin’ her career as a business type. Now this was a blatant lie, and we all knew it... even though it seems to have fooled the Boss. Even that green bum, Aahz, could see what Bunny was up to. (This surprised me a bit, for I always thought his main talent was makin’ loud noises.) All that Bunny was doin’ was switchin’ from one come-on to another. Her overall motivational goal has never changed.
The unfortunate circumstance of this is that instead of wooin’ the Boss with her bod, which as I have said is outstandin’, she is now tryin’ to win his admiration with what a sharp cookie she is. This should not be overly difficult, as Bunny is one shrewd operator, but like all dolls she feels she has limited time in which to accomplish her objective before her looks run out, so she is tryin’ extra hard to make sure the Boss notices her.
This unfortunately can make her a real headache in the posterior regions to work with. She is so afraid that someone else will mess up her performance record that she can drive a skilled worker such as myself up a proverbial tree with her nervous double-check chatter. Still, she is a swell doll and we are all pullin’ for her, so we put up with it.
“Yes, Bunny,” I sez.
“‘Yes, Bunny’ what?”
“Yes, Bunny, I’m sure I got my instructions right.”
“Then repeat them back to me.”
“Why?”
“Guido!”
When Bunny gets that tone in her voice, there is little else to do but to humor her. This is in part because part of my job is to be supportive to my teammate when on an assignment, but also because Bunny has a mean left hook when she feels you are givin’ her grief. My cousin Nunzio chanced to discover this fact one time before he was informed that she was Don Bruce’s niece, and as he has a jaw like an anvil against which I have had occasion to injure my fist with noticeable results, I have no desire to confirm for myself the strength of the blow with which she decked him. Consequently I decided to comply with her rather annoying request.
“The Boss wants us to find out how the goods of a particular establishment is successfully wanderin’ off the premises without detection,” I sez. To that end I am to intermingle with the workers as one of them to see if I can determine how this is bein’ accomplished.”
“And ...” she sez, givin’ me the hairy eyeball.
“... And you are to do the same, only with the office types. At the end of a week we are to regroup in order that we may compare observations and see if we are perhaps barkin’ up the wrong tree.”
“And ...” she sez again, lookin’ a trifle agitated.
At this point I commence to grow a trifle nervous, for while she is obvi
ously expectin’ me to continue in my oration, I have run out of instructions to reiterate.
“... And ... ummm ...” I sez, tryin’ to think of what I have overlooked.
“... And not to start any trouble!” she finishes, lookin’ at me hard-like. “Right?”
“Yeah. Sure, Bunny.”
“Say it!”
“...And not to start any trouble.”
* * *
NOW I AM more than a little hurt that Bunny feels it is necessary to bring this point to my attention so forceful like, as in my opinion it is not in my nature to start trouble under any circumstances. Both Nunzio and me go out of our way to avoid any unnecessary disputes of a violent nature, and only bestir ourselves to bring such difficulties to a halt once they are thrust upon us. I do not, however, bring my injured feelings to Bunny’s attention, as I know she is a swell person who would not deliberately inflict such wounds upon the self-image of a delicate person such as myself. She is merely nervous as to the successful completion of the pending job, as I have previously orated, and would only feel bad if I were to let on how callous and heartless she was behavin’. There are many in my line of work who display similar signs of nervousness when preparin’ for a major assignment. I once worked with a guy what had a tendency to fidget with a sharp knife when waitin’ for a job to commence, usually on the bods of his fellow caperers. One can only be understandin’ of the motivationals of such types and not take offense at their personal foibles when the heat is on. This is one of the secrets to success learned early on by us executive types. Be that as it may, I am forced to admit I am more than a little relieved when it is time for the job to begin, allowin’ me to part company with Bunny for a while.
As a worker type, I report to work much earlier than is required for office types like Bunny. Why this is I am not sure, but it is one of those inescapable inequities with which life is fraught ... like your line always bein’ the longest when they are broken down by alphabet.
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