Wade in the Water

by James Hold

  Chapter 3

  Mallard Redux

  Having formulated a plan, Frank and Ed returned to police headquarters to attend to other matters. Police headquarters had relocated behind a billboard near a Highway 59 off- ramp.

  Later that evening, with the approach of dusk, Detective Bureau showed up at the back entrance of the Houston Museum of Ancient Sorcery. It was Akkadia’s suggestion they consult a language expert there, one who might prove helpful in deciphering the runic markings on Wade Mallard’s body. “My freshman Latin teacher works there,” she told them. “He knows many other dead languages as well.”

  The Elegant Enchantress was not there yet, having returned to her tower high above the San Jacinto River to replenish her eldritch energies. His captain, Ed Ake, was already on the scene. The captain was speaking with an old man, who, upon seeing Detective Bureau, took his leave, pausing only long enough to say, “Long time, no see,” before exiting through a break in the hedge.

  “Who was that?” asked Frank.

  “Some retired sailor,” the captain answered.

  Frank was just starting to light a cigarette when, from the opposite side of the hedge, came a succession of popping sounds. It was like the noise one makes by putting one’s finger in their mouth, only it was doubtful anybody could do that many so quickly in a row. There were six in all; the first was loudest with the five that followed decreasing in volume.

  Then there came a loud “WOWZA!” from a voice Frank recognized as the retired sailor who had just left.

  Other sounds followed, notable a startled feminine “Oh!” and a loud SLAP! followed by another feminine “Pervert!” and Akkadia came rushing out from behind the hedge, her cloak clasped tightly about her naked body while her other hand clutched her halter, hot pants, and ankle boots.

  “I swear,” she scolded Frank and Ed. “You guys are cops. Can’t you do something about all these Peeping Toms lying about?”

  Not waiting for a reply, she turned her back to them and, under the shelter of her cloak, wiggled into the rest of her clothing.

  As she did this, Frank could not help but point out it was her own fault for appearing naked in public in the first place.

  She pouted a moment. “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded. “It’s just that I haven’t yet mastered the art of transporting both flesh and fabric over long distances. Short hops from table to table at the Piazza Dora are okay. But from my tower high above the San Jacinto River to here is quite far and it would be disastrous if the atoms mixed together.”

  “I saw a movie like that once,” said Ed, “about a guy and a fly.”

  “That’s why I have to materialize everything separately.” Then the Fetching Femme of Fickle Fate turned to model her now properly clothed self. “You like?” she asked, the feminine in her seeking their approval.

  Frank noticed she was wearing a new cloak.

  “I saw it in a shop window and couldn’t resist,” she smiled proudly.

  Frank’s look was one of disapproval.

  “I can’t help myself.” Her smile faded. “I’ve always had this thing for cloaks. Well, no. I did take a scarf once, only I had to return it because it was too tight.”

  “Just let it go for now,” Ed told Frank. “I’m sure the girl means well. You and Akkadia take the ice chests inside. I’ll keep watch out here.”

  “Keep watch for what?” asked Frank.

  “Well,” Ed paused, shrugged, “say the guy who hacked Wade Mallard to pieces might be watching us.”

  “‘The guy who hacked Wade Mallard to pieces might be watching us’,” Frank repeated.

  “Exactly. Which means someone should keep watch.”

  “I see what you mean.” Frank thought it over. “But what if someone should spot you? There isn’t enough shrubbery here to hide a person.”

  “Hmmf!” Akkadia grunted, “tell me about it,” harkening back to her earlier experience there.

  All this was true. The foliage outside the museum was sparse.

  “I could throw up a field of invisibility,” Akkadia offered.

  “Gee, I don’t know.” Ed made a sour face. “Throwing up sounds kind of messy.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing like that. I’ll simply cause particles of light to bend around you so you can’t be seen. I don’t use it much myself...can’t remember why...but it should be okay for a little while.”

  Ed was not so sure about that. Still, there did not appear to be any alternative, so he reluctantly agreed.

  Akkadia went through the motions:

  “Let’s see now, how does it go? ‘Just a jump to the left...and then a step to the right...put your hands on your hips...you bring your knees in tight...’”

  In the blink of an eye, Captain Ake became invisible.

  “Wow, this is great!” said Ed. “Now I can—”

  There was a crashing sound as Ed tripped over himself.

  “Hey! What the hell! I can’t see! I’m blind!”

  “Oh, right.” Akkadia clapped a palm to her forehead. “Now I remember why I don’t use invisibility spells much. When light bends around you, it won’t strike your eyeballs, and if light doesn’t strike your eyes... But don’t worry. It should wear off in an hour or so.”

  “But... But...”

  “Just let it go for now,” Frank told Ed. “I’m sure the girl means well.”

  Frank and Akkadia took their leave.

  “Come,” she said. “I know a way in.”

  “Where?” he asked, lugging the ice chests up the museum steps.

  “Through the door.”

  The door however had a sign on it that read “closed.”

  Akkadia laid a dainty hand on the knob.

  “You know a magic word that’ll open it?” Frank asked.

  The Gifted Gladiatrix nodded, knocked, said, “Please open the door,” and immediately someone opened it.

  “‘Please’ and ‘thank you’,” she told Frank, with an elfish glint. “Magic words that work every time.” Frank felt sure, at some point, the elf would want his glint back.

  The person who opened the door was your typical white-haired college professor type, a bit tweedy and a bit seedy. Behind him, hugging the shadows stood a woman. Probably his assistant, though Frank.

  “Hello, Akkadia,” the professor greeted her. “Need help with your lessons again?”

  Akkadia nudged Frank. “He’s a bit dotty,” she whispered; “thinks I’m in still a student.”

  Then she introduced Detective Bureau.

  “So,” Frank shook the professor’s hand, “you’re a Latin Professor?”

  “No,” the professor corrected, “my folks were from Kansas. But I have studied the language.”

  “Right. Um, cigarette?” Frank offered.

  “Yes, it is,” the professor admitted; after which Frank decided they had just about done that joke to death.

  Akkadia told Frank about the professor’s background, how his expertise in languages had led him to a secondary career as a folklorist and archaeologist. After which, in semi-retirement, he took a position on the museum staff.

  Frank was impressed. “It looks like you’re a well-rounded individual.”

  “I suppose I could stand to lose a few pounds.” The professor patted his stomach lightly. “Anyway, what can I do to help you?”

  Akkadia told him about the severed body parts and their runic inscriptions. Meanwhile the professor led her, Frank, and his silent assistant to a lower level of the building containing storage and maintenance facilities, and a basement loading dock with a sloping driveway. Next to the cement wall were steel pipes and stop valves for the museum’s water and air conditioning needs.

  The professor nodded understandingly when the Helpful Hottie of Heavenly Hocus-pocus finished.

  “Many ancient cultures,” he explained, “heathen, pagan, and heretic, believed such runes could open a window to another world.”

  Frank, bringing up the rear, struggling with the unwieldy
ice chests, said: “In other words, you might call it a rune with a view.”

  “No.” The professor gave him a disapproving look. “I don’t think I would.”

  “You mentioned heathens, pagans, and heretics. Tell me, what’s the difference?”

  “A pagan makes sacrifices to idols while a heathen just prays to other gods.”

  “I see. And what’s a heretic?”

  “A big fuzzy insect.”

  Frank was tired. He needed a rest. He looked around at some of the items in storage. In one corner stood a large clay statue.

  “What’s that?” he asked, as he took out a cigarette. (By now, he knew better than to offer them to anybody.)

  “It’s a golem,” the professor explained, “from Jewish folklore. A golem is an anthropomorphic being, created entirely from inanimate matter. According to the Talmud, Adam was created as a golem and then brought to life.”

  Frank stuck the cigarette in his mouth. He then flicked his Bic. In doing so, the light fell upon the professor’s assistant.

  “Hey,” he paused, “you’re that Karla woman from the pier!”

  Before he could react, the woman pulled out a gun and pointed it at Frank.

  “Instant Karla, at your service,” she announced. “Now, stay back, copper!”

  “Copper?” said Frank. “Copper? How come she”—he pointed to Akkadia—”gets every sobriquet from ‘Abracadabrical Amazon’ to ‘Helpful Hottie of Heavenly Hocus-pocus’, and all I get is ‘copper’?”

  That question however would have to go unanswered.

  Holding her three prisoners at bay, Instant Karla ordered Frank to surrender his weapon. He did. Now she held both pistols on them.

  Ordering them to keep their hands up and to stay close together, Karla went to the ice chests. She knocked them over with her foot, spilling body parts, chunks of ice, and some empty sausage tins across the floor.

  “You couldn’t have done that upstairs?” Frank complained. “Did you have to make me lug them down here?”

  “I didn’t want to stain the rug,” she shrugged.

  “It is an expensive carpet,” the professor concurred.

  “Thank you. And now, professor, here’s something you should appreciate.”

  Taking a small pouch from her pocket, Instant Karla sprinkled a powder-like substance over Wade Mallard’s body parts.

  “Corpus coniunge!” she commanded.

  And Wade Mallard’s scattered sections slowly slid along the concrete floor, aligned themselves, and came together. Arms joined hands, feet joined legs, arms and legs joined trunk, head joined neck, until, before them stood the intact body of Wade Mallard, smiling in evil triumph.

  “So!” he pointed a finger in triumph. “You fell right into my trap! Little did your stupid minds suspect that—” Mallard stopped and stared at his hand. “Hey, wait a minute! That’s not my finger. That’s a Vienna sausage! What happened to my finger?”