by Mike Resnick
“A visitor,” she answered. “A tasty visitor.” She paused thoughtfully. “A scrumptious visitor.” Suddenly she frowned. “A huge, tasty, scrumptious visitor.”
“Open the door for him,” said Mallory.
Felina did as she was told, then backed away, hissing. The visitor entered the office, and Mallory found himself confronting a huge blue-skinned man in a purple sharkskin suit, light blue shirt, violet tie, and navy blue shoes and socks. He stood just under seven feet tall, and weighed in the vicinity of five hundred pounds.
“What are you doing here?” asked Mallory.
“I need a detective,” said the Prince of Whales. “You did me a good turn a few months back, and I heard on the grapevine that you could use the business.”
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Someone’s got a hit out on me.”
“A nine-million-pounder like you comes to me for protection?” asked Mallory. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”
The Prince of Whales pulled a card out of his pocket and tossed it onto Mallory’s desk.
“There have been four attempts on my life already,” he said, “and they’re always preceded by one of these.” Mallory turned the card face up. It was a tarot card of a shark, with the Prince’s face superimposed on it.
“I didn’t know tarot cards had sharks.”
“They didn’t . . . until now.”
“Is that legal?” asked Mallory. “I mean, can you just make up a new tarot card whenever you feel like it?” “How the hell do I know?” demanded the Prince of Whales. “I just want this nut caught.”
‘You’re the proprietor of the Old Abandoned Warehouse, and the biggest fence in the city,” noted Mallory. “Surely you’ve got a bunch of muscle on your payroll.” ‘Yeah,” acknowledged the Prince. “But they can’t think” He tapped his massive head with a finger. “I need someone with your brains for this, Mallory. After all, you’re the one who broke up that Blue-Nosed Reindeer scam— and you uncovered the plot to fix the elephant races. And the first time we met, you’d found a missing unicorn.”
“It’s always animals,” grumbled Mallory. He glared balefully at the card. “And this time it’s a shark.”
“So will you take the job?”
“Of course I will. The son of a bitch is after me, too.” “You ?” repeated the Prince of Whales. “WTiy?”
“I wish I knew. What does he have against you?”
“I don’t even know who he is,” said the Prince. “That’s why I came to you.”
Just then Winnifred entered the office, a look of concern on her pudgy face and a card in her hand.
“I found this sticking out from under the welcome mat, John Justin,” she said. “It’s a new one: the Killer Fish.” Mallory took the card from her. It was identical to the Prince of Whales’ card, except that this time Mallory’s face was the one superimposed over the shark.
“What does it all mean, John Justin?” asked Winnifred. “It means I’m not going to see the Racing Form today,” intoned the mirror mournfully.
“All this fish and nothing to eat,” sulked Felina. Mallory stared at the card for another moment, then laid it down on his desk next to the Prince’s card.
“Okay,” he said. “It’s starting to come together.”
“It is?” said Winnifred.
“I knew I chose the right man for the job!” said the Prince of Whales.
Mallory lit another Camel, and coughed heavily.
“Why do you smoke those things?” asked Winnifred. “You know you hate them.”
“Detectives wear trenchcoats and battered fedoras and smoke bent Camels,” answered Mallory. He decided to leave out the part about having oversexed secretaries called Velma. “And I’m feeling like a detective right now.” “So who’s trying to kill me?” asked the Prince.
“That’s what we’re about to find out,” said Mallory. He handed the two tarot cards across the desk to the Prince of Whales. “And it shouldn’t be that hard, because whoever it is wants me dead too.”
“But who—?”
“Think,” said Mallory. “The first time I met you was two years ago, and we probably didn’t spend half a minute in each other’s company. The only other time we were together was when I found out you had stolen the Blue-Nosed Reindeer from Nick the Saint.”
“Right,” agreed the Prince. “But where does that lead us?”
“You’re still not thinking,” said Mallory. “I had the goods on you. I could have sent you away for five years. Instead, I arranged a deal between you and Nick. You each got something you wanted, and you walked away clean.”
“So?”
“So whoever’s sending the cards obviously has a grudge against both of us—me for setting up the deal, and you for taking it and not going to jail. So it’s time to ask yourself: who stood to take over the Old Abandoned Warehouse and the fence business if you’d taken the fall?”
Suddenly the Prince’s blue eyes opened wide. “That scheming little bastard!” he yelled.
Mallory shot a triumphant smile at Winnifred, then turned back to the Prince. “Who is it?”
“I have a twin brother,” he said. “An evil twin, even by the standards of our family. His name’s Skippy. He would have taken over.”
“Then he’s our man.” Mallory frowned. “At least, I think he is.”
“What’s wrong?” asked the Prince. “You look troubled.”
“Well, if he’s your twin, the tarot card should show a whale, not a shark.”
“We’re identical twins,” explained the Prince. “But I’m a lot more identical than Skippy. He’s a shark, all right.”
“Then all we have to do is send the cops to his place and lock him away.”
“It’s not that easy,” said the Prince of Whales.
“Somehow it never is.”
“He’s from the West Coast. I don’t know where he is, or who he’s staying with.”
“Then we’re going to have to lure him out,” said Mallory.
“What kind of bait did you have in mind?” interjected Winnifred.
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Mallory. “But if he’s a shark, we need something that can attract him.” He paused thoughtfully. “Maybe half a ton of whale blubber and a worn-out detective who’s seen better days.”
“I don’t know about this,” said the Prince of Whales uncomfortably. “Back when we were just minnows, he always used to kick the shit out of me. Probably he still can.”
“Come on,” said Mallory. “You’re two fullbacks and three defensive tackles all rolled into one, with a couple of jockeys left over.”
“I’m strong, but I’m slow,” said the Prince.
“We complement each other perfectly,” retorted Mallory. “I’m weak but I’m slow.”
“I don’t like the feel of this,” said the Prince.
“We may not get another opportunity,” said Mallory. “Look, I don’t know from tarot cards, but somehow they told him we’d be together right now, since we both got the same one. And since they’re the Killer Fish, he’s not trying to keep his identity a secret any more. He plans to kill us both together, so now’s the best time to set him up.”
“Makes sense to me,” said the magic mirror.
“It does?” replied Mallory half-seriously. “Then I must have made a mistake somewhere along the way.”
“Well, I like that!” said the mirror.
“You liked Screaming Mimi in the 4th at Jamaica last week,” said Mallory. “Last I heard, she was still running —and was such a traffic hazard that all the tortoises had to go around her.”
“That’s it,” said the mirror. “I don’t have to take any more of this crap! I’m going on strike!”
It went dark, and a moment later began displaying an endless rerun of the 3rd inning of a scoreless 1963
American Association baseball game between El Paso and Tucson. Felina watched in rapt fascination, trying to claw the ball every time it left
the pitcher’s hand.
“I still don’t like the thought of playing bait for Skippy,” complained the Prince of Whales. “You’ve got a magic mirror. Can’t it do something?”
“Not all dogs are watchdogs,” said Mallory. “Not all seven-footers can play basketball. And, especially, not all magic mirrors are worth the powder to blow ’em to hell.”
“Well, think of something else, because I’m not going to be bait and wait for Skippy to attack me.”
“All right,” said Mallory. “There’s another way.”
“Good.”
He walked over to Winnifred and whispered something in her ear, then returned to the Prince.
“What was that all about?” asked the Prince suspiciously.
“Just some last-minute instructions in case Skippy shows up here. In the meantime, you’re going to move in with me at my apartment, just in case he’s staking out your digs. Also, this way we can take turns keeping watch.”
The Prince of Whales nodded his massive head. “I approve.”
Mallory studied him for a long moment. “I’ve barely got enough food for me. Maybe we’d better pick up some cold cuts and a few gallons of beer on the way home.”
He and the Prince walked to the door.
“Good-night, John Justin,” said Winnifred.
“See you in the morning,” said Mallory.
“If you live that long,” said Felina, never taking her orange eyes off the magic mirror.
Noodnik’s Market was just around the corner from Mallory’s apartment. If it had a second advantage, Mallory hadn’t discovered it in the 18 months he’d lived in this Manhattan.
He and the Prince of Whales entered the store just after midnight. Seymour Noodnik himself was on duty, and instantly approached the detective.
“How’s tricks, Mallory?” he asked, and then lowered his voice to a whisper: “You here on a case?”
“I’m here to pick up some dinner.”
“No serial killers? No lewd lady exhibitionists? No—?” “Just dinner.”
Noodnik shrugged, “Got a specialty on robins’ teeth.” “Robins’ teeth?”
“Well, they might be sparrows’. But I’ll make you a good price.”
“What the hell do I want with birds’ teeth?” asked Mallory.
“That’s not my business,” said Noodnik. “I just sell ’em. How about an Upside-Down Nightcrawler?”
“Never heard of it.”
“Of course not,” said Noodnik. “They’re new on the market. You know how your typical nightcrawler has a head at one end and a tail at the other?”
“So?”
Noodnik reached into a shirt pocket and withdrew a large worm, holding it up by its tail. “Well, these babies have got their tails on top and their heads down at the other end. Neat, huh?”
“Why would I want a nightcrawler no matter which end the head was on?” asked Mallory.
“Cheap source of protein,” answered Noodnik. “And look at the little bastard. Friendly, affable, laughs at your jokes. You could establish a lasting friendship with him— at least until your hunger got the better of you.”
“We’ll just look around,” said Mallory.
“How about minotaur steak?” cried Noodnik. “Flown in fresh from Hialeah. You can still see the jockey’s whip marks.”
“Some other time.”
‘You’re a hard man to sell, Mallory.”
“Don’t try to sell me what I don’t want.”
“But selling you what you do want takes all the challenge out of it!” complained Noodnik. “Look, the pants I’m wearing are made of unborn denim. I’ll sell ’em to you at cost, and toss in the shirt off my back.”
“Later, maybe.”
“Mallory, you drive me crazy!”
“I think somebody beat me to it,” said Mallory.
A small woman with a bloody ax entered just then, and asked to be shown to the casket department. Noodnik immediately began trying to sell her a meat grinder, and Mallory quickly walked down an empty aisle, followed by the Prince of Whales.
“Is he always like that?” asked the Prince.
“Only when he’s awake,” said Mallory. “Now let’s start looking for something to eat.”
They walked past a number of canned items—the store was having a sale on harpy wings and jellied pegasus hooves—and finally wound up by the meat counter.
“Cold cuts, cold cuts . . .” murmured Mallory, looking into the various glass cases. “This stuff doesn’t look so fresh. Maybe we’ll buy some fish or lobster instead.” “Sounds fine by me,” said the Prince.
They walked a little farther until they came to a huge tank filled with perhaps two hundred lobsters.
“Choose one,” suggested Mallory.
“That one,” said the Prince of Whales, indicating a large lobster in the middle of the tank.
“Okay,” said Mallory. “The butcher doesn’t seem to be around, so pull it out yourself.”
The Prince of Whales rolled up his sleeve and stuck his hand into the tank—and suddenly froze.
“What’s the problem?” asked Mallory. “Pull it out.” “It’s pulling back!” gasped the Prince.
“Come on—you’re stronger than a lobster.”
“I would have agreed with you until about ten seconds ago,” grated the Prince, struggling to avoid being pulled into the tank.
“All right, then, let go of it.”
“It won’t let go of me!” cried the Prince.
Mallory threw his arms around the Prince’s arm— trying to encircle his waist was an impossibility—and pulled.
Suddenly he and the Prince of Whales were falling backward, and standing before them, dripping wet, was a scaly creature, half-man and half-fish, with a huge fin extending from his back. He pulled his bloodless lips back into a nasty grin, revealing a sharp set of oversized teeth.
“You!” exclaimed the Prince.
“Yes, me,” said Skippy. “I’ve been waiting for this moment, dreaming of it and planning for it, ever since that day when you robbed me of my rightful inheritance!”
“If you want a fortune, go work for it like your brother did,” said Mallory, getting to his feet and brushing off his trenchcoat.
“And you,” said Skippy, turning to the detective. “You’re the reason he didn’t go to jail! What kind of scum-bucket detective gets the goods on someone and then doesn’t turn him over to the cops?”
“The kind who isn’t working for the cops in the first place,” said Mallory. “I was hired to solve a problem. I solved it.”
“And it’ll cost you your life, bite by bite!” hissed Skippy.
“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Mallory calmly. “I was hired to solve you, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the lady with the rifle who’s standing fifteen feet behind you.”
‘You think I’ll fall for that old gag?” demanded Skippy with a contemptuous laugh.
“No, I think you’ll fall when I drill you with a couple of shots from this .550 Nitro Express,” said Winnifred Carruthers, training the gun on Skippy’s head.
Skippy spun around and faced her. “How the hell did you get here?”
“We’re detectives, remember?” said Winnifred with a smile.
“We didn’t know much about sharks,” said Mallory, “but we know they like to hang around in water.” He paused. “I’m a creature of habit. This is the only food store I shop at and the only water I’m ever near. I was sure you’d been studying me, so this figured to be where you made your move, if not tonight, then tomorrow or the next day. So I had my partner stake it out.”
Skippy looked from Winnifred to Mallory. “She’s just a fat old woman,” he said at last. “What makes you think she can hit a moving target? If she fires that gun, the bullet’ll more likely hit you or my brother.”
“Skippy, I’m going to do you a favor,” said Mallory. “A bigger favor than you deserve.” He pulle
d a coin out of his pocket. “Watch closely now,” he said, tossing it into the air.
Winnifred took aim and fired. The coin fell to the floor, a hole in the center of it.
“She’s got a black belt in karate, too,” said Mallory with a smile. As he spoke, Seymour Noodnik approached them, butcher knife in hand, attracted by the commotion. “Now you serve your time, or Noodnik will be serving you tomorrow morning.”
“Is there a problem?” asked Noodnik. “Or is there just another fish to be . . . processed?”
Skippy quickly assessed the situation and walked over to Winnifred, hands clasped behind his massive head.
“I’m your prisoner,” he said. “If you let him touch me, you’ll be breaking the law.”
“Who would ever know?” asked the Prince of Whales. “How can you say that to me, your own loving brother?” demanded Skippy.
“You just tried to kill me.”
“That was business. This is family!”
“No,” interjected Noodnik, brandishing his knife. “That was murder. This is business.”
Skippy turned to Winnifred. “I appeal to you. Would you want my death on your conscience?”
“7 would,” said a familiar voice as a grinning Felina stepped out from behind another tank, each hand holding a writhing fish.
“I’ll just bet you would,” said Mallory.
“It’ll be the only bet you win all month,” purred Felina, biting the head off each fish in turn.
After they turned Skippy over to the police and the Prince of Whales paid them their fee, the two detectives decided to celebrate by going out for a very late dinner. Felina, after promising not to misbehave until sunrise (or at least to try very hard not to), was allowed to accompany them.
The only place open was Ming Toy Epstein’s Kosher Chinese Noodle Factory, and the only item still available at that hour was shark’s fin soup.
Felina consumed hers with a passion.
“I still don’t know why he chose tarot cards,” said Winnifred.
“He was a card shark. It’s a small step from passing marked cards to using cards as threats.”
“But we don’t have any tarot cards in Manhattan.”
“That’s why he used them. This wasn’t some psycho who secretly wanted to be caught—and if you don’t want to be caught, it makes more sense to taunt your potential victim with something he’s never seen before.”
