by Mike Resnick
Kennedy frowned. “I haven’t thought about that.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “All right,” he said. “Take out an ad in the Times saying that you’ve got the egg.” “Okay.”
Kennedy pulled out a wad of bills, peeled off a goodly number, and laid them on Mallory’s desk, then walked to the door. As he reached it, he turned back to the detective. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“I’ll be using the Kennedy name for the next few days, and we don’t want any Libyan agents to know when you’ve found the egg, so when you run the ad, direct it to the attention of Richard Nixon.”
Then he was gone.
“What do you think, John Justin?” asked Winnifred.
“I think maybe eggs aren’t the only things that are scrambled,” replied Mallory.
Mallory leaned back in his chair, staring at the Playmate he had taped to the wall, and on which Winnifred had meticulously drawn a bra and panties with a black magic marker. He’d been staring at it for twenty minutes, until Winnifred and Felina both thought he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open.
Suddenly he sat up. Winnifred jumped, startled, and Felina hissed.
“I can’t see any way around it,” he announced.
“Around the magic marker?” asked Winnifred. “I should certainly hope not.”
“Around the case,” said Mallory. “We don’t have a single lead. All we know is that we’re after an egg.” He paused. “You know how many places you can hide an egg in Manhattan?”
“I have a horrible feeling I know what you’re about to say next,” said Winnifred.
“I might as well talk to the guy who’s most likely to have stolen it, or at least know where it is.”
“But he’s the most powerful demon on the East Coast!”
“Who better to ask?” said Mallory.
“I just hate it when you meet with him!” said Winnifred.
said
“He’s a man—well, a demon—of his word,”
Mallory. “Besides, we’ve been on the same side a couple of times.”4
“Those were aberrations,” said Winnifred. “Don’t forget—he’s also threatened to kill you.”
“He’s promised to kill me,” said Mallory. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“It’s less imminent.”
“And that makes it all right?” she said.
“Have you got a better idea?” said Mallory. “I’m all ears.”
“No, of course I don’t have a better idea,” said Winnifred irritably. “But you know what I think of him.” “Go out for a sandwich. I’ll be through with him by the time you get back.”
Winnifred walked to the door. “Come along, Felina.” “I’m not afraid of the Grundy,” said Felina, stretching langorously. “I’ll stay.”
“Loyalty,” said Mallory. “I like that in the office cat.” “Oh, I’m not loyal,” said Felina. “But if he tears you into little pieces, I want be here to watch.”
“Thanks,” said Mallory dryly. “I can’t tell you how comforting that is.”
“I knew you’d approve,” said Felina happily as Winnifred walked out the door.
“All right,” said Mallory. “We might as well get this show on the road.”
He walked over to the phone, picked it up, and dialed G-R-U-N-D-Y.
There was a clap of thunder, and suddenly a strange being materialized in the middle of the room. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, with two prominent horns protruding from his hairless head. His eyes were a burning yellow, his nose sharp and aquiline, his teeth white and gleaming, his skin a bright red. His shirt and pants were crushed velvet, his cloak satin, his collar and cuffs made of the fur of some white polar animal. He wore gleaming black gloves and boots, and he had two mystic rubies suspended from his neck on a golden chain. When he exhaled, small clouds of vapor emanated from his mouth and nostrils.
“I am getting tired of being summoned by my mortal enemy,” said the Grundy, glaring at the detective.
“Well, you never invite me over for drinks,” said Mallory. “How else are we going to meet?”
“Spare me your humor, John Justin Mallory,” said the demon. “Why am I here?”
“Do you have the egg?”
“Egg?” repeated the Grundy. “What egg?”
“A little man calling himself John F. Kennedy got his hands on a lamia egg, doubtless through totally illegal means,” said Mallory. “And of course, someone of even lower moral standing stole it from him. I don’t think it was you, if only because you’d derive far more satisfaction taking it from him while he was watching than sneaking into his room and stealing it, but before I start my investigation, I thought I’d ask.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Do you know who has?”
The Grundy shook his head. “No. I wasn’t aware it was in the country. It is the last lamia egg in existence, you know.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.”
“It should be mine.”
“Come on, Grundy,” said Mallory. “I’ve been to your castle. You’ve already got more trinkets and possessions than any twenty men I know. Does owning the egg confer some additional dark power on you?”
“No.”
“Then why do you want it?”
“I don’t especially want it,” answered the Grundy. “I just don’t want anyone else to have it.”
“Spoken like a true collector,” said Mallory. “I don’t suppose you’d like to help me find it.”
“Helping lesser mortals is not part of my job description,” said the Grundy.
“Why don’t you try it once? You might enjoy it.”
“I know.”
“You want to say that again?” said Mallory, surprised.
“You are the only entity, living or dead, who has never lied to me. You are the only human in my domain who is not terrified of me. You have, reluctantly or otherwise, done me some services in the past. I will not help you precisely because I might enjoy it, and if I were to enjoy it, my usefulness would be at an end.”
“No insult intended,” said Mallory, “but just what the hell do you do that’s so useful?”
“I keep explaining in terms I hope you might understand,” said the Grundy. “I am a balance point, a fulcrum, against the best and worse tendencies of worlds. Where I find order I create chaos, and where I find chaos, I impose order.”
“I’ve heard this song before,” said Mallory. “But I sure as hell don’t see how it applies to a missing egg.”
“Neither do I,” admitted the Grundy, his body suddenly becoming transluscent and fading from sight. “And until I do, I think it best that we remain enemies.”
And then he was gone.
Felina began licking her forearm noisily, and finally Mallory turned to her.
“You sure you don’t want a little mustard and maybe some onions to go with that arm?” he asked sarcastically.
“It’s a cheat!” she said unhappily.
“That he wouldn’t help me?” said Mallory. “I never really expected him to.”
“No,” said Felina. “That he didn’t tear you into tiny pieces. I might as well have gone out to eat with Winnifred.”
“We’d better divide things up,” said Winnifred when Mallory told her about his brief meeting with the Grundy. “It’s a big city and a very small egg.”
“Makes sense,” he agreed.
“I have a number of underworld contacts,” she continued. “I can start checking with them and see if anyone’s been offered the egg or heard of it changing hands.”
“Okay, you do that,” said Mallory. “I’ve got an idea of my own.”
“Don’t leave you-know-who alone in the office.”
“She just might come in handy where I’m going,” replied Mallory. Felina suddenly lay on her belly and peered under the detective’s desk.
“What are you doing?” asked Winnifred curiously.
“Looking for someone called You-Know-Who.” She li
cked her lips. “I hope he’s a mouse. I’m hungry.”
It took up a square block on the waterfront. Once it had possessed windows, but they’d initially been boarded over, and finally covered with bricks. There was a single door, always guarded, and nobody ever came to the Old Abandoned Warehouse without a reason.
It was nearing midnight when Mallory and Felina approached the Warehouse. A drunken man lay face down on the wet pavement, and a goblin suddenly appeared from between two buildings.
“Pretty goblin girls!” it whispered in a sibilant hiss. “Dirt cheap. Pretty goblin girls!”
“Not interested,” said Mallory.
“Well, then, pretty goblin boys, if that’s more to your taste.”
“Buzz off.”
“I’ve got pot, crack, and horse.”
“Sounds like a bad rock band,” said Mallory. “Go away.”
“Wheaties. Cheerios. Tang. Skippy Peanut Butter. Tide. Palmolive.”
Mallory stopped and turned to the goblin. “What’s with you? I can buy all that stuff at the supermarket.”
“Yeah, but it closes at ten. If you want a bottle of ketchup, you have to come to me.”
“But I don’t want one.”
“Okay, half a bottle. Belonged to a little old lady who only used it on Sundays.”
“Go away.”
“How unfeeling can you be?” demanded the goblin. “I’ve got to meet my quota for tonight.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It might be,” said the goblin. “If they throw me out of my apartment, I might have to move in with you.”
“Why not move in with one of your pretty goblin girls?” said Mallory.
“I can’t afford them,” said the goblin unhappily. He grimaced. “Besides, they’re ugly as sin.”
“Somehow I get the feeling you’re in the wrong business,” said Mallory.
“I know,” said the goblin. “I’m studying accountancy at home. That’s where the excitement lies—creating endless columns of numbers and having them come out exactly right. Girls and drugs and the rest are just until I can get established.”
“Good luck to you, and I wish you nothing but success,” said Mallory. “Now leave me alone.”
“That’s your answer?” demanded the goblin. “I pour out my heart to you, I tell you my hopes and my fears, and all you can say is ‘Leave me alone’? What kind of unfeeling fiend are you, anyway?”
“The uninterested kind.”
“All right for you, buddy,” said the goblin petulantly. “You’ll never see me again.”
It disappeared into the shadows. Mallory began walking toward the Old Abandoned Warehouse again when the goblin jumped out of the shadows again.
“I’ve decided to forgive you,” he said.
“Don’t do me any favors,” said Mallory, continuing to walk.
The goblin raced ahead of him and then turned and stopped, blocking his way.
“Last chance!” he said. “I’ve got an almost-Rolex watch for sale cheap.”
“I’ll bet it almost tells time.”
“Fifty-three minutes to the hour,” said the goblin. “Think about it! It means you’ll only age fifty-three years every six decades.”
“And you’re going to make columns of figures come out right?” said Mallory with a laugh.
“That’s it!” cried the goblin. “I’m not going to stand here and be insulted.”
“So go inside,” said Mallory. “I’m sure you can find someone to insult you there.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Promises, promises,” said the detective.
“A curse on your second-born!”
“What about my first-born?” asked Mallory, curious in spite of himself.
“I’m putting her to work for me.”
“Well, that’s one way to make sure she’s still a virgin when she gets married,” replied Mallory.
“Just wait until I’m an IRS auditor! Then you’ll be sorry!”
The goblin stalked back into the shadows.
“He was cute,” said Felina.
“You have an interesting notion of cute,” remarked Mallory.
‘Yes,” she agreed. “Everything about me is interesting.”
“Especially your sense of modesty.”
“Is that like my sense of smell?”
“Exactly the same,” said Mallory. “Except that your sense of smell works.”
He picked up his pace, and a moment later stood about twenty feet from the Old Abandoned Warehouse’s front door, which was guarded by two leprechauns and an elf.
“That’s close enough, Mac,” said one of the leprechauns.
“Right,” said the other. “Nobody goes in here who isn’t on the list.”
“And you ain’t on it,” added the elf pugnaciously. Suddenly he frowned. “At least I don’t think you are.”
“What’s your name?” demanded the first leprechaun.
“Mallory.”
“Sean, is he on it?” said the first leprechaun.
“The name’s not familiar,” said the leprechaun named Sean.
“So look at the list.”
“I thought you had it, Liam,” said Sean.
“Me?” replied the first leprechaun. “Do you see any pockets on me?”
“I don’t even see any pants on you,” said Mallory.
“My alarm clock didn’t go off,” said Liam defensively. “It was a choice between showing up without my pants or getting my pay docked.” He turned to the elf. “How about you, Maury? Do you have a copy of the list?”
“I had one,” said Maury unhappily.
“What happened to it?”
“I ate it,” said Maury.
“You ate it?” demanded Sean incredulously. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I got hungry,” answered Maury with a shrug. “Besides, what did I need the list for? I can’t read.”
“You each had a copy of the list and neither of you brought it?” said Sean. “I’m telling!”
“This has gone on long enough,” interrupted Mallory. “Since no one has the list, no one knows for a fact that I’m not on it.”
“We’re at an impasse,” agreed Sean.
“I’d call it a stand-off,” put in Liam.
“A Mexican stand-off,” added Maury.
“Are any of us Mexicans?” asked Sean.
“Okay, so it’s an Irish stand-off,” said Liam.
“I’m not Irish,” protested Maury.
“You’re green,” said Liam.
“It’s the pasta I ate for dinner,” said Maury, making a face. “Terrible stuff.”
“Uh . . . fellas,” said Mallory. “You’re missing the point. I have to see your boss.”
“No problem, Mallory,” said Liam. “My shift is over in another five hours. As soon as I’m off-duty I’ll rush home, stopping only for a drink or two along the way. Once there I’ll refresh the missus, get into my pants, pick up the list if I can find it—I know where it was three weeks ago, before we painted and redecorated—and I’ll come right back as soon as I’ve had a nap and some breakfast, and if you’re on the list, why, you can go right in.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” said Mallory.
“Oh?” said Liam. “We’re always willing to come to a meeting of the minds. What’s your proposition?”
“I’m going in right now, and my friend here”—he gestured to Felina—“will shred anyone who tries to stop me.”
“Well, that’s an interesting proposal,” said Sean, “but of course it’s totally unacceptable. Now, if I may make a counter-proposal . . .”
“My proposal was non-negotiable,” said Mallory.
“So is mine,” said Sean. “What I suggest is—”
“Felina?” said Mallory, and the catgirl displayed ten long sharp claws and a hungry smile.
“Of course,” said Maury quickly, “you have to admit that his proposal has merit.”
“And a certain inexorable
logic,” added Liam.
“To say nothing of a certain je ne c’est quois,” said Maury, backing away.
Felina took a step forward.
‘Yeah, there’s a clearly a mathematical purity to it,” agreed Sean, staring at her claws in fascination. “Okay, Mallory, you can enter.”
“Thanks,” said Mallory. “Cold hard logic does it every time.”
“There’s one condition,” said Sean.
“Oh?”
The leprechaun pointed a shaking finger toward Felina. “Take her with you!”
Mallory walked past the dozen huge storerooms until he came to the large, comfortable office at the back of the building. The room was filled with fish tanks, and the walls were covered with paintings of the ocean. Seated at a desk was a huge blue-skinned man in a purple sharkskin suit, light blue shirt, violet tie, and navy blue shoes and socks. He was just under seven feet tall, and weighed in the vicinity of five hundred pounds.
“Mallory!” exclaimed the Prince of Whales. “I haven’t seen you since you saved me from my crazed sibling.”5
“It doesn’t look too good for a detective to be hobnobbing with the biggest fence in the city,” replied Mallory, taking hold of Felina’s wrist as she tried to reach into a tank and grab a fish. “Are you doing okay these days?”
“Yes,” said the Prince of Whales. “Business is booming.”
Felina hissed and tried to twist free. Mallory tightened his grip and paid no further attention to her. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Suddenly the Prince of Whales smiled. “Let me guess: you’re after a stolen object, and you think I might have it.”
“Or if you don’t have it yourself, that you know where it is,” said Mallory.
“Well, I owe you a favor . . .”
“That’s the favor we want!” said Felina, pointing to a golden fish that was darting around the nearest tank.
Mallory moved to the middle of the room, still holding her wrist firmly.
“Or that one,” she said, pointing at a silver fish in the next tank. “Or that one. Or this one. Or those three. Or . . .”
“Felina, if you’ll be quiet and behave yourself, I’ll give you a treat just as soon as Mr. Mallory and I are through with our business,” said the Prince of Whales.
“Promise?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll be good,” she said. “For a while.” She smiled a feline smile. “Probably.”
