by Doctor MC
Fatima’s look said again, Master, you’re a fucking idiot.
****
Wednesday, 9:34 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
The pawnshop owner brought a cardboard box from the back room. By a quick glance, Paula spotted twenty cel phones in the box. Each of the phones was prepaid and ready to use.
The pawn-shop man had three days’ growth of beard, and looked like he’d slit Paula’s throat for five bucks. But looks were deceiving—for Paula, the guy was a pussycat.
“Sell me two phones for what you paid for ’em,” Paula ordered.
“Yes, Tina,” the man replied. He put a yellow phone and a black phone on the counter. “That’ll be six bucks.”
“One of ’em needs a charger.”
“That’s five bucks more.” The man walked out onto the sales floor, grabbed a phone charger off a shelf, and put it on the counter next to the phones.
Paula paid cash. As she was putting the cel phones and charger in her purse, she said, “Wait five minutes before you turn the security cameras back on.”
“I obey, Tina.”
At the door, Paula stopped and turned around. “And if you’re questioned by cops or feds, don’t mention this little sale at all. You’ve never seen me before, you don’t recognize my picture, and ‘Tina’ doesn’t ring a bell. Got me? Even if keeping quiet means you get more jail time, keep your mouth shut.”
The man swallowed. “I obey, Tina.”
Paula drove back to the motel, gave the yellow prepaid phone and phone charger to Sheila, and then Paula and Sheila set course for Marvin’s house.
****
Wednesday, 10:06 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Paula Sarin was near Marvin’s house. But Paula wasn’t in Marvin’s house; she was balked by a large wrought-iron gate.
“May I help you?” Paula heard a young woman’s voice say. That young woman sounded bored to death.
Paula leaned against the car door to get her face closer to the intercom speaker. “My name is Tina Le Fey, and I got a package for ... let’s see, ‘Marvin Harper.’ ”
“Sure, whatever,” the voice replied. A second later, the front gate opened.
Paula drove in, and stopped the car in front of a truly impressive mansion. She popped the trunk. But instead of shutting off the engine, Paula stepped out of the car and gestured for Sheila to get behind the wheel.
“When you see me ring the doorbell, drive off,” Paula said. Sheila nodded. Paula continued, “Then go back to the motel and keep your phone on.” Then Paula gave Sheila further instructions.
Paula grabbed the heavy satchel out of the trunk, and struggled to carry it to the front door. Just before Paula rang the doorbell, she unzipped the satchel long enough to remove the Gideon Bible she’d taken from the motel room.
With Gideon Bible in her left hand, Paula rang the doorbell; she heard the rental car drive away.
The door was opened by a blue-eyed brunette with a truly impressive chest, and it made perfect sense that Marvin had her wearing a French Maid costume. White embroidered script revealed the woman’s name as Elvira.
“Yeah, whattaya got?” Elvira said. She gave only a glance to Paula’s face and red wig before turning her eyes to the book in Paula’s hand.
Paula’s right hand shot out, snake-quick, and she laid her hand on Elvira’s arm. “Elvira, you trust me, you want to—”
Elvira jerked her arm away. “What the fuck?”
This shocked Paula, because she’d never met anyone immune to Suggestion before.
“Who the fuck are you?” Elvira demanded. “What’s going on?”
Paula pasted on an I’m harmless smile. “I’m Tina Le Fey, and I’m supposed to deliver this book to Marvin.” Meanwhile, Paula reached out again and touched Elvira’s hand.
Elvira didn’t go blank-eyed this time either. Instead, she glared. “Touch me again, lezzie, and I’ll break bones.” Then the sullen French Maid looked at Paula.
“Shit, I was sure he was crazy,” Elvira breathed. Then her own hand shot out, grabbing a handful of Paula’s wig-hair. Elvira yanked.
While holding Paula’s red wig in one hand, Elvira sneered, “I think you’re lost, Senator. Alaska is a ways from here.”
Paula felt like someone had stuck her own semiautomatic pistol in her face.
****
A second later, Elvira, while still clutching Paula’s wig, looked Paula up and down. The French Maid held the high cards here and, since Paula couldn’t Suggestion Elvira, there wasn’t a damn thing that Paula could do about anything.
Clearly, Elvira was thinking hard. Eventually she said, “Normally I’d kick the decision upstairs to Fatima the housekeeper, even though I can’t stand the green-eyed bitch. She’s Marvin’s toady.”
Paula felt raw panic then. No good could come from Jerngert’s killer being at the mercy of another genie.
Paula choked out the words: “You said ‘normally’ you’d ask Fatima. What’s different now?”
“Oh, she’s out of the house. Something about buying a rug. So you’re my decision, lucky you.” Paula recognized Elvira’s evil smile.
Then Elvira continued her evil smile. “So Paula—mind if I call you ‘Paula,’ like we’re good friends? What’s in this house that you want so bad?”
Paula said imperiously, “I don’t have to answer that.”
Elvira’s look was scornful. “And I don’t have to let you in.”
Paula glared at Elvira. Elvira glared at Paula. Neither broke eye contact—
—until Elvira burst out laughing. “Shit, if we’d met any other way than this, we’d be buds. We aren’t neither of us goody-two-shoes types.” Then Elvira eyed Paula and said, “Okay, you won’t tell me what you want? Here’s a question you gotta answer: How bad do you want it?”
“Bad. I want it bad, you bet.”
Elvira replied with a frown and crossed arms, and she moved to block the door.
Well, the joke was worth a try. Paula unzipped the satchel. Besides the hardware, 9-mm Chekhov pistol, moose jerky, bottled water, and Gideon Bible, inside the satchel were wads of twenty-dollar bills. Paula filled her voice with reluctance: “I can spare you five hundred bucks.”
“Triple it. Fifteen hundred,” Elvira said in a bored voice.
“There’s no fifteen hundred dollars in here. I can’t give you what I don’t—”
“Fifteen hundred in my hand, or you dump out the bag and we both count the cash, or you turn around, walk out the gate, and call a cab. Or maybe a police car could give you a ride? I can arrange that.”
Walking away was not an option for Paula. Neither was letting a woman whom she couldn’t Suggestion, see the Chekhov and the bolt cutters. That left only one option.
Seconds later, and fifteen hundred dollars poorer, Paula Sarin and her satchel were climbing the attic stairs. Just before Elvira shut the attic door, she muttered, “Fuck Marvin, and the chastity belt he rode in on.” Paula had no idea what Elvira meant by that.
Now to hunt for Fatima’s lamp. It’s in an Army footlocker, and that footlocker has to be in the attic. It MUST be, Paula thought.
****
Wednesday, 3:44 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
I was in the computer room when Fatima walked in. “Master, I’m back. I brought the hallway rug that I promised you at the pool party.” Oddly, Fatima looked sad. This morning she’d been happy—what had changed?
I tried to joke her into smiling: “Okay, so tell me about this rug. Is it magic? Can I fly on it?”
She briefly smiled. “Sorry, it’s made by a computer and human-made machines.”
I asked, “But it’s 6 feet wide and 209 feet long, right?” She nodded. I continued, “If djinn didn’t make it, how did you make something so big, so fast? Surely the place had other customers.”
“I paid the owner with a sack full of authentic Roman gold coins.” Her hands described a big sack. “Five minutes later, my design was loaded into one of the floor computers.”
<
br /> I realized that I was hearing noises coming from the staircase. I went out to investigate.
The hallway rug was rolled up into a cylinder six feet wide and six feet in diameter. The cylinder kept its shape due to tight ropes. Two workmen were trying to roll the rug-cylinder up the stairs.
Both workmen had brown skin and black hair, and they wore matching green coveralls.
I called up the stairs, “Need some help?”
One of the workmen turned around—he was Ashnadim. “Certainly, sir. Can you take my place, holding up the rug?”
As soon as I put my shoulders to the rug, Ashnadim dashed down the stairs and out the front door. Minutes later, he’d brought in two chain pulleys and an eight-foot-long four-by-four of wood. The wood went into the “donut hole” in the center of the rug roll.
Fifteen minutes later, Ashnadim and his green-eyed assistant had moved to the top of the stairs and had pulled the rug up, while I pushed it up from underneath.
As soon as we’d gotten the rug-roll up off the stairs, I remarked to Ashnadim, “Whew, that was work.”
Ashnadim pointed with his nose to the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry for doing it the hard way,” he said in a low voice, “but you have an audience.” Gathered at the bottom of the stairs were Fatima, Almira, and five other of my women, who clearly had enjoyed the all-male show.
We three males pushed the rug-roll to the end of the hallway, then Fatima walked up with a big kitchen knife to cut the ropes. She was back to looking sad.
I said to Fatima, “I’m sure this is a very nice rug, Fatima, but you didn’t have to bust your ass on it. You promised me this—what, only three days ago?”
Sad Fatima shared meaningful looks with Ashnadim; I couldn’t read their faces. Then Fatima asked me, “Master, may we talk in your room?”
Seconds later, I was shutting my bedroom door and was walking up to the three Green Tribe djinn, who were standing by my bed. Fatima immediately conjured a Silence Box to surround us.
The mournfulness of the three djinn was creeping me out. If Fatima hadn’t already told me that I’d live at least ten more years, I’d be convinced now that I was about to die.
The other “workman” djinni, who’d spoken not a word to me till now, asked me, “Fatima’s Vessel is in this room?”
I pointed to the footlocker. “In that box.”
Ashnadim asked me, “May we see it? Her Vessel?”
“Sure, no problem,” I said.
Fatima expanded the Silence Box to include the footlocker. Seconds later, I was walking up to Ashnadim and the other djinni, brass lamp in my left hand.
“It’s old and ugly,” the workman djinni said.
“This is the first time I’ve seen your lamp since the day you were bound,” Ashnadim said to Fatima. “We miss you.”
Instead of replying to that, Fatima looked intently at Ashnadim and said, “Marvin Harper is a friend of the Green Tribe, agreed?”
“Agreed,” Ashnadim said. His stare back at Fatima was just as intense.
Fatima nodded, as if something had been settled between them.
“Ahem,” I said. “Would someone please tell me, Why the sad faces?”
Fatima said, “Master, I was always planning on presenting the rug to you. But ... not this soon.”
Finally, I realized what everyone else was dancing around. “If Paula Sarin becomes your master, you won’t be allowed to gift me with a rug then.”
“Yes, Master. Exactly,” Fatima said. She looked miserable.
“Where is Paula Sarin? Right now?” I demanded.
“I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to tell you now. King Solomon’s rule.”
Fuck, I’m flying blind now?
I asked Fatima, “But you could answer that question a few days ago. Why not now?”
“I’m truly sorry, Master, but I may not tell you that, either. King Solomon again.” Tears were running down Fatima’s face.
I looked at Ashnadim. “Do you know where Paula Sarin is?”
Ashnadim sighed, and looked at the ceiling. “I know exactly where she is. And unlike Fatima, I can tell you. But I won’t.”
“Why?”
“Did you know that there hasn’t been another war of djinn since the day that Fatima was bound? Can you figure out why? Sigvard of the Pink Tribe hasn’t turned Paula Sarin into an ice sculpture—can you figure out why?”
“You’re all scared of God. Afraid he’ll bind more djinn.”
“Yes,” Ashnadim said. He looked at the ceiling again. “I want very much to tell you where Paula Sarin is. But I won’t say a word.”
****
Wednesday, 10:27 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Paula turned on her prepaid cel phone and punched in the number for Sheila’s own prepaid cel.
Sheila’s first words were “Did you find it?”
Paula swore. “No. I went around you-know-where twice, looked everywhere, and looked in everything. It isn’t here.”
“Sorry,” Sheila said.
“So much for the easy and safe plan. Now we have to go with the other plan. Be ready after midnight—sometime between two and four.”
“I’ll be ready when you call.”
“Goodnight then,” Paula said. Barely had she pressed the END button when the cel phone rang.
“Dammit, Sheila!” Paula snapped. “Don’t call me here. You’re smarter than that.”
But an unfamiliar woman’s voice said, “Aw, Paula, are you worried about someone in the mansion hearing your ringtone? Sorry about that.”
“Who the hell are you? And how did—”
“How did I get your number? I’m a bound djinni. Which also answers your first question, since Jerngert is dead now.”
Paula wanted to scream in fear. But she’d gotten to be a famous senator partly through acting unbothered by her enemies’ jabs. So now she worked at keeping her voice calm. “Nice to meet you, Fatima. Not the way I’d planned on, though.”
“That attic was hot today, ‘you bet,’ ” Fatima said. “And all that time, effort, and sweat for nothing—no Vessel in the attic.”
Paula decided to brazen it out. “What do you want, Fatima?”
“Well, murderess, you’re in luck. The rules forbid me to tell Marvin that you’re in his house, and I’m forbidden to stop you from trying anything.”
“Oh goody, you called to give me good news. Thanks, Fatima,” Paula said sarcastically. “I’ll enjoy owning you.”
“You don’t own me yet,” Fatima said. “Why did I call you? To tell you: I hope I see you die. Marvin has the biggest muscles of any man alive.”
“And I have bullets, and Marvin has defenseless girlfriends living here. Talk to you later, Fatima.”
Chapter 41
Who Will Own The Lamp?
JUST BARELY THURSDAY (PART ONE)
Thursday, 2:17 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
It’s time, Paula decided.
Paula Sarin punched a number into her prepaid cel. The phone was answered on the second ring.
“You awake? You ready?” Paula asked.
“I am, ‘Tina,’ ” Sheila replied.
“Kill it.”
Two seconds later, Paula was told, “It’s down now.” Paula ended the call.
Paula put her purse (with pistol inside) on her left shoulder, picked up her satchel, and headed across the attic for the stairs.
Just before Paula got to the attic stairs, she felt her foot sink down, as if she’d stepped onto a see-saw. Thrown off-balance, Paula grabbed the stairs’ handrail, and stepped off the treacherous board. An instant later, Paula heard SLAP!
Shit! Wake the whole house, why don’t we?
Without thinking, Paula stepped onto the top step. CLUMP!
Paula quickly changed her plans. As much as she wanted to rush down the attic stairs and into Marvin’s bedroom, not waking-up anyone came first. Which meant: Move s-l-o-w-l-y. (Then if someone heard her in the attic, they’d figure that a possum made the noise.)
Paula waited thirty seconds. Then she stepped down again, going only as far as the next step. CLUMP.
Paula counted to thirty before taking another loud step. Again she counted to thirty, then again she stepped down only once. It took her ten minutes to work her way down the stairs.
****
Thursday, 2:17 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Virgilia was yawning as she climbed the stairs inside the mansion. She’d just come home from a prosperous night of stripping. Brenda and Christi Ellen had already given notice at Babes Aplenty, and Sherry was on the fence about quitting Nimfo Club, but Virgilia loved her job!
Not to mention, all the cash it brings in, Virgilia thought.
Ordinarily, when Virgilia stepped up to the second-floor hallway, she would turn right, toward her and Sherry’s room. But somehow the hallway floor had received a new rug since Virgilia had left for work. It looks Middle Eastern, she thought. Duh, how did Marvin get it?
The rug was like a large-sized oriental rug, somewhere between five and six feet across. The near side and the far side each had a tan-and-black border, and black-thread and tan-thread tassels. Framed by the tan/black borders were a lot of green designs, with an overall asparagus-green color. But whereas a deluxe oriental rug was about eight feet long or so, this rug extended on and on, both right and left, to cover the length of the hallway.
Virgilia was still standing on the top step of the stairs. As she was admiring the many different designs in the ornate rug, she heard a loud SLAP! sound. This was followed a few seconds later by a different sound: Clump!
Virgilia’s memory twitched. That pair of sounds was familiar, and yet it wasn’t.
The sounds seemed to be coming from in front of her. Virgilia’s eyes searched the second-floor lounge, but didn’t see anyone talking or reading in the lounge. Virgilia didn’t give the attic door, which was to the right of the second-floor lounge, anything more than a glance.
Maybe one of the other harem girls fell asleep with her TV on. Virgilia walked to Marvin’s door (which was closed, of course), then about-faced and walked to the other end of the hallway. Virgilia heard no TV.
But Virgilia did hear another Clump.
