M.Y.T.H. Inc in Action

by Robert Asprin

  “Swell,” I sez, with more enthusiasm than I am feelin’. “Then we’re all set. Youse go ahead and leave first. I’ll stay up here awhile and give youse a head start.”

  As soon as she is gone, I settle myself to try to sort out my misgivin’s about how things are goin’ on this assignment. It doesn’t take long to figure out that I am sufferin’ under a burden of conflictin’ loyalties.

  Youse may find this surprisin’ from someone in my line of work, but loyalty and betrayin’ trust counts very high up in my books . . . which is one of the things I have always admired about the M.Y.T.H. Inc. crew as they all seem to value the same thing.

  In the past, I’ve managed to balance my loyalties between the Boss and the Mob, as the strange approach the Boss takes to things has not directly threatened any of the Mob’s interests. This current situational, however, is turnin’ out to be a horse of a different caliber.

  In plannin’ to stir up trouble between the civilians and the army, I am violatin’ the trust placed in me as a representative of the army . . . but I have managed to rationalize this as it is my reason for joinin’ the army in the first place, so in this matter I am actin’ kinda like a spy with my loyalty clearly with the Boss.

  Nunzio has convinced me that I am not violatin’ my deal with Frumple by usin’ his place as a site for our mischief, as it falls outside the agreement we made. This strikes me as a little shaky, but I can be flexible when the occasion calls for it.

  This latest plan, though, of settin’ up someone in your squad to be the fall guy is real hard to see as any thin’ except betrayin’ a friend. Still, Tananda is right ... it is the best way to be sure that things go the way we want ‘em to.

  Thinkin’ it over real hard, I finally come up with an answer: What I gotta do is think of it as a joke on a buddy. Okay, maybe it’s a dubious joke . . . like poppin’ a paper bag behind someone who’s gettin’ ready to blow a safe . . . but as long as the notable in question does not end up permanently damaged or incarcerated as a result, it can be passed off as a joke.

  Now, my only concern is tryin’ to make sure that whoever we pick has a sense of humor ... a real good sense of humor!

  Chapter Eleven

  “That’s why the lady is a tramp!”

  B. Midler

  “HOOOO-EY! THE PLACE is sure jumpin’ tonight!” Shu Flie exclaims, leanin’ back in his chair to survey the room.

  “You kin say that again, Shu,” his brother sez. “Hey! Lookit that one over there!”

  Any way youse look at it, the Flie brothers run a class act ... though politeness will forbid my commentin’ on which class. For a change, however, I am inclined to agree with them.

  This is our first weekend in Twixt, much less here at Abdul’s, and the bar is packed to overflowin’. In fact, if we hadn’t been drinkin’ here since early afternoon, it’s doubtful we would have a table at all. As it is, we are entrenched at our regular table with a good view of the bar ... or, to be more specific the de-rears arrayed along the bar ... as well as the de-fronts when they turn around. Believe me, speakin’ as a well-traveled demon, youse don’t get scenery like this just anywhere!

  Unfortunately, my enjoyment of the view is marred by my distraction over the comin’ events.

  “Whatdaya think Swatter?” Shu sez, turnin’ his attention to me. “You ever see women like this before?”

  “Oh, they’re not bad!” I sez, cranin’ my neck to scan the crowd.

  It has occurred to me that Tananda will probably be in disguise when she arrives, and it will therefore be difficult for me to recognize her unless she gives me some kind of signal.

  “Not bad? Listen to this, guys! All this beautiful woman-flesh, and all Swatter can say is They’re not bad’!”

  “Really, Swatter,” Junebug sez. “You just don’t see beautiful women like this in the army!”

  This earns him a dangerous scowl from Spyder, but he misses it completely as he is feelin’ his drinks more than a little at this point.

  “Nice crowd for a fight. Know what I mean, cuz?” Nunzio murmurs in my ear low enough so no one else can hear.

  “I dunno,” I sez, scannin’ the crowd again. “I don’t see a single one of these white collar types that even Bee couldn’t take without half tryin’.”

  “That’s what I mean,” Nunzio grins, and helps himself to another swallow from his drink.

  As you can maybe tell from his behavior, the hesitations I have been experiencin’ about settin’ up one of our buddies has not bothered my cousin in the least. If anything, he seems to be lookin’ forward to a bit of trouble.

  “Watch my chair,” I sez, standing up. “I’m goin’ to the bar for a refill.”

  Like I said, the place is mobbed, and in typical tightfisted Deveel type fashion, Frumple has not incurred the added overhead of puttin’ on extra help, so if youse wants to get a drink sometime before the next Ice Age, it is necessitated that youse belly up to the bar to get your refill directly from the bartender. If youse is wonderin’ why someone as greedy as Frumple is willin’ to miss the extra income generated by a higher turnover of drinks, let me restore your faith by explainin’ that he makes it up both by waterin’ the hootch and by increasin’ his unit revenue . . . which is to say he raises his prices as the crowds get bigger.

  Strangely enough, neither the weaker drinks nor the sky-high prices seem to faze this crowd in the least. I figure this is because they feel that payin’ three times the normal goin’ fare for a drink will screen out the rabble one usually has to tolerate when drinkin’ in a public place, thereby insurin’ that they are makin’ their passes at folks of an equal or higher income bracket, and as to the watered drinks . . . well, the only reason I can come up with that they aren’t complainin’ about this is that they probably figure that booze is unhealthy, so a weak drink is somehow healthier than a strong one.

  You see, I have ascertained through eavesdroppin’ that health, and specifically healthy consumables, is a very big issue with these upwardly mobile folks. It’s like they’re used to thinkin’ that you can get anythin’ with enough money . . . and they’ve gotten it into their heads that by spendin’ more for health foods and health drinks, they is never gonna die. Of course, they spend so much time worryin’ and naggin’ each other about good health, that they tend to generate sufficient stress to keel over and croak from heart attacks . . . but this seems to be an acceptable, if not desirable, option as it is generally viewed as “the high pressure which is the mark of a successful career person” and therefore has become somethin’ of a badge of status. What is somehow overlooked in all this is that much of the stress is needless anxiety they inflict upon themselves by worryin’ about such things as status and health foods.

  Perhaps it is because of the high-risk nature of my chosen profession, but I personally have no illusions of my own immortality. The way I see it, there are enough unpredictable things in life that can kill you that the only rational approach to life is to take what little pleasures youse can as they presents themselves, so that when your number comes up, you can at least die knowin’ you’ve had a full and happy life. I think that life should be more than an exercise in self-denial, and even if I was guaranteed that I could live forever by abstainin’, I’d probably continue my occasional indulgences. I mean, who wants to live forever . . . particularly if that life has been designed to be borin’ and devoid of pleasure?

  I am reflectin’ on this when a broad elbows her way in next to me at the bar. At first I think she is just really desperate for a drink, which as I said is understandable considerin’ the slow service, and step aside, usin’ my not inconsiderable bulk to make room for her.

  “Got my target picked out for me?”

  It takes a second for me to realize that I am the one this question is bein’ addressed to, as she sez it casual without lookin’ at me direct.

  “Tananda?” I sez, lookin’ at her hard.

  She is wearin’ a different disguise tonight . . . a shoulder
length cloud of dark curls and a dress made of some clingy fabric that . . . well, shows off everything she’s got underneath it.

  “Don’t look at me!” she hisses, quietly grindin’ a heel onto my toe to emphasize her point while glancin’ at the ceilin’. “We aren’t supposed to know each other . . . remember?”

  “Oh, right . . . sorry.”

  I go back to starin’ into my glass, doin’ my best to ignore her presence . . . which is not easy as the crowd is pressin’ a considerable amount of her against me as we’re standin’ there.

  “Okay, who’s our pigeon?”

  “You see the two broad-shouldered guys at our table? The loud ones? I figure the one on the left will do you just fine.”

  Guide and I have decided on Shu Flie for our victim. Of the crew, we’re probably the least fond of the Flie brothers, and while either of them would probably serve our purposes, Shu is the more dominant and might start trouble if Tananda made a play for his brother instead of him. As our objective is to cause trouble between the army and the civilians, fightin’ within our own ranks would be counter-productive.

  “Who’s the yummy one across the table from the animals?”

  I sneak a peek behind me to be sure who she’s talkin’ about.

  “That? That’s Junebug. He used to be an actor or a dancer or somethin’.”

  “He’ll do,” she sez firmly, a predatory note creepin’ into her voice.

  I refrain from lookin’, but have a strong suspicion she is lickin’ her lips . . . mentally, if not physically.

  “I don’t think that’s such a hot idea. Tananda,” I sez. “There’s sort of a thing goin’ between him and Spyder. At least, she’s got a thing for him.”

  “Who?”

  “Spyder. The chick in uniform sittin’ next to him.”

  “That’s female?”

  While, as you know, I had much the same reaction the first time I met Spyder, for some reason it bothers me hearin’ it from Tananda.

  “Don’t let the hair fool you.” I sez, “She’s pretty tough.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Guido,” Tananda sez, misunderstandin’ what I was sayin’, “but the day I can’t hold my own against that, I’ll hang it up. Well, off to work.”

  “What I mean is . . .” I try to say, but Tananda is already gone, slitherin’ after Junebug like some kind of feline snake sidlin’ up to a drunk canary.

  This is just swell! While I suppose our “army vs. civilians” objective could be achieved by a cat fight between Tananda and Spyder, it wasn’t exactly what we had in mind when we planned this scenario.

  As it turns out, though, I needn’t have worried. Watchin’ from the bar, I see Junebug respond to Tananda’s come-on like a first offender latchin’ onto his lawyer, and instead of startin’ a fight, Spyder just stands up and stomps out of the place with a scowl on her face and her ears laid back in her multicolored hair.

  “Who’s that talking to your buddy?” Frumple sez, materializin’ in front of me.

  I make a big show of lookin’ back at our table.

  “Just a broad.” I shrug casual-like, signallin’ for a refill. “Why?”

  “No reason. For a minute there I thought she looked familiar is all.”

  He heads off down the bar to fetch my drink, leavin’ me a little uneasy. I tell myself there is no reason why the Deveel should recognize Tananda, as her current disguise bears no resemblance to her regular appearance. Still, he is an unstable element in the current equation, and I would just as soon keep him out of it entirely, if possible.

  “I thought we were targeting Shu Flie?” Nunzio sez, easin’ in beside me at the bar. It may have been crowded where we were, but people usually manage to make room for someone Nunzio’s size, especially if he’s talkin’ to someone my size.

  “We were,” I sez. “But Tananda has her own ideas on the subject.”

  “Well it sure put Spyder’s nose out of joint. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so mad. Unless it was the time ...”

  “Hey . . . Abdul!”

  It was Junebug, standin’ right behind us tryin’ to get Frumple’s attention. He has his arm draped around Tananda’s shoulders, but if you look real close youse can see that she is actually holdin’ up most of his weight.

  “Yeah? What do you want?”

  Though he wasn’t particularly pleasant about it, the speed with which any of our crew could get the Deveel’s attention was evidence that he hadn’t forgotten we all knew his secret.

  “I ... we need ... a room.”

  “There aren’t any available.”

  Frumple starts to turn away, only to find his movement is restricted . . . specifically by my cousin who has reached across the bar and taken hold of his shoulder.

  “Give him a room,” Nunzio sez, soft-like.

  Now, when Nunzio talks quiet like that, it usually means he is about to lose his temper . . . which, in this case, is understandable. I mean, we have put an awful lot of trouble into this setup to have it thwarted by anything silly like room availability.

  “But there aren’t any ...”

  “Give him the room you keep for yourself. You’re going to be too busy down here to use it for awhile.”

  “I’m not that busy,” the Deveel argues, tryin’ to twist out of Nunzio’s grip. “And if . . .”

  “You could be a lot busier ... if you know what I mean,” Nunzio sez, startin’ to tighten his hand.

  “All right! Okay! Here!” Frumple sez, producin’ a key from his pocket and passin’ it to Junebug. “Last door on the right!”

  “Thanks, Nunzio,” Junebug calls over his shoulder as he and Tananda weave their way toward the stairs.

  My cousin waits until they are out of sight before he bothers to release his grip on Frumple.

  “Now, see how nice it makes you feel to bring a little happiness into someone else’s life?”

  The Deveel bares his teeth in a silent snarl, then heads off down the bar to tend to the growin’ number of shouters.

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” I sez, lookin’ at the stairs where Tananda and Junebug have vanished.

  “Not surprising, really,” Nunzio sez with a leer. “I mean, how long would you dawdle around if Tananda invited you into her room?”

  If you surmise from this that I have not given my cousin a complete account of my meetin’ with Tananda, you are correct. I decide to change the subject.

  “One question, cousin.” I sez, takin’ a sip of my drink. “How are we supposed to know when to intrude on the proceedin’s?”

  “I dunno, I guess we wait until we hear Tananda start callin’ for help.”

  I swivel my head around and stare at him.

  “Nunzio,” I sez, “has it occurred to you that with the racket goin’ on down here, she can shoot off a cannon and we won’t be able to hear her?”

  This brings a scowl to his face.

  “Good point,” he sez, borrowin’ a sip from my drink.

  “Good point? Is that all you got to say?” I am startin’ to get worked up now. “What do you think is gonna happen if we miss our cue and don’t break things up?”

  “Hmmm . . . well, if we don’t rescue her, then Tananda’s gonna have to deal with Junebug herself.”

  “. . . Which means one of our squad ends up in the hospital,” I finishes for him. “Either that or Tananda takes a bunch of lumps waitin’ for us to show up like we said we would.”

  “Like I said . . . good point.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna just sit here,” I sez, standin’ up. “You comin’ with me?”

  “You mean bust in on ‘em right now?”

  “That’s just what I mean. Why not? They’ve already been up there for awhile.”

  At this point, I am besieged by mental images of Tananda bein’ pawed by Junebug ... all the while callin’ vainly for us to help her.

  “Just a second, Guido,” Nunzio sez, then raises his voice. “Hey! Bee!”

  Our junior magician comes sc
uttlin’ over to us.

  “What is it, Nunzio?”

  “I want you to go out and find some police and bring them back here.”

  “Police? But why ...” - “Just do it! Okay?”

  “Sure Nunzio. City police or Military Police?”

  “Both, if you can manage it. Now get going.”

  He turns to me as Bee goes sprintin’ out into the night.

  “All right, Guido. It’s party time!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “It sure looks to me like a big night tonight!”

  Arthur, Rex

  IN OUR PLANNIN’, we had neglected to establish a means by which Tananda was to let us know which room they was gonna be in. (Oversights such as this is why I am usually willin’ to let someone else . . . like the Boss ... do our plannin’ for us!) Fortuitously, the Deveel had given them directions loud enough for us to hear at the same time as he was handin’ them the key, so we have no trouble findin’ where we are supposed to be.

  “I don’t hear anything ... do you?” Nunzio sez, cockin’ his head outside the door.

  By now, however, I am gettin’ a head of steam up and am in no mood to quibble over details.

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you sent Bee for the cops,” I sez, backin’ up to get a runnin’ start. “But since you did, we are kinda committed to be there when the waltz starts . . , know what I mean?”

  “Well, just remember that the key to this working is to try to promote confusion whenever possible.”

  “That shouldn’t be hard,” I snarl, and launch myself at the door.

  I have specifically mentioned our objective of “confusion” so that youse folks readin’ this will not think your brains have suddenly gone Fruit Loops while tryin’ to sort out this next series of events . . . that is, it’s supposed to be ‘confusion’!

  Anyway, the door goes down, as doors are inclined to do when I hit them goin’ full tilt, and the two of us pile into the room . . . which I am not too busy to notice is considerably nicer than the room Frumple gave me yesterday.