Stalking the Dragon Read online

  “No,” said Fields. “The game's at Ebbets Field. A foot is what's at the end of your leg.”

  Mallory looked around for Felina. “Now where the hell did she go?” he muttered.

  “Not another step, pilgrim!” said a masculine voice, and Mallory turned to see John Wayne throwing a protective arm around Felina, who was struggling to get loose.

  “She doesn't belong to you,” said Clint Eastwood, wearing a pancho and smoking a small bent cigar.

  “I'm a man of few words, pilgrim,” said Wayne. “Walk away while you still can.”

  “I'm a man of one word,” said Eastwood. “Die!”

  “Stop!” yelled Mallory as they both went for their guns. The two figures froze. “Felina, get away from there!”

  “I just wanted to see if he had anything to eat in his saddlebags,” said the cat-girl.

  Mallory grabbed her by the wrist. “You stay with me. We're getting out of here.” He turned toward the door, and saw that Bogart, Lorre, and Greenstreet were still in their original positions—but now the Marx Brothers were blocking the way.

  “One morning I got up early and shot a detective in my pajamas,” said Groucho. “What he was doing in my pajamas I'll never know.”

  Chico nudged Mallory. “That'sa some joke, huh, boss?”

  Harpo merely made a face.

  “An old one but a good one,” said Mallory. “Let us pass, please.”

  “I'm tired of the old ones,” said Groucho. “ Is there a town in Alabama called Tusksatighta?”

  Chico sat down at a small piano.

  “Señor Ravelli will now play for you,” said Groucho. “Señor, what's the first number?”

  “One,” said Chico.

  “And in base eight?”

  “You can'ta fool me, boss,” said Chico. “They only gota four bases.”

  Harpo feigned riotous laughter and honked his horn.

  “You're not laughing,” said Groucho to Mallory.

  “I'm not in a laughing mood,” said the detective. “If you don't mind stepping aside, we're on our way out of here.”

  “Not until you laugh,” insisted Groucho.

  “You want me to chop them down to size?” asked Joe, swinging his sword.

  “Yes,” said a voice from the shadows.

  They turned and saw a handsome, well-dressed young man.

  “Who the hell are you?” said Joe.

  “I think I know,” said Mallory. “Zeppo Marx, right?”

  Zeppo nodded. “I was the funniest of them all. Groucho even said so in his autobiography. But I was the youngest. By the time I joined the act, all the funny parts were taken.”

  “But you always got the girl,” said Groucho.

  “After you three pawed her for all but the last two minutes of the film,” said Zeppo bitterly. He turned to Joe. “Go ahead, chop them to bits.”

  Joe turned to Mallory with a questioning expression. “Boss?”

  “Hey, that'sa my line,” said Chico.

  “Put the sword away,” said Mallory.

  “That's more like it,” said Groucho. “One laugh and you're out of here. Harpo, make him laugh.”

  Harpo approached Mallory and gingerly tried to tickle his armpits. Felina hissed and showed her claws.

  “You guys want to keep it quiet over there?” demanded Bogart. “We're examining the black bird here.”

  “Let us by,” said Mallory. “I'm getting good and tired of this.”

  “Goodness had nothing to do with it,” chimed in Mae West.

  “To be or not to be, that is the question,” said Laurence Olivier from the far corner of the museum.

  “Oh, God, not Shakespeare again!” muttered Groucho, and suddenly all the figures froze.

  “Now,” said Mallory, leading his party out into the street. He sidestepped a sleeping drunk, two panhandlers, and a very overweight hooker. “Yeah, we're back in the real world again,” he muttered.

  “Interesting place,” remarked Joe, “even if Bruce Lee wasn't there.”

  “Darling?” said Belle.

  “Don't call me that,” said Mallory.

  “Sweetie-Pie?”

  “What?” he replied irritably.

  “The fat broad's calling you.”

  Mallory pulled the phone out of his pocket and held it to his ear.

  “Forceful,” said Belle. “I like that in a man.”

  “Hello, Winnifred?” said Mallory.

  “John Justin,” said Winnifred Carruthers. “I'm been trying to get through to you for the past ten minutes. I kept getting a busy signal.”

  “We were busy,” Belle chimed in.

  “Any luck?” asked Mallory.

  “Nothing at this end,” said Winnifred. “How about you?”

  “Zip. Where do you want to meet?”

  “I suppose it makes the most sense to go back to Brody's and see if there's anything we overlooked.”

  “My feelings precisely,” replied the detective. “And we can find out if anyone's made a ransom demand. How long will it take you to get there?”

  “Maybe ten minutes.”

  “Same here,” said Mallory. “See you then.” He examined the phone in the dim light. “How the hell do I hang up?”

  “Push the button that's glowing,” said Belle.

  He did so.

  “Wow!” shrieked Belle.

  “What the hell happened?” asked Mallory, staring at the phone.

  “I lied to you,” said Belle. “And it was worth it!”

  “Okay, you had your fun. Now how do I disconnect you?”

  “I'm already disconnected, Honeylamb. My God, you sure know how to turn a girl on!”

  “I don't think I should be listening to this,” said Joe.

  “I don't think I should be either,” said Mallory, putting the phone back in his pocket.

  They walked past a block of condemned buildings. Joe used his sword to scare off the omnipresent beggars, and Felina, after half a block of jumping over sidewalk squares without touching the lines, began jumping over sleeping drunks and addicts instead.

  Finally Jeeves tugged at Mallory's sleeve. “Can you call your partner back?” asked the gremlin.

  “No,” said Mallory. “I don't know where she is. Why?”

  “I just think going back is a waste of time,” said Jeeves. “You can phone Brody and see if anyone's contacted him. Why go all that way to ask him?”

  “We'll also want to examine the premises again. There might be something we missed.”

  “I doubt it,” said Jeeves. “We were only there for a day.”

  “And JFK was only in Dallas for a few hours, and they're still finding evidence almost half a century later,” said Mallory, sidestepping two more hookers and their business manager, a leprechaun decked out in a thousand-dollar suit and chewing on a solid gold toothpick.

  After they'd gone another half block and the panhandlers were getting more numerous and aggressive, Mallory felt a sharp claw tapping him on the shoulder. He turned to find himself facing Felina.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “I just want you to know that I'm not talking to you, John Justin,” said the cat-girl.

  “And to what do I owe this rare treat?”

  “It's not a treat!” she snapped. “It's a punishment!”

  “Okay, to what do I owe this cherished punishment?”

  She frowned. “Is ‘cherished’ good or bad?”

  “Yes,” said Mallory.

  “I'm not talking to you because you wouldn't let me eat that bird.”

  “You'd have broken all your teeth on it,” said Mallory.

  “I'm used to eating raw things.”

  “Not that raw,” said Mallory.

  “Well, I just wanted you to know that I'm never speaking to you again for as long as I live.”

  “Thanks for informing me.”

  “I mean it, John Justin. These are the last words I'll ever speak to you.”

  “I'll just have to liv
e with the disappointment,” said Mallory.

  “Don't worry about the cat creature,” said Belle. “I'll never desert you.”

  “I can't tell you how comforting I find that,” said Mallory in bored tones.

  Suddenly an anguished scream came to his ears, and Mallory turned to see Jeeves lying on the sidewalk, clutching his knee.

  “What the hell happened?” asked the detective.

  “I tripped,” grated the gremlin. “And I felt something pop when I hit the ground.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “I don't think so. Where's the nearest hospital?”

  “About five blocks,” said Mallory.

  “I'll never make it,” said Jeeves. “You'd better carry me.”

  Suddenly a grim smile crossed Mallory's lips. “I'm in a hurry. But I'll leave Joe here with you while I have Belle call an ambulance.”

  “But—”

  “It's okay. Joe's happy to stay. After all, I wouldn't want you running off the second I was out of sight.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Joe. “He just blew out his knee.”

  “Then he won't be needing it, will he?” said Mallory. “Joe, count to five, and if he isn't standing, bury your sword in his knee.” He turned to the cat-girl. “Felina, if he tries to run, he's all yours to play with for as long as you want.”

  Joe frowned. “Are you sure?”

  Mallory looked down at Jeeves. “Well, am I sure, or are we about to cripple you for no good reason?”

  Jeeves got to his feet. “I don't like any of you very much.”

  “What did I ever do to you?” asked Belle.

  “What's going on?” asked Joe.

  “That's what we're going to find out,” said Mallory. “He's supposed to be an expert on dragons, and for all I know he is. But in the course of the whole evening he never asked a question that I couldn't have asked, never gave any information I didn't know by the time we'd left Brody's place. And for the past couple of hours, every time I suggest going back there, he tries to talk me out of it. He even faked busting up his knee.”

  “What does it mean?” asked the goblin.

  “I don't know, but I'll give plenty of ten-to-one that when we get to Brody's place, he's not there.”

  “Well,” said Jeeves, “since you know all about Brody, you won't be needing me anymore, so I'll just take my leave of you.”

  He started walking back the way they had come, only to find Joe confronting him with his sword.

  “Not just yet,” said Mallory. “I think we'd like to enjoy your company a little longer. Joe, you're in charge of him.”

  “Right,” said the goblin.

  “Let's go,” said the detective.

  They began walking toward Brody's again. When they got within half a block, Mallory felt a familiar tapping on his shoulder.

  “I'm hungry, John Justin,” said the cat-girl who was never going to speak to him again.

  CHAPTER 16

  1:48 AM–2:06 AM

  The lobby of the Plantagenet Arms was filled with marble-topped little tables serving latte to well-dressed if not well-conditioned women wearing a variety of minks and sables, and looking down their noses as anyone gauche enough to be wearing cloth or even sealskin coats. Winnifred stood at the edge of the area, waiting for her partner to arrive.

  “You have an inscrutable expression on your face, John Justin,” she noted as Mallory and his party entered the hotel.

  “Let me ask you a riddle,” said Mallory. “What's the difference between a wild-goose chase and a tame-dragon chase? And before you spend too much time thinking about it, let me suggest that the answer is: nothing.”

  She stared at Jeeves. “He's the culprit?”

  Mallory shook his head. “Him? He's just the flunkie.”

  “I resent that!” said Jeeves.

  “Resent it all you like,” said Mallory. “Just don't deny it, or your nose might start to grow.”

  “So you've solved it?” said Winnifred with a smile. “That's good news indeed!”

  “I haven't solved a damned thing,” answered Mallory. “But at least I know who the bad guys are. What I don't know is why.” He turned to the goblin. “Joe, you wait here. And Jeeves doesn't leave, no matter what.”

  “Got it,” said Joe.

  Mallory walked to an elevator, waited for the door to slide open and for Winnifred to enter it, then turned to Felina.

  “You, too,” he said.

  “I'm not talking to you forever and ever,” said the cat-girl.

  “Forever and ever ended three minutes ago,” said Mallory.

  “Oh,” she said, entering the elevator and smiling. “Then I'll come.”

  They emerged at Brody's suite and looked around.

  “Neat as a pin,” said Mallory. “Every cushion is plumped up, every glass washed, everything spick-and-span. I'll bet he flew the coop four or five hours ago and tipped the maid to clean the place tonight, just to make sure he hadn't left any clues behind.”

  “Still, we might as well check each room to make sure he's not hiding. He could have tipped her so we'd see it like this and assume he's gone.”

  “There's an easier way,” said Mallory. “Felina, is anyone else here?”

  The cat-girl sniffed the air, then walked a few feet in each direction and sniffed again. “No, John Justin.”

  He walked to a closet and opened it. It was empty. He then went to the bedroom, checked the closet there, and got the same result.

  “Well, that's that,” he said, returning to the main room. “A stone cold trail.”

  “He's pretty distinctive in appearance,” noted Winnifred. “There must be ways to track him down.”

  “There are,” agreed Mallory. “But we've got to find him—and we especially have to find Fluffy—by midafternoon at the latest. Let's not forget that he may be the culprit, but retrieving Fluffy is the object of the exercise.”

  “Maybe we should just turn the case over to the police,” suggested Winnifred. “I mean, you can hardly expect him to pay us for apprehending him and getting Fluffy to the show on time.”

  “Not him,” said Mallory. “But the Grundy offered to double what Brody was paying us.”

  “That's right!” said Winnifred. “I forgot!”

  Mallory walked to a window and opened it, oblivious of the noise of the traffic and the odors wafting to his nostrils. “Now that we're working exclusively for you,” he said in a loud voice, “I don't suppose you'd like to help us earn our fee?”

  “Nothing would make me happier,” answered the Grundy's voice.

  “Good!”

  “Unfortunately, happiness is denied to me,” continued the demon.

  “You can destroy buildings, kill thousands of people, cause the city to freeze in midsummer just by blowing on it, and you can't help a man you've just employed to solve a problem for you,” said Mallory. “Exactly what the hell kind of ethical system is that?”

  “Mine, for better or worse,” answered the Grundy. “Use your brain, John Justin Mallory. You know what your next step has to be.”

  “The hell I do!”

  “Then you'd better consider it very carefully or your fee will fly away to the four winds.”

  “Look,” began Mallory, “can't you just—?”

  “I can't be bothered now,” said the voice. “I have to groom Carmelita.”

  “Thanks a heap,” said Mallory bitterly.

  There was no reply, nor did he expect one.

  “All right,” he said wearily, shutting the window and turning back into the room, “how many more dragon ponds and missing-creature kennels are there in this town?”

  “We've been to all the major ones,” said Winnifred. “Besides, she's more likely to be in some hotel room, of which this city possesses about two hundred thousand.”

  “I know,” he said. “And checking with the Prince of Whales and some of the other fences won't help. As good as Fluffy's supposed to be, you can't just buy her, cha
nge her name, and show her in your colors; as Jeeves kept saying, she's the most recognizable dragon in the country.”

  “If we had time, we could get out to Brody's ranch, talk to his associates, check into his finances,” said Winnifred. “We may still, but we can't do it by midafternoon.”

  “Why does that damned demon keep telling me I know everything I need to know?” muttered Mallory. “You could fill a book with what I don't know about this case. Add in what I don't know about dragons and you've got a trilogy.”

  “Don't berate yourself, John Justin,” said Winnifred. “We haven't failed yet.”

  “No,” he said, checking his wristwatch. “We have fourteen more hours in which to fail.” He shook his head. “Damn! We could have used that money, too.”

  “Yes, we could,” agreed Winnifred. “I hate to point fingers, but if you just didn't bet on Flyaway every time he runs…”

  “He never runs,” said Felina. “That's his problem.”

  “Shit!” exclaimed Mallory. “That's it!”

  “What is, and how many legs has it got?” asked Felina eagerly.

  “That's what the Grundy was telling me!”

  “I don't follow you, John Justin,” said Winnifred.

  “Flyaway!” replied Mallory. “Hell, he said it plain as day: our fee will fly away.”

  “I'm still confused.”

  “It's as close as that idiot ethical system of his will let him come to pointing me in the right direction!” said Mallory.

  “It has something to do with that poor horse you're always betting on and losing on?”

  He shook his head impatiently. “No. He couldn't be that direct.”

  “Then I don't understand,” said Winnifred.

  “Think about it,” said Mallory excitedly. “There's no money for winning Eastminster, just a trophy and a piece of ribbon. And we know there's no money in stealing the dragon; you can't sell her because she's too easy to recognize. So where is there money?”

  Winnifred looked puzzled. “All right—where?”

  “In betting on the outcome!” he replied. “We've been using the terminology all night without even thinking about it: Fluffy is the favorite, Carmelita is the second choice, and so on.”

  “But that doesn't make any sense, John Justin,” said Winnifred, frowning. “The Grundy has the defending champion, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if Fluffy hadn't been entered, the Grundy's chimera would be a heavy favorite to win?”