Stalking the Dragon Page 16

  “Brody's a cowboy fan, and we're heading to the World Jade Center,” said Mallory. “I don't suppose you learned anything?”

  “Nothing pertaining to the case,” admitted Dawkins. “But if you ever have a case where a broom is among the clues…”

  Suddenly alternating cries of “Right! Left! Right! Left!” came from the theater.

  “I don't even want to think about what that means,” said Mallory.

  “I could find out for you,” volunteered Dawkins.

  “If you do, no more food tonight,” said the detective.

  “What are we dawdling for?” demanded Dawkins, suddenly hurrying toward the street. “The game's afoot!”

  CHAPTER 19

  3:08 AM–3:42 AM

  The World Jade Center was seventeen blocks away from the Metropolitan Five-Star Map Store, Luggage Shop, and Burlesque Emporium. That meant Mallory had to pull Felina away from four lingerie shops, two fish markets, a jewelry store, three toy stores, and for reasons he would never understand, an all-night currency exchange. It was easier to predict Gently Gently Dawkins's distractions: one deli per block. He had no problem with Dead End Dugan lagging behind, but he did have to reintroduce himself every two blocks.

  It was when they were within a block of the Jade Center that Mallory heard a “Psst!” off to his left.

  “We're not buying any,” he said without even looking in the sound's direction.

  “Just as well,” said a goblin, stepping out to block his way. “I'm not selling any.”

  “Good,” said Mallory. “Then go away.”

  “Hey, keep a civil tongue in your head, fella,” said the goblin. “This is a free country.”

  “Then we're free to ignore you.”

  “Hah!” said the goblin. “So you admit it's free!”

  “Scram,” said Mallory.

  “Now that we've started a dialogue?” responded the goblin. “Don't be silly. And since we both agree that it's a free country, I am going to give you, absolutely free, seventeen 78 rpm records of Vaughn Monroe singing ‘Racing with the Moon.’”

  “What the hell do I want with a seventy-five-year-old record?” said Mallory.

  “You're looking at it all wrong, pal,” said the goblin. “Think of it as seventeen Christmas presents to your friends and relations, especially those who are tone-deaf.”

  “Not interested.”

  “I'll toss in a 1943 calendar with twelve—count ’em: twelve—pinups by Alberto Vargas and Gil Elvgren.”

  “If 1943 ever rolls around again, we'll talk,” said Mallory, trying to step around the goblin, who managed to stay directly in front of him.

  “You're a hard sell, Mac,” said the goblin. “Okay, here's my best offer: everything I've mentioned so far, plus a monocle that—get this!—was once almost purchased by Teddy Roosevelt!”

  “And that's everything?”

  “You got it. Everything, and all of it free.”

  “Fine,” said Mallory. “Now go bother someone else.”

  “Not so fast, fella,” said the goblin. “You owe me forty-seven dollars and sixty-two cents.”

  “I thought it was all free.”

  “It is—when you buy a subscription to Commode Manufacturers’ Weekly.”

  “But I'm not buying one.”

  “This is a capitalistic society,” said the goblin. “You have to buy one.”

  “I don't want it.”

  “What's that got to do with anything?” demanded the goblin. “This is a society of conspicuous consumers. It's sacrilegious to be a nonconsumer.”

  “Oh, I'm a consumer, all right,” replied Mallory. “I'm just an inconspicuous one.”

  “You are one hell of a hard sell, buddy,” complained the goblin. “Okay, I'll toss in three thimbles, and a wristwatch that always reads 2:07.”

  “Forget it.”

  “And I'll cut the price on the subscription to thirty dollars.”

  “No,” said Mallory, feinting left and walking by the goblin to the right.

  “Eight dollars!” yelled the goblin as Mallory continued toward the World Jade Center.

  “And give us three parakeets and a whale,” said Felina.

  “Be reasonable, cat-thing,” said the goblin. “There are hardly any whales on the street at this time of night.”

  “Five parakeets, then.”

  “They don't come in pairs at this end of town,” said the goblin. “How about five single keets?”

  “And a macaw, and a cockatoo, and fourteen goldfinches, and a hipponoceros, and…”

  The goblin held up an empty hand. “Would you settle for a 1933 issue of The Shadow pulp magazine?”

  “There's nothing in your hand,” said Felina.

  “Sure there is,” said the goblin. “It's such a powerful story that it's clouded your mind already.”

  “Leave that phony and start walking,” said Mallory.

  “How do you know he's a phony?” asked Felina.

  “You don't have a mind to cloud.”

  “I never thought of that,” she said, falling into step behind him.

  “I can't imagine why,” said Mallory.

  “Last chance!” cried the goblin as they were almost out of earshot. “How about a candid photo of Bettie Page, and she's—hold on to your hat!—fully dressed? They don't come any rarer than that!”

  Finally the World Jade Center loomed large before them, a huge, hundred-story edifice made entirely of third-rate metal alloys that had turned green after repeated exposure to the sunlight. When the cost of resurfacing or repainting the building was computed, the landlord decided that it was cheaper to capitalize on the sickly green color than replace it, and hence it became the World Jade Center.

  Mallory walked up to the main entrance, nodded to the green-clad guard, and entered the lobby, followed by his ill-matched crew. They marched over to the building directory, and Mallory found that a William Masterson was in apartment 6317.

  They entered a self-service elevator, and Mallory pressed the button for the sixty-third floor.

  “I like elevators!” said Felina as she happily bounced up and down.

  “I'm dying!” moaned Dawkins, clutching his belly. “I shouldn't have eaten those last eight knishes!”

  Dugan, who was almost certain he had been shot with bullets rather than knishes, at least the last two times, simply kept silent until they reached the sixty-third floor and exited the small elevator.

  “This way,” said Mallory, checking the apartment numbers on the doors, and walking until he came to 6317. He rang the bell, got no response, and then knocked. There was still no answer.

  “Okay,” he muttered, pulling out a set of skeleton keys, “we'll do it the hard way.”

  His first two keys didn't work, and he uttered a low curse.

  “I was a housebreaker once,” offered Dugan. “Would you like me to help?”

  “Why not?” said Mallory, holding out the keys to Dugan, who ignored them and smashed his huge fist against the door, which splintered and caved it. “Or you could do that,” concluded Mallory, as he entered the small apartment.

  The place was entirely unfurnished. Mallory walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was warm and empty. He checked and saw that it wasn't plugged in.

  “Felina, take a whiff,” said the detective. “Has there been a dragon here in the past day?”

  “There hasn't been anyone here forever and ever, for a trillion zillion years,” said the cat-girl.

  “A trillion zillion years?” repeated Mallory.

  “Well, a month, anyway.”

  “And there's no food in the house,” said Dawkins, choking back a manly little sob.

  “Where the hell's the phone?” asked Mallory.

  “What am I, chopped liver?” said Belle.

  “I'm sorry,” said Mallory, pulling her out of his pocket. “I forgot all about you.”

  “Go ahead, break my heart,” she replied. “See if I care.”

 
“Well, you were quiet for the past half hour or so.”

  “A girl's got to get her beauty sleep,” said Belle.

  “Dial Winnifred,” said Mallory. “I need to talk to her.”

  “Say please.”

  “Please.”

  “Say I love you with all my heart,” said Belle.

  “Dawkins, see if this place has a phone,” said Mallory.

  “All right, all right, I'm dialing,” said Belle.

  “Thanks.”

  “Hold your lips a little closer to me.”

  “Just dial the goddamned number,” growled Mallory.

  “Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful when you're angry?” said Belle.

  “Has anyone ever told you you're irreparable when you've been thrown against a wall?” shot back Mallory.

  “Hello?” said Winnifred's voice.

  “Hi. Mallory here.”

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  “Not so's you'd notice it,” he said. “Hennigan gave us Brody's phony name and address, but it's a dead end.”

  “Too bad,” said Winnifred. “I've got four more bookies who booked future bets of ten thousand or more on Carmelita.”

  “Give ’em to Belle in a minute,” said Mallory. “But first, I think there's a new line of inquiry to follow.”

  “Oh?”

  “He's Buffalo Bill Brody, and so far he's used Doc Holliday and Bat Masterson as aliases.”

  “Ah!” said Winnifred. “You want me to check on William Cody?”

  “No,” said Mallory. “Too close to his own name. Besides, Cody made his reputation killing buffalo, and Brody looked like he was half buffalo himself.”

  “Then I don't understand.”

  “Try cowboys. Billy the Kid was born in Manhattan. He used the alias of William Bonney, and his real name was Henry McCarty. And try Wyatt Earp, John Wesley Hardin, Jesse James, Johnny Ringo, and Cole Younger while you're at it.”

  “I will,” said Winnifred. “But some of those names are bound to belong to real people.”

  “I don't doubt it. And if you can contact any of them, they're eliminated. But see if you can find one that doesn't answer his phone at three in the morning. It'll be a start.”

  “If the house or apartment is empty, why would he have a phone in the first place?”

  “He had to give an address and phone number when he laid down those big bets, or they'd have suspected something was fishy,” said Mallory. “By the same token, he didn't want them all coming from the same name or the same address.”

  “All right,” said Winnifred. “I'll get right on it, and let Harry concentrate on future books.”

  “Fine,” said Mallory. “Now feed the information you have to Belle.”

  He waited for almost a minute, until Belle announced “Got it!” then tucked her back into a pocket, left the apartment, and ushered his team into the elevator.

  “Where to now?” he asked Belle.

  “William Hickok, southwest corner of Seventh and Lust.”

  “Wild Bill Hickok,” said Mallory. “It figured.” As the elevator began descending and Gently Gently Dawkins began moaning and clutching his stomach again, the detective came to a conclusion. “I think we'll skip it,” he announced. “I'll give plenty of fifty-to-one that apartment's going to be as empty as this one. In fact, they're all going to be empty.”

  “Do you want me to call your partner back and tell her not to bother tracking down the empties?” asked Belle.

  “No,” said Mallory. “They're empty now, but if we don't turn up with the dragon before ring time, he's going to have someone in each place to call his various bookies and make arrangements to get paid.”

  “Why not just call from a—ptui!—pay phone?” asked Belle.

  “Because he gave each bookie a different name and number so they couldn't spot the scam, and you can bet they've all got Caller ID to stop some phony from pretending to be a winning bettor and picking up someone else's payoff.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked Belle.

  “I don't know,” said Mallory as the elevator reached the lobby level and they all got off. “All he's got to do is lay low for another twelve hours. He's not going to leave wherever he's at or take a chance of Fluffy being spotted, and he's sure as hell not going to be in any room or apartment that he rented as a front for his bets. There's hundreds of thousands of hotel rooms in town, and a lot of them aren't very choosy about who or what they'll let in. Winnifred and Harry will get some more contacts, but they're going to prove as empty as this one.” He paused and signed deeply. “I hate to admit it, but I'm stumped.”

  “Not you, Studmuffin,” said Belle. “I have faith in you.”

  “I could do with a little less faith and a few more leads,” said Mallory as they exited the World Jade Center and stood out on the street. Suddenly he looked around. “Where the hell did Dawkins go?”

  Felina pointed into the building, where Gently Gently Dawkins was putting coins into a candy machine.

  “Goddamn!” exclaimed Mallory. “We've been walking around with the clue we needed, and I didn't realize it until this very second!”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Belle.

  “You'll see,” said Mallory. He opened the door. “Hey, Dawkins! Come out here!”

  “In a minute,” answered Dawkins, putting the last of his change into the machine for one last candy bar. The machine disgorged it, he picked it up, unwrapped it, and began eating it as he went outside. “What is it?” he asked when he had joined the others.

  “I need your expertise,” said Mallory.

  “Do I have some?” asked Dawkins, patting his pockets as if it might be residing there.

  “Based on our brief association, I'd say you are probably a greater expert on a certain subject than anyone else alive.”

  “Really?” said Dawkins, a happy smile on his round face.

  Mallory nodded. “Really.” He paused. “What do you know about elephant-shaped chocolate marshmallow cookies?”

  “They're scrumptious,” said Dawkins. “But they're very rare. You have to know who sells them.”

  “And do you?” asked Mallory.

  “Oh, sure,” answered Dawkins enthusiastically. “They're one of my favorites.”

  A smile crossed Mallory's face. “I think the case is open for business again.”

  CHAPTER 20

  3:42 AM–4:29 AM

  Mallory's little group trudged down the empty street. Darkened buildings loomed over them, and a few stray snowflakes floated down through the chilly air.

  “You're sure there's a candy stand in the Holland Tunnel?” said Mallory.

  “Absolutely,” replied Dawkins. “It's one of my favorites.”

  “I don't remember seeing one,” said the detective. “There are just traffic lanes in the tunnel, nothing else.”

  “When's the last time you drove through it?”

  “Not since I came to this Manhattan,” admitted Mallory.

  “Well, that explains it.” Dawkins pulled a candy bar out of his pocket and peeled the wrapper off it.

  “If you don't care about your weight, you might consider what all that junk is doing to your health,” suggested Mallory.

  “You're looking at it all wrong,” answered Dawkins. “Not only does this contain the three major food groups—chocolate, peanut butter, and sugar—but it's an energy food.”

  “You've consumed enough energy in the past two hours to light up Mexico City for a week,” said Mallory.

  “You're exaggerating,” laughed Dawkins. Suddenly the smile vanished. “Boise, Idaho, maybe.”

  “Winnifred just checked in to say she located empty apartments for Cole Younger and William Bonney,” said Belle.

  “I didn't hear you ring,” said Mallory.

  “You turned off my ringer, remember?”

  “Even so, aren't you supposed to vibrate or something?”

  “Only you can make me vibrate, Hot Lips.”

&n
bsp; “Are you trying to embarrass me?” asked Mallory.

  “No,” said Belle, “I'm trying to excite you beyond all endurance.”

  “Excitement is another union, but you're fast reaching the endurance limit,” said Mallory. “Try to just converse normally, okay?”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” said Belle. “Ten-four. Roger. Over and out.” A pause. “Is that any better, Sweetmeat?”

  Mallory decided it was easier to ignore her than argue with her, and he increased his pace. He had to slow it a moment later when Dawkins fell too far behind.

  “This is fun!” enthused Felina. “We should go out in the middle of the night and do absolutely nothing more often, John Justin.”

  “We're not doing nothing,” Mallory corrected her. “We're accomplishing nothing.” He turned to Dawkins. “And it better come to an end pretty soon.”

  “I know about that,” said Dead End Dugan, who hadn't spoken since they left the World Jade Center.

  “You know about what?” asked Mallory, confused.

  “About coming to an end,” replied Dugan. “Coming to an end is one of the best things I do.” He frowned. “Or at least one of the most frequent.”

  “Joe Enlai is looking better and better,” muttered Mallory.

  “Not as good as you, Cuddles,” said Belle.

  “It wasn't so bad in my Manhattan,” said Mallory wistfully. “I couldn't pay my bills, and my wife ran off with my partner, and the courts kept putting the bad guys back on the street quicker than we could bring them in…but it all made a certain corrupt kind of sense.”

  “You have to think big here,” said Dawkins knowingly. “Dealing in corrupt cents is for small-timers. We deal in corrupt dollars.”

  “Thanks for that cogent insight,” said Mallory dryly.

  “Here we are,” said Dawkins, pointing to the entrance to the tunnel, a pitch-black hole in its near-black surroundings.

  “How far?” asked Mallory as they entered it. “And what happened to the lights?”

  “It's a cost-cutting measure,” said Dawkins. “Hardly anyone drives the Tunnel at three in the morning.”

  “Watch out!” said Mallory, as a quartet of cars blinded them with their headlights and raced past.

  “Well, almost hardly anyone,” amended Dawkins as another car and two trucks zoomed by.