Stalking the Dragon Page 9

  “Joe?” said Mallory. “Can you encourage him to be more helpful?”

  The goblin struck a karate pose, moved his hands back and forth rapidly, and uttered some intimidating screams.

  “Sorry,” said the troll. “I don't speak French.”

  “I think we're going to go with the old standards,” said Mallory. “Felina, if he doesn't answer our questions, he's all yours.”

  Felina grinned, stepped forward, and displayed her claws. “Please don't answer,” she said.

  “Perhaps I was being hasty,” said the troll promptly. “What do you want to know?”

  “We're looking for a dragon that went missing this afternoon. How many new arrivals have you got?”

  “Well, let me see,” said the troll. “Daisy's back again.”

  “Daisy?”

  “The big girl off to the left. Keeps killing her keepers and coming here because she likes the food we serve.” He shook his head sadly. “She could save us all a lot of trouble if she'd just eat her keepers.”

  “Dragons are clearly thoughtless creatures,” said Mallory. “We're not looking for anything like Daisy. We're after a toy dragon that went missing this afternoon. Eleven inches at the shoulder.” He pulled out the photo, but it was too dark for the troll to see it.

  “Hey, Percy!” yelled the troll. “We could do with a little light.”

  Another huge dragon, confined about fifty feet away, roared and emitted a brilliant flame that shot out almost to Mallory's group. The troll had time to study the photo before the flame vanished.

  “Thanks, Percy,” said the troll. “He's my pet,” he added confidentially. “Sweetest little fifteen tons of love and devotion you ever saw.”

  “So did you get a toy dragon in today?” persisted Mallory.

  “Got three of ’em, but I don't think yours was one of them.”

  “Do you mind if we look anyway?” asked Winnifred.

  The troll cast a quick sideways glance at Felina, who was staring unblinking at him, her pupils mere vertical slits. “Not at all. Let me point them out to you.” He led them to the small runs. “The first three.”

  Three small dragons walked up to greet the visitors, each with a please-take-me-home-with-you look on its face.

  “Well?” said Winnifred to Jeeves.

  The gremlin shook his head. “She's not here.”

  Mallory turned to the troll. “Sorry to have bothered you. Are there any other dragon ponds in Manhattan?”

  The troll shook his head. “There's one up in Westchester, and I think New Canaan over in Connecticut's still got one.”

  “Okay, thanks,” said Mallory. His group walked out through the gate. He expected to hear it lock behind him, but when he turned to check he found it swinging open and the light in the troll's building already extinguished.

  “Well,” said Mallory, “we've eliminated Fire Island, Greenwitch Village, and the dragon pond.” He checked his watch. “It's almost eleven, and we're no closer to finding him than when we started.”

  “Who cares about dragons?” said Belle. “You found me, and that's all that matters.”

  Winnifred frowned. “We can't stop looking. Where next?”

  “I think it makes sense to split up again,” said Mallory. “We've got a lot of ground to cover, and only one clue.”

  “A clue?” she said. “You didn't mention one.”

  “It's not much of a clue,” he said.

  “Well?”

  “Someone took a shot at me.”

  “Where were you?” asked Winnifred.

  “Out in the open. Easy target. They missed.”

  “They were lousy shots,” said Jeeves.

  Mallory stared at the little gremlin for a moment. “Tell him, Winnifred.”

  “If they wanted to kill him, they'd have taken more than one shot,” said Winnifred. “They wanted to scare him off.”

  “I never thought of that,” said Jeeves.

  “You're not a detective,” said Winnifred.

  “Well, nobody had better try again,” said Joe. “Or they'll have me to answer to.”

  “I don't believe you heard a word,” said Mallory. “They weren't trying to hit me.”

  “A poor shot could try to miss and bury a bullet between his eyes,” said Joe. “You got to think these things through.”

  “I'll take it under advisement,” said Mallory.

  “You know,” said Winnifred, “there are a number of upscale pet shops on the Upper West Side. No one over there ever goes to bed before two in the morning, so some of the shops may still be open. As long as you have Jeeves, why not give me one of the photos and I'll check them out?”

  “She's worth thousands!” protested Jeeves. “Whoever stole her knows that. They won't be selling her for peanuts.”

  “Not selling her,” said Winnifred. “Stashing her until the show's over. Where better than right out in front of everyone?”

  “Good idea,” said Mallory. “As for me, I think I'd better get back to Seymour Noodnik's and see if he's got any answers for me.”

  “You think someone sold her as meat?” asked Joe.

  Mallory shook his head. “He's finding out what stores carry her favorite food.”

  “When and where shall we meet?” asked Winnifred.

  “One thirty?” suggested Mallory.

  “Sounds good,” she said. “Where?”

  “I don't know where I'll be,” said Mallory. “Wait a minute. I'm carrying a cell phone. Call me when you're ready and we'll decide on a place to meet then.”

  “Fine,” said Winnifred. “I'll need the number.”

  “Belle, what's your number?” said Mallory.

  “I'm not telling her,” said Belle.

  “You're telling me,” said Mallory.

  “And then you'll tell her,” whined Belle. “You're mine, damn it! I'm not sharing you.”

  “Joe,” said Mallory, “you want a cell phone?”

  “No!” screamed Belle.

  “Then give my partner your number.”

  “And then we can be together?”

  “Until tomorrow, anyway,” said Mallory.

  “I want more than a one-night stand,” said Belle.

  “Joe?” said Mallory, pulling the phone out of his pocket.

  “But I'll settle!” said Belle quickly. She rattled off her number to Winnifred.

  “All right,” said Winnifred. “I'll walk to the west side of the park, and then start scouting out the pet shops.” She stared at Mallory's entourage. “You're not going to sneak up on anyone with that crowd, John Justin.”

  “I view it as three alternate targets in case the shooter gets new orders,” said Mallory.

  “Four,” said Belle.

  “Four,” amended Mallory.

  “I'll check in with you in two hours,” said Winnifred, heading off into the darkness.

  “What if someone attacks that poor old woman in the dark?” asked Joe, staring after her.

  “If they do, I feel very sorry for them,” said Mallory. “Especially if the emergency rooms are full.”

  “You're kidding!”

  “Am I smiling?” said Mallory.

  “That's some partner you've got yourself,” said Joe, “if she's able to walk alone through Central Park in the dark.”

  “She's got the easy job,” said Mallory as he began walking south across the grass. “I may need all of you to protect me from Noodnik's notion of salesmanship.”

  CHAPTER 11

  11:01 PM–11:20 PM

  As Mallory's little group approached Seymour Noodnik's Emporium they were greeted by the outraged screams of a woman who was arguing with the proprietor.

  “But I don't want brontosaur!” she yelled. “I just want a pound of hamburger!”

  “Diplodocus, then,” said Noodnik. “Three cents a pound. You can't beat that price anywhere in the city.”

  “All right, all right,” said the woman. “I've got to make Marvin his dinner. Give me a pound, you th
ief!”

  “I can't break up the cut,” said Noodnik. “You'll have to take it all.”

  “How much are we talking about?” demanded the woman. “Two pounds? Two and a half?”

  “Eighty thousand.”

  She stormed out of the store, almost knocking Jeeves over. “I'll be damned if I'll ever shop here again!” she thundered.

  “I'll bone it for you,” Noodnik shouted after her.

  “You're sure this is the place?” asked Joe. “Personally, I wouldn't pay more than two cents a pound for diplodocus, and I'd want it delivered.”

  “I can tell you're going to be right at home here,” said Mallory. He walked to the door and entered the store.

  “Any lewd women in the case yet?” was Noodnik's greeting.

  “Not yet.”

  “Any naked ones?”

  “I just said—”

  “Not all naked ones are lewd,” interrupted Noodnik. “And not all lewd ones are naked, though they usually wind up that way. Can I sell you some zebra horns?”

  “Zebras don't have horns,” said Mallory.

  “This one doesn't, at least not anymore,” said Noodnik as he wiped his hands on his bloodstained apron. “Or better yet, how about some Easter eggs?” He pointed to a nearby carton of eggs in a refrigerated unit.

  “They're white,” noted Joe.

  “That's right.”

  “So what makes them Easter eggs?”

  “They've been sitting there since early last April,” answered Noodnik.

  Joe made a face, and Noodnik turned back to the detective. “Some dognip for your cat-thing?”

  Mallory frowned. “Dognip?”

  Noodnik suddenly snapped his fingers. “Damn! I forgot! The cops took Fido away for rabies testing today after he nipped old Mrs. Satterfield.”

  “Seymour, will you shut up for a minute?” said Mallory.

  Noodnik checked his wristwatch. “Okay, you got it. Sixty seconds.”

  “I'm not here to buy anything.”

  “Then why are you wasting my time?” demanded Noodnik.

  “You were supposed to get some information for me, remember?”

  “Of course I remember. Just because I climbed into bed with Troubles McTavish last night instead of the beloved Mrs. Noodnik doesn't mean I have a bad memory,” said Noodnik. “A bad sense of direction, maybe…”

  “Seymour, did you get the information or didn't you?” demanded Mallory.

  “Of course I did!” snapped Noodnik. “I'm Seymour Noodnik, aren't I?”

  “Are you?” said a shopper with an amused smile. “I heard you telling your wife that you blacked out and thought you were Angus McTavish.”

  “Well, I had to tell her something,” said Noodnik.

  “Was that before or after she emptied her shotgun into your car?” asked a female shopper.

  “Hey!” said Noodnik to the store at large. “Do I pry into your private affairs?”

  “All the time,” came an answer.

  “Besides,” said another shopper, “what's so private about running down the block with your pants off at three in the morning while your wife is shooting at you?”

  “Special on carrier pigeon eggs!” yelled Noodnik, cupping his hands to his mouth. “A dollar a dozen.”

  Nobody moved.

  “Tenderloin steaks, eight cents a pound. Fresh cuts of tenderloin, eight cents a pound.”

  There was a mad rush to the meat section.

  “You were saying?” said Noodnik, turning back to Mallory.

  “Are you actually going to honor that price?”

  Noodnik grinned. “If they can find it, they can have it at eight cents a pound.”

  “You haven't changed,” said Mallory.

  “Just my socks. And maybe my bedmate.”

  “So who sells elephant-shaped chocolate marshmallow cookies?”

  “Buy a dozen pickled bats’ wings and we'll talk,” said Noodnik.

  “I haven't got any time to waste,” said Mallory. He turned to the goblin. “Joe?”

  Joe Enlai Smith leaped forward, struck a martial arts position, and screamed.

  “Is he sick?” asked Noodnik.

  “I'm intimidating you, damn it!” snapped Joe.

  “You are?” asked Noodnik curiously. “How can you tell?”

  Joe screamed again, chopped the air with his fists, and delivered a devastating spinning kick that missed Noodnik by a good eighteen inches.

  “Is that the best you can do?” asked Noodnik.

  “I'm nearsighted,” answered Joe. “There's no call for you to belittle me.”

  “Why aren't you wearing glasses?”

  “It doesn't go with being an action-adventure hero,” answered Joe.

  “I got a special on ’em,” said Noodnik enticingly. “Ten bucks an eye, and the price drops to seven for three or more.”

  “We're getting off the point here,” said Mallory. “Seymour, I'm on a tight schedule. Are you going to tell me what I want to know or not?”

  “Are you going to buy a dozen pickled bats’ wings or not?” shot back Noodnik.

  “What if I report you to the city health inspector?” said Mallory.

  “Be my guest,” said Noodnik. “He's laid out there with the frozen ham in Aisle Three.”

  “Men!” snapped a feminine voice. “I'm sick of all your macho threats and posturings!”

  “Who was that?” asked Noodnik, looking around.

  “Belle, keep out of this,” said Mallory. “I have enough problems as it is.”

  “Belle?” demanded Noodnik. “Who's Belle?”

  Mallory pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and held it up “Seymour, say hello to Belle.”

  “Your phone?”

  “Stop looking at me as if I'm just some mere object!” demanded Belle.

  “But you are just some mere object,” said Noodnik reasonably.

  “Watch your mouth, Mac!” said Belle. Suddenly her voice softened. “God, I love the feel of your hands on me! You want me to solve your problem, Lover?”

  “Can you?” said Mallory.

  “If he doesn't tell you what you want to know, take me to Mrs. Noodnik. I'll tell her I belong to Troubles McTavish, and I want him to stop calling and talking dirty at all times of the night and day.”

  “You'd do that to me?” demanded Noodnik. “A peaceable, decent guy who'd never hurt a fly. Except for the candied ones in Aisle Seven, that is.”

  “You heard me,” said Belle.

  “But what am I going to do with a dozen pickled bats’ wings?” complained Noodnik.

  “You're a clever man,” said Mallory. “You'll think of something. Now my information, please?”

  “You know where that new zillion-dollar building is, the one populated by all the rich divorcées and widows with no taste?”

  “Are you talking about Frump Tower?” asked Mallory.

  “Where else?” said Noodnik.

  “On Fifth Avenue, right?” said the detective.

  “Right. The fancy gift shop there sells elephant-shaped chocolate marshmallow cookies.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Do they sell anyone else?” said Noodnik. “How the hell do I know?”

  “Does anyone else sell the cookies?”

  “Not that I've been able to find. Buy the bats’ wings and I'll spend another day looking.”

  “By tomorrow afternoon it'll be too late,” said Mallory.

  “Then we're done, and I can go back to making an honest living?”

  “Well, we're done, anyway.”

  “Okay—and thanks for not bringing the cat-thing this time,” said Noodnik. “She's always so disruptive.”

  Which was when Mallory discovered that Felina was nowhere to be seen. He made a beeline to the fish section, found her reaching into a tank where Noodnik kept his prize South Dakota Fighting Fish, pulled her away, and headed for the door.

  “She ate seventy-three fish, Mallory,” said Noodnik as Mallory wa
s walking out. “I'll add it to your tab.”

  Mallory stopped and stared at the grocer. “Seymour, I've never seen more than six fish in that tank.”

  “Today is the commencement of the breeding season,” replied Noodnik. “They multiply like crazy. Seventy-three.”

  “Mallory, have we got time to call Mrs. Noodnik?” asked Belle.

  “I suppose so,” said the detective.

  “How many fish?” said Belle.

  “Two,” said Noodnik.

  Mallory smiled and walked out the door with Felina, followed by Jeeves and Joe.

  “Welcome to the team, Belle,” he said as the turned left and headed toward Fifth Avenue.

  CHAPTER 12

  11:20 PM–11:51 PM

  Some people said it was a seventy-three-story monument to bad taste. Others said that was an understatement.

  It was the glittering self-proclaimed crown jewel of Fifth Avenue, a mostly shining needle piercing the Manhattan sky with an outer epidermis of polished (and occasionally tarnished) brass, a metal the architect seemed to have fallen in love with. The interior decorator, on the other hand, appeared to have an ongoing affair with red flocked wallpaper and cheap Oriental rugs. The shops, selling everything from tasteless lingerie to fake furs to designer knockoffs, all of which could be purchased for a third of the asking price on the Internet or a few blocks away in the garment district, did not seem out of place…and neither did the residents.

  The builder, who had abandoned his first four wives in pursuit of younger and cheaper bimbos with more impressive silicon implants, was finally visited by an enormous sense of guilt at just about the same time his erectile dysfunction pills finally stopped working. He declared that the policy of the Tower would be to rent only to widows, divorcées, and single women over the age of forty. In fact, its official name was the Brass Edifice, but the press and public got one look at the residents and promptly dubbed it the Frump Tower, a name that stuck despite one lawsuit on the part of the builder and seventeen more brought by various residents. The lawsuits stopped only when the Manhattan press started describing the plaintiffs with a nasty relish usually reserved for Republican politicians and the Boston Red Sox.

  As Mallory and his group approached the garish front entrance, the detective noticed two liveried guards bowing obsequiously to a rather dumpy woman who entered ahead of them.

  “She must be someone very important,” whispered Jeeves.