Stalking the Dragon (21 page)

“What now?” asked Winnifred.

“What time is it?”

She checked her wristwatch. “Ten oh seven.”

“Well, she's not due in the ring for a few hours,” noted Mallory, “but as long as we've got her, we might as well take her over to the Garden.”

They began walking toward Madison Avenue. When they were still half a block away two shots rang out.

“Was that a car backfiring?” asked Dawkins.

“Those were gunshots,” said Winnifred with absolute certainty. “Are you all right, John Justin?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

“I'm fine,” she replied. “Mr. Dawkins?”

“I'm okay.”

“Mr. Dugan?”

“I feel a draft,” replied Dugan.

Mallory turned to the zombie, and saw two fresh holes in his chest.

Another shot, and the store window behind them blew apart.

“What
is
it, John Justin?” said Winnifred, crouching down behind a car and pulling her gun out of her purse.

“I have a feeling that finding Fluffy was the easy half of this job,” said Mallory, ducking behind a van and trying to spot the shooter. “Getting to the Garden without being killed is going to be the hard part.”

As if for emphasis, a bullet thudded home into the wall an inch above his head.

C
HAPTER
28

10:09
AM
–10:21
AM

Two more shots rang out.

“Can you see anyone?” asked Winnifred.

“No,” said Mallory. “They seem to be coming from the left of that pet shop across the street, but I can't be sure.”

“I can't see anyone either,” said Belle from inside Mallory's pocket. “Or anything. It's dark in here.”

“You're safer there,” said Mallory.

“How's Fluffy?” asked Winnifred.

He looked at the little dragon that was still tucked under his arm. “I guess she's okay. How do you tell?”

He looked around. Dawkins was kneeling behind a parked van, eating one candy bar after another for comfort. Felina, who was right next to Mallory, had found an anthill between cracks in the street, and was enjoying herself torturing the ants. Dugan was standing, oblivious of the danger and the snow that was starting to fall, watching a trio of banshees circling high above them.

Mallory dared another look across the street, saw the flash of a gun, heard the thunderous report, and ducked back behind a 12-cylinder Dusenburg.

“Grundy,” he said softly, “I hate to be a pest, but if you want me to get this dragon to the ring, I think we're going to need your help.”

“Are you talking to me, John Justin?” asked Winnifred. “I can't quite hear you.”

“He's talking to the Grundy,” said Felina helpfully.

“As if we didn't have enough trouble already,” moaned Dawkins.

“Don't worry,” replied Felina. “The Grundy's not answering.”

Mallory tried to spot the shooter again. All he got for his trouble was a bullet hole through the brim of his hat.

“Grundy!” he said, louder this time. “How about it?”

“I'm busy grooming Carmelita,” said the Grundy's disembodied voice.

“Can't you see what's going on here?”

“Of course I can,” replied the demon. “What do you want?”

“You're kidding, right?” snapped Mallory. “Get us out of this jam!”

“You have the wherewithal to extricate yourself with no risk to you or the dragon.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Mallory.

“You're a bright man,” said the Grundy. “You'll figure it out. Now please stop bothering me. I have a show to prepare for.”

“You want to give me a hint, at least?” said Mallory.

There was no answer.

“What was that all about, John Justin?” asked Winnifred.

“I'm not sure,” said Mallory, frowning. “I have to think.” Suddenly a huge smile spread across his face. “I'm an idiot!” he exclaimed.

“I always knew it, John Justin,” said Felina.

“Don't you dare say that to the man of my dreams!” retorted Belle.

“Shut up, both of you,” said Mallory. “Dugan?”

The zombie looked down to where the detective was crouching behind the van. “What?”

“Brody's across the street, shooting at us.”

“I
thought
I heard some noise,” said Dugan.

“Go take his gun away and bring him to me,” said Mallory.

“Take his gun away and bring him to you,” said Dugan. “Got it.” A pause. “When?”

“Now would be nice,” said Mallory.

Dugan walked across the street, undeterred by the hail of bullets that tore into him. Suddenly the zombie's voice called out: “It's not Brody.”

“Disarm him anyway, and bring him here!” yelled Mallory.

Mallory heard a scream, and a moment later Dugan came back, dragging a man by the foot. He handed the man's gun to the detective, who in turn put Fluffy on the ground and gave her leash to Winnifred.

“Was he the only one?” asked Mallory.

“The only one of what?” asked Dugan.

“The only one shooting at us?”

“Yes,” said Dugan. “Probably.”

Mallory stared at the zombie. “You've been pretty well ventilated,” he observed. “This can't be the first time. How do they patch you up?”

Gently Gently Dawkins climbed laboriously to his feet and walked over. He reached into his mouth and pulled out some freshly chewed bubble gum, which he dabbed onto the bullet holes. “This will do until we can stop for morticians' putty at Creepy Conrad's All-Night Mortuary. That's where Harry sends me or Benny Fifth Street to pick it up whenever Dugan comes back from what Harry calls a difficult collection.”

“I take it this isn't a new problem?” remarked Mallory.

“Yes it is,” said Dugan. “This guy has never shot me before.”

“I stand corrected,” said Mallory dryly.

“Do you suppose he has any more henchmen waiting along the way?” asked Winnifred.

“Who knows?” replied Mallory. “I didn't think he had
this
one.” He paused. “Theoretically he's dead broke and in hock up to his ears, but I suppose he could have paid for some firepower in advance.”

“How could he know we'd figure out his scam?”

“He couldn't. This was just insurance. We're not the main targets anyway.”

“We're not?” said Dawkins, surprised.

“It's Fluffy,” answered Mallory. “He can't afford to let her reach the ring.
She's
what this guy was after. Dugan, put him on his feet and let's find out what he knows.”

The zombie picked up the gunman and set him upright, none too gently.

“Hi,” said Mallory with a smile. “I get the distinct impression that you want to talk to us.”

“You go to hell,” said the gunman as Dugan held him motionless.

“My mistake,” said Mallory easily. “I guess you'd rather play with my cat.”

“Your cat?”

“Felina,” said Mallory, “say hello to the nice man.”

Felina approached him with a toothy smile, the morning sun glinting off her claws.

“Call her off!” said the man, trying to back away but unable to free himself from the zombie's viselike grip.

“She doesn't answer to ‘Off,'” said Mallory. “Are you
sure
you wouldn't rather talk to me than play with her?”

“You win!” said the man in panicky tones. “I'll talk!”

“My God, you're so masterful!” exclaimed Belle.

“That'll be all for now, Felina,” said Mallory, ignoring the cell phone. The cat-girl made a face and hissed at him. “But stick around, in case he decides he doesn't want to talk after all.” He turned to the man. “You got a name?”

“Bullseye.”

Mallory looked amused. “You miss ten shots from right across the street and you're Bullseye?”

“If you were a bull you'd be dead,” Bullseye assured him. “People's eyes are smaller and harder to hit.”

“I'll take your word for it,” said Mallory. “How long have you been working for Brody?”

“Brody?” repeated Bullseye. “Is that who I'm working for?”

“You don't know?” said Winnifred incredulously.

“Hey, I'm temping for Gunsels R Us—just until I catch up on my Christmas bills, you understand. I guess this Brody made a down payment a couple of months ago.” He tried unsuccessfully to shrug free of Dugan's grasp. “My supervisor tells me to tail the guy with the horns, and if anyone takes the dragon away, get it back or kill it.”

“Did Brody hire just one of you?”

“They tell me he put money down on two more, but they're not from my organization. They're real specialists.”

“Any idea who they are?”

“The scuttlebutt around the office is that they're Marius the Mage and Percy Picayune.”

“Percy?” said Belle suddenly. “Watch out for him!”

“More dangerous than the magician?” asked Mallory.

“Infinitely,” said Belle. “He used to be an IRS auditor. He is absolutely without mercy.”

Mallory turned back to Bullseye. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“No.”

“You're sure?” said Mallory.

“Well, I can tell you that the track's coming up muddy at Jamaica, and never buy commodities on margin, and beware of aggressive redheads named Thelma.”

“But nothing about Brody?”

“No.”

“All right,” said Mallory. “Get out of here, and don't let me see you again.”

“You weren't supposed to see me the first time,” said Bullseye bitterly. He paused awkwardly. “Can I have my gun back?”

“Hell, no,” said Mallory.

“How about if I say ‘please'?”

“You just tried to kill us with it.”

“That was
business
,” said Bullseye. “We're all friends now—except maybe for the cat-thing.”

“Go away before I turn you over to her.”

“But that's not fair!” complained Bullseye. “I'm a freelance assassin. How am I going to make ends meet if you keep the tool of my trade?”

“That's the risk you take when you don't kill your target,” said Mallory.

“What the hell,” said Bullseye with a shrug. “Maybe I can borrow my mom's. I just hate to walk that far with the snow starting to get worse.”

“We all have to live with life's little inconveniences,” said Mallory.

“All right,” said Bullseye. “But promise you won't tell any of the guys. This is the third kill I've blown this month, and I hate all their teasing. It's good-natured, I know that, but it's still humiliating.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Well, good-bye, then,” said Bullseye, shaking his hand. “And good luck making it to the Garden. You haven't got a chance, what with Marius and Percy waiting for you, but I hope you at least give them a run for their money.”

And with that, he turned and began walking down the increasingly slippery street, sidestepping the occasional skidding car.

“Does anyone know anything about this Marius the Mage?” asked Mallory, turning back to his team.

Nobody answered.

“What about Percy Picayune?”

“Just what I told you,” said Belle.

“It would be nice to know what they looked like, at least,” said Mallory.

“Is Percy twice as big as a dinosaur, with blue skin and huge claws and beady eyes and each of his teeth as long as a grown man?” asked Felina, looking just over the detective's shoulder.

“An IRS auditor?” said Mallory. “I sure as hell doubt it. Why?”

“Then that must be Marius the Mage walking down the street toward us,” said the cat-girl.

C
HAPTER
29

10:21
AM
–11:49
AM

Mallory looked up the street, which was fast becoming covered with snow. He'd seen a lot of strange sights in this Manhattan, but none of them had quite the effect of the enormous blue monster strolling down the middle of the street, some forty feet at the shoulder and four times that long.

But it was nothing compared to the effect when it faced him directly and hissed “John Justin Mallory, turn over that dragon or face the consequences!”

“No!” screamed Belle. “Not now that I've finally found him!”

“Shut your pocket up!” hissed the creature.

“You can't!” cried Belle. “I mean, we haven't even—”

The creature roared. Gently Gently Dawkins fainted dead away. Dead End Dugan displayed no fear whatsoever (nor did he display courage, or interest, or animation). Winnifred pulled out her Magnum and tried to figure out where the creature's most vital spot might be. Felina yawned, turned her back, and began assiduously licking a forearm.

“Anyone got any suggestions?” asked Mallory of his companions.

“We're not giving Fluffy up without a fight,” said Winnifred. “I faced creatures this big when I was a white hunter.”

“With a handgun?” asked Mallory.

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” said Winnifred.

“If he falls, he could collapse the subway for a whole block.”

“Are you convinced there's no escape?” demanded the huge blue creature.

“Grundy?” said Mallory.

There was no answer.

“Winnifred?”

“Let him
try
to take Fluffy away,” she said, never lowering her Magnum. “I'm ready for him.”

“Put that silly toy away!” thundered the creature. “My skin is three
inches thick and armor-plated. You couldn't pierce it with a rocket. Just hand over the dragon and I might let you live.”

An arm suddenly sprouted out of its neck and continued growing to enormous length as it reached for Fluffy. The little dragon jumped back in terror, yanking on the leash and spinning Winnifred halfway around. As she tried to turn back the gun went off.

There was an inhuman howl of anguish—and standing there on the street, where the blue creature had been, was a skinny, undersized man in a monk's robe. He was barefoot, and blood was spurting out of the big toe on his left foot, turning the snow around him a bright red.

“What the hell happened?” asked Mallory.

“Is he gone?” asked Belle.

“Kind of,” said Mallory, frowning.

“Good!” she said. “Now I don't have to die an almost-virgin.”

“Amazing!” said Winnifred. “I never saw anything like that before!”

“Where did he go?” said Dawkins, who was awake again and cowering behind Dugan. “One second he was blotting out the sun, and now he's gone and I'm being snowed on again.”

Even Felina appeared interested in the skinny man.

“What did you want to go and do that for?” he whined, kneeling down and wrapping a handkerchief around the toe. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You were about to kill us,” said Mallory.

“Hey, did I touch you?” said the man.

“You threatened to.”

“They were just words. That's no reason to blow a man's foot off.”

“Stop sniveling!” said Winnifred. “It's only a toenail. It'll grow back.”

“Put your damned gun away,” said the man. “Who the hell knows where you'll aim it next?”

“May I assume that your name is Marius?” asked Mallory.

“Of course it's Marius!” said the man angrily. “You don't suppose that Spellsinger Sol or Big-Hearted Milton could turn into a creature half as impressive as that?” He got to his feet with all the dignity he could muster. “I am the greatest magician in Manhattan. Hell, in all five boroughs. Maybe even in the whole state.”

“So why is the greatest magician working for a small-time crook?” asked Mallory. “Why aren't you delving into all the secrets of the universe?”

Marius looked up and down the street to make sure no one could overhear him. “You promise you won't tell anyone?” he said. He paused as if considering how to proceed. “The one secret of the universe I could never solve was claimers who were moving up in class on a muddy track. It seems to be an eternal verity that they win when I bet against them and lose when I bet
on
them.”

“So you're in hock to your bookie?”

Marius nodded unhappily. “Eight thousand dollars,” he admitted. “Brody sent a retainer to my management firm a month or two back and said that if he needed my services—it would just be for a few hours, tops—he'd cover my debt.” He shrugged. “He got word to me this morning that I should keep an eye on the dragon.”

“Brody's broke,” said Mallory. “He can't cover his own bets, let alone yours.”

“What am I going to do?” said Marius. “I can't let word get out that I couldn't even magic Gallant Gertie out of that traffic jam on the far turn!”

“Who's your bookie?”

“Hot Horse Hennigan.”

“Tell you what,” said Mallory. “You ride shotgun for us until we get to the Garden, and I think I can convince Hennigan to cancel your debt.”

“Can you really do that?” asked Marius hopefully.

“If the dragon doesn't get there, he stands to drop a hell of a lot more than eight grand.”

“It's a deal!” said Marius enthusiastically.

Mallory turned to Dugan. “Put Dawkins on his feet.”

“He's awake,” said Dugan.

“Do it anyway.”

“My God, you're so forceful!” cooed Belle.

Dugan grabbed Dawkins's arms and jerked, and the rotund man almost flew to his feet.

“You want a little mustard with that?” Mallory asked Felina, who had begun assiduously licking her other forearm.

She smiled at him. “Yes, John Justin.”

“Next mustard farm we pass,” he said. “All right, let's get going.”

They began walking, made it to Madison Avenue, and turned right. They passed a few blocks of run-down stores and shops in the process of being refurbished, then came to a movie theater that advertised a triple feature of
The Man Who Would Be King
.

“How can there be a triple feature of one film?” asked Winnifred.

“Easy,” answered Marius. “The first one is the film John Huston tried to make in the 1940s, with Humphrey Bogart and Clark Gable. Warner Brothers, which owned Bogart, and MGM, which owned Gable, couldn't come to an agreement, and Huston put it on the back burner for almost two decades. The second film on the bill, with Marlon Brando and Richard Burton, fell apart when he couldn't get the financing. And then there's the one he actually made, with Sean Connery and Michael Caine.”

“That's the most fascinating triple feature I ever heard of,” said Winnifred.

“I prefer
The Wizard of Oz
triple feature myself,” replied Marius. “There's the version with Judy Garland as Dorothy and Frank Morgan as the Wizard, and there's the one MGM wanted to make, with Shirley Temple and W. C. Fields.”

“And the third one?”

“That's the one with Bette Davis as Dorothy and Groucho Marx as the Wizard.”

“
Bette Davis?
” said Winnifred in surprise.

“It was a stretch,” admitted Marius.

Suddenly a pair of thugs burst out of an alley, their guns trained on Mallory and Winnifred.

“Freeze!” commanded the first one.

“Except for the fat broad,” said the second. “I want you to bring the dragon over.”

“What did you call me?” said Winnifred ominously.

“Do something quick!” Mallory whispered to Marius.

“Don't worry,” said the mage. “They probably won't hurt her.”

“I'm not worrying about
her
,” said Mallory. “I've seen that look in her eye before. Do something before
she
kills
them
!”

“Really?” said Marius, his face alight with interest. “I'd pay to see that.” Suddenly the interest vanished. “If I had any money.”

He pointed toward the two thugs. “Abra cadaver!” he intoned.

Suddenly instead of wicked-looking guns, the two thugs found themselves holding wicked-looking rats, which immediately began gnawing on their hands. They screamed and threw the rats to the ground, then pulled out knives.

“Presto!” cried Marius, and the knives changed into two pieces of spaghetti. The spaghetti instantly morphed from pasta to steel and wrapped itself around their wrists, handcuffing them. The thugs looked at their wrists, then the rats, then Marius, and suddenly bolted back into the alley.

“Not bad,” said Mallory.

“Not bad?” repeated Marius. “It was goddamned brilliant!”

“You go ahead to the show,” said Felina, stealthily tiptoeing through the snow toward the rats. “I'll make sure the poor things aren't in any pain.”

“For long,” said Mallory dryly.

“Cute little furry little plump little things!” purred Felina.

“You're all heart,” said Mallory.

“I'll catch up with you in a few minutes,” she said as one of the rats bolted for the alley and she blocked his line of retreat.

“Let's go,” said Mallory to his party. “It's too cold to stand and wait for her. Besides, she likes to play with her dinner. You really don't want to watch.”

They kept walking. The area was in transition, with elegant seventy-year-old buildings and ugly twenty-year-old buildings being torn down and replaced by characterless twenty-week-old buildings, though the same grifters and panhandlers—some human, some reptilian, some defying all description—had made their adjustments and were plying their trade.

Mallory's party ran the gamut of entrepreneurial goblins selling everything from Everglades real estate to thick tomes of philosophy by Descartes and Schopenhauer (but filled with full-page pornographic illustrations to liven up the text) to flea circuses complete with tightropes and trapeze. By the time they were within a block of Madison Round Garden, uniformed police—some human, some with scaly green tails—had dispersed the goblins, and Felina rejoined them as they began their final approach to the stadium.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” asked Mallory.

“They make great playmates,” replied Felina happily, stifling a ladylike burp.

“What's that up ahead?” asked Dawkins, pointing to where a crowd had gathered just outside the Garden.

“I don't know,” said Mallory. “They're not in one of the ticket lines.”

“I smell smoke,” said Belle.

Mallory frowned. “Something's on fire.”

“Not yet,” said Marius, staring ahead. “Something's hanging, and they're trying to set it on fire.”

“Oh, that's probably Heartless Herman,” said Dawkins knowingly.

“The coach of the Manhattan Misfits?” asked Mallory.

“Well, he
is
three-and-forty-nine for the season,” said Dawkins.

“So they're hanging him in effigy,” said Mallory with a shrug. “You have to expect it with a record like that.”

“They're not hanging a dummy, John Justin,” said Winnifred suddenly as she peered ahead. “They're hanging
him
!”

Mallory stared intently for a few seconds. “Son of a bitch!” he said. “That
is
him!”

“It's snowing,” observed Felina. “Maybe the fire will warm him up.”

“Stand back,” said Winnifred, stepping forward.

A single shot rang out. The bullet severed the rope that was holding Herman up, and he fell to the ground just before they could set him afire. Winnifred kept her handgun out in plain sight and pushed her way through the crowd.

“Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?” she demanded.

“You betcha!” said one man disgustedly. “I'm ashamed I ever bought season tickets once they announced Heartless Herman was going to be the coach.”

“I'm ashamed we didn't think of this sooner,” added a woman.

“I want you to break this up and go about your business,” said Winnifred.

“Don't be silly!” said another woman. “Hanging Herman
is
our business.”

Winnifred fired a shot in the air. “You heard me!”

“The fat broad's got some moxie,” whispered Belle. “I'll give her that.”

“Yes, she does,” said Mallory admiringly.

“She's a lot of woman,” agreed Marius.

“I wouldn't word it quite that way,” said Mallory. “She's a little sensitive about some things.”

“Of course, if you ever touch her,” added Belle, “I'll scratch your eyes out.”

Mallory resisted the urge to ask what she'd scratch his eyes out
with
, and watched as the crowd, ugly and grumbling, slowly dispersed.

When they'd all gone, Winnifred walked over to the fallen coach. “You can get up now,” she said.

Herman got to his feet, brushed himself off, and turned to her. “You saved my life,” he said. “I owe you a—” He broke off and stared at her, his mouth hanging open.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Winnifred?” he said slowly. “Winnifred Carruthers?”

“That's right.”

“It must be Fate!” exclaimed Herman. “I had a crush on you when we were in grammar school together.”

“Herman Bouillabaisse?” she said, staring at him.

“Yes!” he said happily. “It's me!”

She reached over and slapped his face.

“What was that for?” demanded Herman.

“For what you tried to do that afternoon near our lockers.”

“What the hell did I do?”

She slapped him again. “That's for not remembering.”

“You always had a lot of spunk,” he said ruefully, rubbing his jaw.

“You're one very lucky man,” said Winnifred.

“That you showed up?”

“That you're three-and-forty-nine. If you were two-and-fifty, I'd probably have lit the fire myself.” She looked around. “If I were you, I'd leave before they came back.”