Stalking the Unicorn: A Fable of Tonight (2 page)

"Big guys?” asked Mallory. “Look like they've been munching on steroid pills?"

"That's the ones."

"They're not looking to hire a detective,” answered Mallory. “As a matter of fact, they're out to dismember one."

"What did you do to them?” asked Ezekiel.

"Not a damned thing."

"Then why are they after you?"

"They're not,” said Mallory. “They just don't know it yet."

"I don't think I follow you."

Mallory sighed. “Nick needed a grubstake to go out West—Doreen is many things, good and bad, but inexpensive isn't one of them—so he blackmailed some of our clients."

"And left you to take the heat?"

Mallory nodded. “It appears one of them took exception to Nick's notion of fund-raising."

"You'd better tell them that it wasn't your fault."

"I intend to. I just haven't found the right opportunity yet. Something about their faces implies that they're just not in a very conversational mood. I suppose they'll calm down in a couple of days, and we'll work things out."

"How?” asked Ezekiel.

"Well, if all else fails, I'll give them Nick's address in California."

"That doesn't sound like you, Mr. Mallory."

"I got into this business to
catch
blackmailers, not hide them,” replied Mallory.

"I always wondered about that,” said Ezekiel.

"About what?"

"Why someone becomes a detective. It's not as exciting as the TV makes it out to be."

"You ought to see it from
this
side."

"Then why did you become one?"

Mallory shrugged. “I don't know. I saw too many Bogart movies, I guess.” He took the bottle back, filled the New York Mets mug again, took a swallow, and made a face. “It sure as hell isn't the way I imagined it, I'll tell you that. Most of the time I feel like a photographer for
Hustler
—and whenever I
do
luck out and bust a thief or a pusher, he's back on the street before I'm back in the office.” He paused. “The worst part of it is Velma."

"I don't know any Velma,” said Ezekiel.

"Neither do I,” replied Mallory. “But I always wanted a big, soft secretary named Velma. Nothing special: outfitted by Frederick's of Hollywood, slavishly devoted, and maybe a little bit oversexed. Just your typical detective's secretary.” He stared at the bottle. “So what I got was Gracie."

"She's a nice lady."

"I suppose so. But she weighs two hundred pounds, she hasn't gotten one message right in close to two years, all she can talk about is her kid's allergies, and I share her with a one-eyed dentist and a tailor who wears gold chains.” He paused thoughtfully. “I think maybe I'll move to Denver."

"Why Denver?"

"Why not?"

Ezekiel chuckled. “You're always talking about getting out of the business and moving away, but you never do."

"Maybe this time I will,” said Mallory. “There's got to be someplace better than Manhattan.” He paused. “I hear that Phoenix is pretty nice."

"I've been there. You can fry an egg on the street at midnight."

"Then one of the Carolinas."

Ezekiel checked his watch. “I've got to go now, Mr. Mallory,” he said, getting up and walking to the door. “You have a nice evening."

"You, too,” said Mallory.

The old man went out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

Mallory walked over to his window and peered out through the dirt for a couple of minutes. Finally he pulled some peeling gray paint off one of the walls, wondered how such an empty room could seem so small, and sat back down at his desk. He uncapped the whiskey bottle again and had a drink in loving memory of the Velma who never was. He had four more in honor of four unnatural sexual acts he had never had the courage to suggest to Doreen (and which he was absolutely sure she was gleefully performing with Fallico at that very moment), another one for the last race Flyaway had won (assuming that he actually
had
won a race in the dim and distant past; it was always possible that he had only gone to the post eighteen times, and one more for the year that was finally crawling to a close.

He was about to have a drink to mourn the loss of his slippers when he noticed the little green elf standing in front of his desk.

"You're pretty good,” he said admiringly. “But where are the pink elephants?"

"John Justin Mallory?"

"You guys have never talked before,” complained Mallory. “Usually you just sit around singing ‘Santa Lucia.'” He squinted and looked around the office. “Where are the rest of you?"

"Drunk,” said the elf disgustedly. “This won't do at all, John Justin. Not at all."

"The rest of you are drunk?"

"No.
You
are."

"Of course I am. That's why I'm seeing little green men."

"I'm not a man. I'm an elf."

"Whatever,” said Mallory, shrugging. “At least you're little and green.” He looked around the room again. “Where are the elephants?"

"What elephants?” asked the elf.

"My
elephants,” answered Mallory, as if explaining the obvious to a very slow child. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"Mürgenstürm,” said the elf.

"Mürgenstürm?” repeated Mallory, frowning. “I think he's on the next floor."

"No. I
am
Mürgenstürm."

"Have a seat, Mürgenstürm. And you might as well have a drink before you vanish.” He checked the amount of whiskey remaining. “A
short
one."

"I'm not here to drink,” said Mürgenstürm.

"Thank heaven for small favors,” murmured Mallory, raising the bottle to his lips and draining its contents. “Okay,” he said, tossing it into a wastebasket. “I'm all through. Now, sing your song or dance your dance or do whatever you're going to do, and then make way for the elephants."

Mürgenstürm made a face. “We're going to have to get you sobered up, and quickly."

"If you do, you'll disappear,” said Mallory, staring at him owlishly.

"Why did it have to be New Year's Eve?” muttered the elf.

"Probably because yesterday was December thirtieth,” replied Mallory reasonably.

"And why a drunk?"

"Now, hold your horses!” said Mallory irritably. “I may
be
drunk, but I'm not
a
drunk."

"It makes no difference. I need you now, and you're in no condition to work."

Mallory frowned. “I thought
I
needed
you,"
he said, puzzled.

"Maybe a professor of zoology...” muttered Mürgenstürm to himself.

"That sounds like the beginning of a limerick."

The elf uttered a sigh of resignation. “There's no time. It's you or no one."

"And that sounds like a bad love song."

Mürgenstürm walked around the desk to where Mallory was sitting and pinched him on the leg.

"Ouch!
What the hell did you do that for?"

"To prove to you that I'm really here, John Justin. I need you."

Mallory glared at him and rubbed his leg. “Whoever heard of an uppity hallucination?"

"I have a job for you, John Justin Mallory,” said the elf.

"Get someone else. I'm mourning my lost youth and other elements of my past, both real and imagined."

"This is not a dream, this is not a joke, and this is not a delirium tremens,” said the elf urgently. “I absolutely
must
have the help of a trained detective."

Mallory reached into a drawer, pulled out a dog-eared copy of the Yellow Pages, and tossed it onto the desk.

"There's seven or eight hundred of them in town,” he said. “Let your fingers do the walking."

"All the others are already working or are out celebrating,” said Mürgenstürm.

"You mean I'm the only goddamned detective in New York City who's in his office?” demanded Mallory unbelievingly.

"It's New Year's Eve."

Mallory stared at the elf for a long moment. “I take it I'm not exactly your first choice?"

"I began with the
A
's,” admitted Mürgenstürm.

"And worked your way all the way down to Mallory and Fallico? You must have been looking since October."

"I'm very fast when I have to be."

"Then why don't you hustle your little green ass out of here very fast?” said Mallory. “You're making me think."

"John Justin, please believe me when I tell you I wouldn't be here if it wasn't a matter of life and death."

"Whose?"

"Mine,” answered the elf unhappily.

"Yours?"

The elf nodded.

"Someone's out to kill you?"

"It's not that simple."

"Somehow it never is,” said Mallory dryly. “Damn! I'm starting to sober up, and that was my last bottle!"

"Will you help me?” asked the elf.

"Don't be silly. You're going to vanish in another half minute."

"I am
not
going to vanish!” said the elf in desperation. “I am going to die!"

"Right here?” asked Mallory, sliding his chair a few feet back from the desk to make room for a falling body.

"At sunrise, unless you help me."

Mallory stared at Mürgenstürm for a long moment. “How?"

"Something that was entrusted to me is missing, and unless I recover it before morning my life will be forfeit."

"What is it?"

Mürgenstürm returned his stare. “I don't think you're ready for this yet, John Justin."

"How the hell can I find something if I don't even know what I'm looking for?” demanded Mallory.

"True,” admitted the elf.

"Well?"

Mürgenstürm looked at Mallory, sighed, and then blurted it out. “It's a unicorn."

"I don't know whether to laugh in your face or throw you out on your ass,” said Mallory. “Now, go away and let me enjoy what little remains of my inebriated condition."

"I'm not kidding, John Justin!"

"And I'm not buying, Morganthau."

"Mürgenstürm,” corrected the elf.

"I don't care if you're Ronald Reagan. Go away!"

"Name your price,” pleaded Mürgenstürm.

"For finding a unicorn in New York City?” said Mallory sarcastically. “Ten thousand dollars a day, plus expenses."

"Done!” cried the elf, plucking a fat wad of bills out of the air and tossing them onto Mallory's desk.

"Why do I feel that this stuff isn't exactly coin of the realm?” said Mallory as he thumbed through the pile of crisp new hundred-dollar bills.

"I assure you that the serial numbers are on file with your Treasury Department, and the signatures are valid."

Mallory cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Where did it come from?"

"It came from me,” said Mürgenstürm defensively.

"And where did
you
come from?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me,” said Mallory. “I've seen some pretty weird sights in this city, but you sure as hell aren't one of them."

"I live here."

"Where?"

"Manhattan."

"Give me an address."

"I'll do better than that. I'll take you there."

"No, you won't,” said Mallory. “I'm going to close my eyes, and when I open them you and the money will be gone, and there will be pink elephants on my desk."

He shut his eyes for the count of ten, then opened them. Mürgenstürm and the money were still there.

He frowned. “This is going on longer than usual,” he commented. “I wonder what the hell was in that bottle?"

"Just whiskey,” answered the elf. “I am not a figment of your imagination. I am a desperate supplicant who needs your help."

"To find a unicorn."

"That's right."

"Just out of curiosity, how the hell did you manage to lose it? I mean, a unicorn's a pretty big thing to misplace, isn't it?"

"It was stolen,” answered Mürgenstürm.

"Then you don't need a detective at all,” said Mallory.

"I don't?"

"It takes a virgin to catch a unicorn, right? Well, there can't be two dozen virgins left in the whole of Manhattan. Just pay each of them a visit until you come to the one with the unicorn."

"I wish it was that easy,” said Mürgenstürm gloomily.

"Why isn't it?"

"There may be only two dozen virgins in
your
Manhattan, but there are thousands in
mine
—and I've got less than ten hours left."

"Back up a minute,” said Mallory, frowning again. “What's this ‘yours and mine’ stuff? Do you live in Manhattan or don't you?"

Mürgenstürm nodded. “I told you I did."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"I live in the Manhattan you see out of the corner of your eye,” explained the elf. “Every once in a while one of you gets a fleeting glimpse of it, but when you turn to face it head-on, it's gone."

Mallory smiled and snapped his fingers. “Just like that?"

"Protective colorations” replied Mürgenstürm.

"And just where is this Manhattan of yours? Second star to the right and straight on until morning—or maybe over the rainbow?"

"It's right here, all around you,” answered the elf. “It's not a different Manhattan so much as a part of your own Manhattan that you never see."

"Can
you
see it?"

Mürgenstürm nodded. “You just have to know how to look for it."

"How
do
you look for it?” asked Mallory, curious in spite of himself.

Mürgenstürm gestured toward the money. “Accept the job and I'll show you."

"Not a chance,” said Mallory. “But I'm grateful to you, my little green friend. When I wake up, I'm going to write this whole conversation up and send it off to one of those sex forum magazines and let them analyze it. I think they pay fifty bucks if your letter gets published."

The elf lowered his head in defeat. “That's your final word?” he asked.

"Right."

Mürgenstürm drew himself up to his full, if limited, height. “Then I must prepare to meet my death. I'm sorry to have troubled you, John Justin Mallory."

"No trouble at all,” said Mallory.

"You still don't believe any of this, do you?"

"Not a word."

The elf sighed and walked to the door. He opened it and walked out into the hall, then stepped back into the office.

"Are you expecting visitors?” he asked.

"Pink elephants?” asked Mallory.