Stalking the Dragon (16 page)

C
HAPTER
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.”

“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.

“You're
sure
it's here?” demanded Mallory after they'd gone another hundred yards.

“We're getting close,” said Dawkins. “Trust me.”

“What is it—a drive-through?”

“No, of course not,” said Dawkins. “It's a regular shop. No
real
New Yorkers own cars.” Suddenly the tunnel wall jutted out, forming a cozy and dimly lit alcove. “Here we are.”

An old man with wild, unkempt white hair and a bushy white beard stood behind a counter. “Hi, Gently Gently. Long time no see.”

“What are you talking about?” said Dawkins, frowning. “I was just here this afternoon.”

“I was referring to that C-note you've owed me for two months,” said the man. “Even you have to admit that's a long time.”

“I'm working on it,” said Dawkins. “You have to understand: Harry barely pays me enough to eat.”

“Yeah, I suppose when you live alone and your food budget tops fifteen hundred dollars a week…”

“Speaking of food,” said Dawkins, peering through the glass countertop, “what have you got?”

“The usual.”

“Have you got any elephant-shaped chocolate marshmallow cookies?” asked Mallory.

“Who's your friend?” asked the bearded man.

“John Justin Mallory, say hello to Butcher Burstein.”

“Butcher?” asked Mallory curiously.

“Candy butcher,” replied the old man. “And in answer to your question, I'm out of the elephant-shaped ones. I could sell you some rhino-shaped ones to hold you until my next batch arrives.”

“Did you sell them today?” asked Mallory.

“Matter of fact I did.”

“To whom?”

“I run a candy counter in a tunnel,” replied Burstein. “I don't keep records.”

“The guy who bought them—was he a big man, real broad head, with a couple of horns growing out of it?”

“Now that you mention it, he was,” said the old man.

“Did he have a dragon with him?”

“In a traffic tunnel? It wouldn't fit.”

“This was a little one,” said Mallory. “Maybe the size of a small cocker spaniel.”

Burstein's eyes lit up. “A cocker spaniel?” he repeated in awed tones. “I've never seen anything that rare!”

Mallory stared at him for a moment. Finally he used his hands to indicate Fluffy's size.

“Nope,” said Burstein.

“Damn!” said Mallory. “Then we still don't know where he's got her.”

“I might be able to help,” offered the old man.

“How?”

“I only had three of the cookies left, and he told me that wasn't enough, that he'd pay top dollar for them. He wouldn't take any substitutes, and he wasn't willing to wait until my new batch came in. So I sent him to Horrid Hubert's.”

“Oh, shit!” moaned Dawkins.

“Who's Horrid Hubert?” asked Mallory.

“He's more of a what than a who,” replied Dawkins. “As hungry as I get, I've never been so hungry that I was willing to go to Horrid Hubert's.”

“But he sells the cookies?” persisted Mallory.

“Oh, no question about it,” answered Burstein. “Mostly to little boys and girls who are never seen again.”

“Where's he located?”

“Let me see now,” said Burstein. “He used to be at the corner of Sloth and Gluttony…”

“That's where I first saw him,” Dawkins chimed in.

“But now he's got a concession at the Arkham Spell and Curse Shoppe, a few blocks north of the Vampire State Building over on Despair Street.”

“Okay, that's our next stop, I guess.”

“You
sure
?” said Burstein. “I mean, they're good cookies, but nothing is
that
good.”

“No choice,” replied Mallory.

“Well, meaning no disrespect, I hope you ain't relying on Gently Gently to protect you.”

“Do I
need
protection?”

Burstein shrugged. “I suppose it all depends on whether or not you want to wake up tomorrow.”

“Well, if push comes to shove, I've got the zombie,” said Mallory. “I don't suppose you can be afraid of anything once you're already dead.” He paused. “Thanks for your help.” He turned to Felina, Dawkins, and Dugan. “Okay, let's go.”

“Where to?” asked Dawkins.

“Horrid Hubert's,” replied Mallory.

“Oh, shit!” groaned Dead End Dugan.

C
HAPTER
21

4:29
AM
–5:16
AM

Mallory's little group turned onto Despair and headed toward the Arkham Spell and Curse Shoppe.

“Do we really have to do this?” asked Gently Gently Dawkins. “I mean, what are the odds that Brody actually sought out”—a slight shudder—“Horrid Hubert, when so many others sell the same thing?”

“Almost nobody else sells the same thing,” said Mallory. “If you're frightened, you can wait outside.”

“Me, frightened?” said Dawkins in a shaky voice. “Silliest thing I ever heard.” A pause. “Terrified, maybe.”

“What's he like?”

“He's exactly like…like someone who would be called Horrid Hubert.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Mallory. He turned to Dead End Dugan. “Have you got anything to add to that?”

“What kind of thing?” asked Dugan, checking his pockets for things.

“Forget it,” said Mallory.

“Forget what?” replied Dugan.

“I
like
you,” said Felina, purring and rubbing her hip against Dugan. “You're the only one who makes sense. Besides me, that is.”

“Did I hear someone mention scents?” said a goblin, stepping out from the shadow of a tall building. He turned to Dugan and inhaled deeply. “Just in time, too.”

“Go away,” said Mallory.

“Not so fast, friend,” said the goblin. “I have a license to peddle scents on Gluttony Street.”

“We're on Despair.”

The goblin shrugged. “Just as well I sold it, then. Now, let's be perfectly
honest: Your friend isn't likely to attract the girl of his dreams smelling the way he does now.”

“I have a feeling that is precisely the way he'll attract the girl of his dreams,” said Mallory.

The goblin threw back his head and laughed. “What a kidder! I like that in a client.” The laugh ended as quickly as it began. “Now to get serious, sir—I happen to have rose, violet, jasmine, daffodil, jack-in-the-pulpit, My Sin, Your Sin, Their Sin, Chanel Number Three X Squared, fudge, mozzarella, and pistachio, all in two-ounce spray bottles.”

“Leave us alone.”

“I've also got Tomcat and Mighty Numa for the lady cat-thing,” continued the goblin.

“Fine,” said Mallory. “Let
her
pay for it.”

“C'mere, cat-thing,” said the goblin, pulling a bottle out of his overcoat. “Let me give you a free sample. Stand back, everyone. This will drive her mad with lust.”

Felina approached him, and he directed a spray at her. There was no reaction.

“Do you have something in Very Dead Tuna?” she asked.

“How dead does it have to be?” replied the goblin.

“Why?” interjected Mallory.

“My wife's pet tuna is in a tank on the next block,” explained the goblin. “I could pop over there, slaughter the ugly beast, chop it into small unappetizing pieces, put them under a tanning lamp to rot and start to stink, and get back in, oh, say five hours.” He turned to Felina. “Will you wait?”

“She will not,” said Mallory.

“Ten percent off,” said the goblin.

“Go away.”

“Tell you what—I'll throw in his leash as well.”

“Your tuna has a leash?” said Mallory.

“Well, my dog Spot did,” answered the goblin. “He's in bottle one-fifty-four now: Essence of Rin Tin Tin.”

“Why not Essence of Spot?” asked Dawkins.

Mallory stared at him. “Even
I
think that's a dumb question.”

“Oh, of course!” said Dawkins with an embarrassed smile. “Sprays are just one color. You could never prove it was Spot.”

Mallory fought back an urge to apologize to the goblin for his companions. Finally he just began walking again.

“Hey, fella, capitalism is a two-way street!” yelled the goblin. “You're not keeping up your end of it.”

Mallory kept walking, joined by Dugan, Dawkins, and Felina.

“Damn!” said the goblin just before they were out of earshot. “Two MBA degrees and five years apprenticing, and this is what it gets me! I should have taken that offer to star in
The Sylvester Stallone Story
. But no, not me—I'm a people kind of guy. I live for interaction with my peers.” He stopped and sniffed the air. “What smells?” He frowned. “Could it be me? But I bathed just last July! Nah, it must be my imagination.”

They reached the Vampire State Building in another five minutes.

“Yo, Mallory!” called the guard, who was hanging by his heels from the top of the doorway. “How's it going?”

“Hi, Boris,” said Mallory, waving to him.

“You
know
him?” asked Dawkins, obviously impressed.

“I had a case that took me here last Halloween,” said Mallory.

“Is it true what they say about lady vampires?” continued Dawkins.

“I suppose it all depends what they say.”

“I'm too embarrassed to repeat it out loud.”

“Then it's probably true,” replied Mallory. “How long now?”

“That's a very personal question, Mr. Mallory,” said Dawkins in outraged tones.

“How long until we get to Horrid Hubert's?”

“Oh,” said Dawkins, blushing. “I thought since we were talking about sexy lady vampires…”

“Only one of us was,” said Mallory.

“No, I was too,” said Dawkins.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“It's four more blocks.”

They passed a religious-goods store that specialized in crosses (life size, with or without hammer and nails), a barer bond shop (“Our leather bonds are
nakeder than anyone else's!”), a bar catering exclusively to vampires (guaranteeing the most authentic Blood Marys in town—while Mary lasted), a block-long department store that advertised departments of all shapes and sizes, a pair of palm readers (who were studying a novel that had been carved into the trunk of a potted palm tree), and a restaurant catering to Vegan vegetarians (whose manager had just thrown a well-dressed young man out onto the sidewalk, snarling “Can't you read? If you're not from Vega, you're not welcome here!”).

“I just remembered,” said Dugan as they neared their destination. “It's in the cabinet just to the left of the refrigerator.”

“What is?” asked Mallory.

Dugan frowned. “I don't know.”

“What do you usually keep next to the refrigerator?”

“I don't have a refrigerator.”

Mallory looked from Dugan to Dawkins and back again, then sighed and shook his head. “And Harry lets you both live. Amazing.”

“Dugan isn't technically alive,” noted Dawkins.

“Thanks for that correction,” said Mallory. “Now I want both of you to shut up until we get there.”

“Get where?” asked Dugan.

“I'll let you know,” said Mallory. He turned to Felina. “You too. And if you say ‘No, me Felina,' what's left of you will be stringing a tennis racket.”

The cat-girl giggled. “You're funny, John Justin.”

Mallory decided he might explode if he counted all the way to ten, so he stopped at five and began walking again. He slowed down when he saw a line of morbidly obese men, women, and children entering a nondescript shop a few yards up ahead. The red bricks had seen better days, the dirt on the small windows was so thick it actually hid a couple of cracks, and the door had Happy Hubert's emblazoned on it in tarnished gold letters.

“That's it?” he asked Dawkins.

“That's the place.”

“
Happy
Hubert's?” said Mallory.

“Well, I suppose
he's
happy.”

Mallory stared at each of his companions in turn. “Dugan, you come with me. You other two, stay outside.”

“Why?” asked Dawkins.

“Because you're drooling already, and Felina will grab anything that isn't nailed down.”

“Or glued,” said the cat-girl helpfully. “You forgot glued down, John Justin.”

“I lost my head,” said Mallory. “Or glued down. Happy now?”

“Yes, John Justin,” she said, rubbing against him. “Skritch my back.”

“Later.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because we're on a case.”

“Oh,” said Felina. A brief pause. “Is it later yet?”

“I'll let you know,” said Mallory.

“Thank you, John Justin. You're a very nice man…”

“You're welcome.”

“…for a fiend who won't skritch my back.”

“Dawkins,” said Mallory as they reached the Arkham Spell and Curse Shoppe, “make yourself useful and skritch her back. Come on, Dugan.”

As they were entering the store, Mallory heard Felina hiss and say, “You're
scratching
! I want you to
skritch
!”

Then they were inside. There were display cases and shelves filled with newt's eyes, lizard's tongues, raven's claws, the teeth of some lizard that Mallory hoped he'd never encounter, and hundreds of dusty, moldering grimoires and spell books. There was also a large candy counter filled with millions of calories in incredibly tempting forms, and it was here that almost all the people were lined up.

Behind it sat the strangest man Mallory had ever seen. Plump was an understatement. So was fat. So was obese. There was simply no word that properly described him. Mallory guessed that he topped out at eight hundred pounds, possibly more.

His head was round, and totally hairless. It sat on his body like a basketball on a beachball. His eyes were barely visible behind his pudgy, bloated cheeks. His mouth seemed twice the normal size, and his teeth practically glistened in their whiteness. The sides of his head were so flabby that his ears almost disappeared from view. His body had some protrusions, and it took
Mallory a minute to realize they were his arms and legs. A colorful macaw sat on his left shoulder, which convinced Mallory he'd been right to leave Felina outside.

The detective stood in line, nudging Dugan, whose mind was clearly elsewhere if at all, every time they had to move forward, and after ten minutes he found himself facing Horrid Hubert.

“I don't recognize you,” said Hubert in a voice that was smoother than oil. He smiled, and Mallory could see that his teeth had been filed.

“This is my first trip here,” said the detective.

“Ah! Fresh flab!” said Hubert enthusiastically.

“Fresh blood,” the macaw corrected him.

Hubert tried to stand up to greet Mallory. He grunted, but nothing happened except that he turned a bright red. He tried again, and began gasping for air.

“Maybe I'll just stay seated,” he said at last.

“You'd better,” agreed Mallory. “I think you were in danger of passing out.”

Hubert shrugged, which sent ripples down to his toes. “I really need to get to the gym more often,” he said. “Once they reinforce the floors.” A smile that was meant to be ingratiating spread across the fullness of his face. “Which of my goodies can I sell you—or are you here for a spell?”

“I'm here for some information,” replied Mallory.

“We sell that too,” said the macaw.

“You heard him,” said Hubert.

“Have you sold any elephant-shaped chocolate marshmallow cookies today?”

“Ah!” said Hubert. “You must be Mallory! He warned me that you might show up here.”

“Brody?”

“Who else?”

“Did he have a dragon with him?” asked Mallory.

“No,” said the macaw.

“That one's on the house,” added Hubert. “The next one is going to cost you.”

“Where was he taking the cookies?” asked Mallory.

“Five thousand dollars,” said the macaw.

“Are you open to a counteroffer?” said Mallory.

“Certainly,” said Hubert. “What is it?”

“Tell me what I want to know, and my friend here”—he patted Dugan on the shoulder—“won't tear your shop apart.”

“No,” said Hubert thoughtfully. “I'd rather have the five grand.”

“You have ten seconds to change your mind,” said Mallory. “Then I turn him loose.”

“In a spell and curse shop?” said Hubert with a laugh. “You have delusions of grandeur.
Abra cadabra!
”

Dugan froze. He hadn't been moving before, but suddenly Mallory knew at a gut level that the zombie was now incapable of motion.

“Now, Mr. Mallory, how about that five thousand dollars?”

“I haven't got it.”

“Then you are destined to leave without what you came here for,” said Hubert.

Mallory decided to play his one trump card. “Okay,” he said. “The Grundy can get his own damned information.”

A look of terror crossed Hubert's face for a moment, and then he suddenly smiled. “Nice try, Mr. Mallory, but the Grundy doesn't need to hire a detective.”

You'd better be watching
, thought Mallory. Aloud he said, “Grundy, you want to set him straight?”

“I have commissioned John Justin Mallory to find a missing dragon,” said the Grundy's voice.

Now I owe
you
one
, thought the detective.

“Omygod!” said the macaw, starting to tremble. “Omygod! Omygod!”

“Hey, Mr. Grundy, sir, we were just kidding around!” yelled Hubert. He turned back to Mallory. “I don't know where he's holed up, but I know he was going to the Cut-Rate Elixir Shop when he left here. He was looking for something to calm his nerves.”

“I'll bet he was,” said Mallory. “He probably figured out who really wants that dragon found.” Suddenly a strange odor came to his nostrils. “What the hell is
that
?”

“What?” asked Hubert, looking around.

“That smell.”

“Oh, that's just the furnace next door.”

“But I smell it
here
.”

“The two stores are connected,” said Hubert.

Mallory frowned, his nostrils smarting. “What's it burning?”

“It's rendering lard,” answered Hubert. “We supply it for the whole city.”