M.Y.T.H. Inc. In Action

Chapter Eight:

"It takes one to know one!"

-JACK D. RIPPER

TO SAY THE proprietor's accusation caused a stir at our table is like sayin' it would cause raised eyebrows to have Don Bruce as the guest speaker at a Policeman's Banquet. Unfortuitously, everyone had different questions to ask.

"What's he mean 'demon'?" Spyder demanded.

I started to answer her, as I knew from my work with the Boss that a demon is the commonly accepted term for a dimension traveler, but there was too much cross-talk for rational-type conversation.

"Are we supposed to leave?" Spellin' Bee sez, scared-like as he peered at the retreatin' figure.

"What's wrong with Dragon Poker?" Shu Flie put in.

"Nothin'!" I sez to him. "You see, Spyder ..."

"Then what put the burr under his saddle?" Shu pressed, startin' to get under my skin.

Fortunately, in trainin' I have discovered there is one way to shut this particular individual up when he gets on a roll.

"Shu Flie," I sez, "don't bother me."

It was an old joke by this time, but it still got a laugh ... which is not surprisin' as I have found that the vast majority of army humor pivots on old jokes.

"Watch yourself, brother," Hy Flie sez, pokin' Shu in the ribs. "The Swatter there is lookin' to squash a fly again ... and he might not be too picky about which of us he swats."

Under the cover of this new round of laughs, Nunzio leans forward to talk to me direct. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, cuz?"

"That, of course, depends upon what it is you are thinkin', Nunzio," I sez, reasonable-like. "If, perchance, you are thinkin' that you can color our cover 'blown,' then we are, indeed, thinkin' along the same lines,"

To my surprise, instead of agreein' he rolls his eyes like he does when I'm missin' something which to him is obvious.

"Think it through, Guido," he sez. "He thinks we're from off-dimension, because we know about Dragon Poker ... right?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So how does he know about it?" To me, this question is as trivial as wonderin' how a cop happens to know about a particular ordinance ... which is to say it is beside the point, totally overlookin' the immediate dilemma of dealin' with the aftermath of us gettin' caught breakin' it.

"I dunno. I guess someone showed it to him. So what?"

For some reason, this seems to get Nunzio even more upset.

"Guido," he sez, clenchin' his teeth, "sometimes I wonder if all those knocks on the head you've taken have ... oops! He's coming back. Quick ... Bee?"

"Yes, Nunzio?" our junior magician sez, blinkin' with surprise at havin' been suddenly included in our discussion.

"Get your Dis-spell ready, and when I give you the nod ... throw it on the proprietor."

"The proprietor? Why?"

"Bee ... just do it. Okay?" I interrupts, havin' learned from experience that the only thing that takes longer than listenin' to one of Nunzio's lectures is tryin' to pry a straight answer out of him when he's tryin' to let you discover the point yourself.

Bee starts to say somethin', then shuts his mouth, shrugs, startin' to mumble and mutter like he does when he's gettin' ready to use magik.

The others at the table look at Nunzio expectantlike, but he just leans back in his chair lookin' confident and smug. I, of course, imitate his action, though I have no more idea what he is about to pull than the rest of the crew. You see, past experience has taught me that one of the best times to act confident is when youse is totally in the dark ... but would just as soon no one else is aware of your ignorance.

"Are you still here?" the proprietor demands, materializin' beside our table again. "I don't want to have to tell you again! Now get out before I call the cops!"

"I don't think so," Nunzio sez, starin' at the ceilin'.

"WHAT??!!"

"... In fact, I was thinkin' we might want to make your place our home away from home ... If you know what I mean."

"Izzat so?! Think just 'cause you're in the Army you can do anything you want, do you? Well, let me tell you something, soldier-boy. I happen to be a tax paying member of this community in good standing with the authorities, and soldiers or not they don't take too kindly to demons in these parts. In fact, I can't think of one good reason why I shouldn't call the police right now and have them drag you all right out of here!"

"I can," Nunzio smiles, and nods at Bee.

At the cue, Spellin' Bee squares his shoulders, purses his lips, and lets fly with his Dis-Spell, and ...

"What the ..."

"MY GOD!!!"

"Lookit ..."

The reason for this outpourin' of surprise and disbelief on the part of our crew is that, despite our time with them, Nunzio and me has failed to brief or otherwise prepare them for acceptin' the concept of demons ... which is what they're suddenly confronted with. That is, as soon as Bee completed his spell, there was a ripplin' in the air around the proprietor, and instead of a greasy local type, he now looked just like ...

"A Deveel!" I sez, hidin' my own surprise.

Actually, I am a little annoyed at myself for not havin' figured it out on my own. I mean, no matter what he looked like, I had been thinkin' that he was actin' like a Deveel since I first set eyes on him.

The reaction of our crew to this discovery, however, is nothin' compared to the reaction we gets from the proprietor.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!??" he screeches, lookin' around the place desperately, only to find we are the only ones present. "YOU TRYIN' TO GET ME LYNCHED???"

With that, he goes scuttlin' off, leavin' Nunzio and me to deal with the confusion caused by the removal of his disguise.

"THAT WAS A DEVIL!!!"

I miss who exactly it is who observes this particular utterance, as it is said behind me and the choked, gargley nature of the voice makes positive identification no easy task. Still, I have no difficulty comin' up with a response.

"I know. That's what I said before," I explain.

"No, you said he was a Da-veel," Junebug sez frownin'.

"Same difference," I shrugs.

"Look," Spyder sez, holdin' up a hand to the others for them to be quiet. "Are you guys going to tell us what's goin' on here or not?"

"Guido," Nunzio sez, jerkin' his head in the direction the proprietor has gone. "Why don't you go do a little negotiating with our host before he gets too recovered from our little surprise, whilst I try to explain the facts of life to our colleagues."

This is fine by me, as I do not share my cousin's love of lengthy and confusin' explanations and am glad to be excused from what promises to be a classic opportunity for him to pontificate. Besides, it is not often that one has a chance to really stick it to a Deveel, and as in those few occasions I have been present for, I have usually had rank pulled on my by the financial types of the M.Y.T.H. Inc. team, I am lookin' forward to a rare opportunity to demonstrate my own negotiatin' talents. Of course, it occurs to me that the only witness I will have for this exercise will be the individual upon whom I am turnin' the screws, and he will doubtless be less than appreciative of my finesse. Doin' one's best work in the absence of witnesses is, however, one of the unfortunate and unjust realities of my chosen profession, and I have long since resigned myself to the burden of anonymity ... tellin' myself that if I had wanted to be a well-known crook, I should have gone into politics.

The proprietor has vanished like a cat burglar at the sound of a bell, but I soon discover him in a

small office behind the bar. He is holdin' one of those small foldin' cases with a mirror in it like broads use to check their makeup, only instead of powder and colored goop, his just seems to have a couple dials in it. Starin' into the mirror, he twiddles with the dials a bit ... and slowly the disguise he was wearin' before came into focus again, leadin' me to conclude that it is some kind of magik device. If it seems to youse that it took me a long time to reach this conclusion, you are makin' the mistake of underestimatin' my speed of thinkin'. Included in my observational analysis was a certain amount of speculation of whether such a device might be handy to have for my own use ... as well as whether it would be better to obtain one on my own or simply include this one in my negotiations.

Apparently the gizmo also functions as a normal mirror, as the proprietor suddenly shifts the angle he is holdin' it at so's we are starin' at each other in the glass, then he snaps it shut and turns to face me.

"What do you want?!" he snarls. "Haven't you done enough to me already?"

I do not even bother tryin' to point out that I am not the one what stripped him of his disguise spell, as I have learned durin' my residence on Deva that unless they are actively sellin', which fortunately is most of the time, Deveels are extremely unpleasant and unreasonable folks who do not accept that simple logic is sufficient reason to stop complainin'. They do, however, respond to reason.

"I have come as a peace emissary," I sez, "in an effort to reach an equitable settlement of our differences."

The Deveel simply makes a rude noise at this, which I magnanimously ignore as I continue.

"I would suggest you meet our offer with equal enthusiasm for peace ... seein' as how continued hostilities between us will doubtless result in my colleagues and me trashin' this fine establishment of yours ..."

"What? My place?" the proprietor blinks, his mouth continuin' to open and close like a fish out of water.

"... As well as spreadin' the word about your bein' a Deveel to the authorities you was so ungraciously threatenin' us with . , . and anyone else in this town who will listen. Know what I mean?"

Now, I have this joker cold, and we both know it. Still he rallies back like a punch-drunk boxing champ on the downslide, fightin' more from guts and habit than from any hope of winnin'.

"You can't do that!" he sez, gettin' his mouth workin' well enough to at least sputter. "If you turn me in as a demon, then I'll incriminate you, too! We'll all end up getting killed, or at least run out of town."

"There is one major difference in our circumstantials which you are overlookin'," I sez, grinnin' at him. "While I will admit that my cousin and me have done some dimension travelin', this particular dimension of Klah happens to be our home territory. The appearances you see are legit and not disguises, so any attempt to accuse us of bein' from off-dimension would be difficult to prove, as we are not. On the other hand, you, bereft of disguise, would encounter extreme difficulty in convincin' a jury or lynch mob that you was from around here."

I thought this would bring any resistance on the proprietor's part to an end, but instead he straightens up and frowns, his eyes takin' on a mean glitter.

"You're from this dimension? You wouldn't happen to know a local magician and demon by the name of Skeeve, would you?"

As I have said before, I have not reached my current age and position by panicking under crosstype examination or by overratin' the necessity for voicin' the whole truth. I can see that this Deveel has some kind of grudge against the Boss, so while habitually avoidin' any false statement which could lead to perjury charges, I am careful not to acknowledge my actual relationship with the individual in question.

"Skeeve?" I sez, frownin' dramatically like I learned to do in theater. "I think I may have heard the name while I was workin' at the Bazaar, but I ain't heard it recently."

"Too bad," the Deveel mutters, almost to himself. "I owe that Klahd a bad turn or two. I spent a couple of years as a statue under a cloud of pigeons because of him. In fact I'd still be there if it weren't for ... but that's another story, if you know what I mean."

Of course, from workin' with the Boss, I knew exactly what he meant ... that the story of his escape was gonna be marketed separately sometime as a short story to generate additional revenue whilst promotin' these books at the same time. Of course, admittin' this understandin' would have been a dead giveaway, so I decide to change the subject instead.

"Yeah, sure. Say, speakin' of names, what's yours, anyway? I mean your real name, not this Abdul alias."

"What? Oh! It's Frumple ... or it used to be back when I was welcome in my own dimension of Deva."

That had a familiar sound to it, but I decide enough is enough, and take a firm grip on the subject at hand.

"Well, I'm Guido and my cousin what was talkin' to you back at the table is Nunzio ... and I believe we was discussin' the terms of our peaceful coexistence with youse?"

Frumple cocked his head to one side, studyin' me close-like.

"You know," he sez, "you sound like you work for the Mob. In fact, now that I think about it, I seem to recall hearing something about the Mob trying to move in on the Bazaar."

"Yeah? So?"

"So I'm already making yearly protection payments to the Mob, and I don't see why I should stand for being shaken down for anything extra."

This information that the Mob is operatin' in these parts is disquietin' to say the least, but I manage not to show any surprise or nervousness.

"Really?" I sez. "Tell me, does your local Mob sales rep know that you're a Deveel?"

"Okay, okay! I get the point," Frumple says, throwin' up his hands. "What do you want to keep that information quiet?"

"Well, since we're lookin' to make this our hangout for a while, I figure we can protect your little secret as a courtesy."

"Really?"

"Sure," I smiles. "Of course, in return, it would be nice if you extended the hospitality of your establishment to us and our friends ... as a courtesy."

"I see," he sez, tightenin' his lips to a crooked line. "All right, I guess I don't have much choice. It'll be cheaper to give you free drinks than to have to relocate and start building a business up from scratch. I'll give you free drinks, and maybe an occasional meal. The rooms upstairs are out, though. If I start letting you use those for free, I'll go out of business anyway. They're the profit margin that keeps this place afloat."

"Rooms?"

"Yeah. I've got a few rooms upstairs that I rent to the customers by the hour so they can ... have some privacy with any interesting people they happen to meet here. You see, this place gets pretty lively evenings. Its one of the more popular singles bars in town."

"You mean you got broads workin' the joint at night?"

"Certainly not! The women who hang out here have regular high-paying jobs and wouldn't dream of charging for their company."

"So the customers pay you for the rooms, but not the broads," I sez. "Sounds like a sweet setup to me."

"Not that sweet," Frumple amends, hastily. "Still, it helps pay the rent."

"Okay. I think we can settle for drinks and food," I shrugs. "Come on out front, Frumple, and I'll let you buy me a drink to show there's no hard feelin's."

"You're too kind," the Deveel grumbles, but he follows me out of the office.

"I think champagne would be appropriate to seal our agreement, don't you?" I sez. "White champagne."

"White champagne?"

"Of course," I smiles, glad for a chance to show off my knowledge and culture. "This here is a sushi bar, ain't it? You think I don't know what color champagne to have with fish?"