Stalking the Unicorn: A Fable of Tonight (22 page)

"Well,” said Mallory, returning to the cat-girl, “I think it's time for us to get over to the Stock Exchange."

"You look puzzled,” noted Felina, who was sitting on the sidewalk playing with the ball of string she had brought down from Gillespie's room.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Something very strange is going on,” he said, frowning.

"I know. The Grundy stole a unicorn."

He shook his head. “It's more than that. I've got a feeling that I have enough pieces now to start putting things together, but they just don't fit.” He paused. “I know
what's
happening, but I don't know
why!"

"I don't know what you're talking about,” said Felina. Suddenly she smiled. “But I do know one thing."

"Oh? What's that?"

"You owe me one of those silver things."

"What silver things?” asked Mallory, thoroughly confused.

"You promised to buy it for me if we found Gillespie's room."

"Oh, that! So I did,” he sighed. “All right—we'll walk south on Broadway. If it's cheap and tawdry, it'll be for sale there."

He began to search for a street with which he was familiar. Once he got his bearings it took less than five minutes for him and Felina to reach the shining neon lights of the Great White Way, where he entered a souvenir shop and soon emerged with a silver-sequined G-string, which Felina immediately wrapped around her arm.

"That's not where you're supposed to wear it,” he commented.

"I want to be able to see it,” she said, holding it up to the light. She displayed it proudly for Mallory, who paid no attention. “You're still frowning,” she said.

"I'm still trying to figure things out,” he answered distractedly.

"Can I help?"

"I don't think so.” He swore softly. “Damn! I'm so goddamned close to putting it together that I can taste it!"

He checked his watch and sighed deeply.

"We'd better get on over to the Stock Exchange and see if Winnifred or Mephisto had any better luck than we did."

But even as he said it, he knew that his companions’ quests would have turned out to be fruitless. Deep down in his gut he was absolutely certain that he had learned everything he needed to know, that if he could just find some way to juggle and rearrange the bits of knowledge and information he possessed the entire picture would finally take shape and become clear.

He was still moving the pieces around without any noticeable success when they reached Wall Street.

[Back to Table of Contents]

2:12 AM-2:38 AM

The rain had stopped by the time Mallory and Felina arrived at the Stock Exchange, and a cold, bone-chilling wind had taken its place. There was no one waiting for them.

The detective looked up and down Wall Street; a few stray pieces of paper were skimming along the ground, and an old dog limped down the center of the sidewalk a block away, but there was no sign of Winnifred or Mephisto.

"Well, we're a couple of minutes early,” he said, checking his watch. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. It looks like we're going to have to wait for a while."

Suddenly he heard an eerie wailing.

"What was that?” he asked.

Felina tensed and looked around. “Something's dying,” she said with conviction.

He shook his head. “It's probably just the wind."

"Something old and feeble,” she purred, her nostrils twitching as she tested the wind for scents.

"Nothing old and feeble could sound that loud,” said Mallory as the wailing sound came to his ears again. It seemed to bespeak an infinite sadness, and terminated in a low, mournful moan.

"Something old and sick and feeble and tasty,” crooned the cat-girl.

"I'll settle for it just being feeble,” said Mallory devoutly.

A sheet of paper flew by, carried by the wind, and Mallory grabbed it out of the air. It was a newspaper, dated October 29, 1929.

BLACK TUESDAY! proclaimed the headline. STOCK MARKET CRASHES!

Curious, Mallory began reading the lead story, then lost interest and skimmed an article explaining why talking pictures would drag Hollywood down to financial disaster. Finally he flipped the sheet over and began reading an item about a promising two-year-old named Gallant Fox.

When he was through, he tossed the paper onto the ground and looked down the street again.

"Still no sign of them,” he said. He heard another mournful wail. “I wonder what the hell that is?” he asked uneasily.

It was then he discovered that he was alone.

"Felina!” he yelled, but there was no response.

He ran to a corner and looked down the cross street, calling her name again, but couldn't see any sign of her. He then walked back to the front of the building. When he heard the sound of the wind blowing ropes against metal, he checked the various flagpoles that jutted out over the sidewalk, hoping that she might be perched atop one of them. She wasn't.

"Our noble little group seems to keep getting nobler and littler,” he muttered, putting his hands in his pockets and pacing up and down in front of the building. After a moment he decided to have a cigarette, and turned his back to the street to shield his lighter from the wind. When he turned around again he found himself facing the Great Mephisto, who had his cape wrapped tightly around his tuxedo.

"Sorry I'm late,” said the magician. “Where are Winnifred and the little horse?"

"They haven't shown up yet."

"And the cat-girl?"

"She was here a minute ago,” said Mallory, frowning.

Mephisto stepped into a recessed doorway. “This damned cape!” he complained. “It's great against snow and rain, but it doesn't do a damned thing for wind.” He grimaced. “Serves me right for not getting a name brand, I suppose."

"What did you find out?” asked Mallory.

"I still don't know where Larkspur is,” replied Mephisto, “but I do know that the Grundy doesn't have him."

"Where is the Grundy now?"

Mephisto shrugged. “I haven't the slightest idea."

Mallory frowned. “Just a minute. I thought you just saw him."

"I never said that. I said that he didn't have Larkspur."

"How could you know that if you don't know where he is?"

Mephisto smiled. “There's more than one way to skin a cat—with apologies to your feline friend. The Grundy's too well-protected for anyone, even the world's greatest magician"—he bowed—"to just walk over to his headquarters and see what's going on.” He paused. “I gave serious consideration to using my crystal ball, but it's rather like a two-way television set: if
I
looked in on him,
he'd
be able to see
me.
I didn't like that idea very much; in fact, I positively
hated
it."

"So what did you do?"

"A number of his flunkies—mostly goblins and trolls—tend to gather at a little pub not too far from here for drinks and cards. So I went over there, bought a round of drinks for the house, sat in for a few hands, and kept my ears open.” He grinned triumphantly. “I even won twelve dollars."

"What did they say?” asked Mallory, stubbing out his cigarette and trying to light another. The wind kept blowing out his flame, and he finally gave up and put it back in his pocket.

"Well, most of them weren't there,” said Mephisto, “but the two who were told me that he's absolutely livid about something."

Suddenly Mallory chuckled. “I'll just bet he is."

"What are you talking about?” demanded Mephisto.

"The last piece just fell into place,” Mallory announced.

"What piece?"

"The last piece of the puzzle,” said Mallory. “I knew most of it when I left the Kringleman Arms; you just gave me the rest."

"What's the Kringleman Arms?"

"That's where Gillespie lives."

"You actually found him?” exclaimed Mephisto.

"No."

"But you learned something anyway?” persisted the magician.

"Just about everything,” replied Mallory. “But one thing kept bothering me: if the Grundy is so goddamned powerful, why are Mürgenstürm and I still alive? He may not know about you and Winnifred yet, but it's obvious that—"

"Yet?"
yelped Mephisto, so upset that he let his cape fall open. “What do you mean—
yet?"

"He's bound to find out about you sooner or later,” said Mallory reasonably.

"Well, he'd damned well better not! That wasn't part of the deal!"

"It doesn't matter,” said Mallory. “None of us are in any danger at the moment."

"Why don't you tell me why you think so, and I'll decide whether or not you're right,” said Mephisto sulkily. Suddenly the magician noticed that his teeth were chattering, and he wrapped his cape around himself again. The chattering continued.

"All right,” said Mallory. “Do you know where the Grundy's flunkies are?"

"Committing crimes, I suppose,” said Mephisto. “Or maybe hunting for his enemies,” he added morosely.

Mallory shook his head. “They're hunting for Larkspur.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I'll tell you something else."

"What?"

"They're not going to find him."

"What makes you say that?” asked Mephisto.

"Because he's dead."

"How do you know?” demanded the magician, startled. “Have you seen his body?"

"No."

"Then what makes you think he's dead?"

Mallory pulled out the leather strap. “The desk clerk found this in Gillespie's room. He thought it was a dog leash.” Mallory paused. “But Felina says there haven't been any dogs in the room, and if this thing had been attached to a dog, she'd have smelled it.” He tossed it to Mephisto. “It's a lead shank. You attach it to a halter to lead an animal around."

"All that means is that Gillespie stole Larkspur,” protested Mephisto. “We already know that."

"It means more than that,” replied Mallory. “He'd never have packed it away in his room if he thought he'd be needing it again."

"Unless he already turned Larkspur over to the Grundy,” pointed out the magician.

"Then why is the Grundy livid? Where are all his flunkies?"

"He's always in a bad mood,” replied Mephisto. “As for his flunkies, New Year's Eve is prime mischief-making time for them. Do you know how many businesses they can loot and how many drunks they can roll before sunrise?"

"He's furious because Gillespie has double-crossed him, and his henchmen are hunting for the unicorn,” repeated Mallory confidently.

"How can you be so sure?” said Mephisto dubiously.

"Because we're still alive,” replied the detective. “He knows that we're looking for Larkspur. He hasn't had any luck on his own, so why kill someone who might lead him to what he's looking for?"

"Stop saying
we!"
snapped Mephisto nervously. “He doesn't know about
me!"

"It doesn't make any difference. You're safe as houses until he finds the ruby.
I'm
the one with the problem."

"You?"

Mallory nodded. “How long will that membrane stay open now that Larkspur's dead?"

Mephisto rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It's difficult to say. It all depends on what time he was killed. I'd guess you have between three and five hours left.” He looked up suddenly. “My God, what a tragedy!"

"I thank you for your concern,” said Mallory, startled by the magician's earnestness.

"I'm not referring to you,” said Mephisto.

"Thanks a heap."

"It's the
city!"
said Mephisto fervently. “Do you know what will happen to it?"

"Nothing,” said Mallory.

"You're wrong! Crime will run rampant! There will be muggings and rapes and murders! The streets won't be safe to walk!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Who do you think commits most of the crimes in your Manhattan?” said Mephisto. “People from here! Didn't you ever wonder why so few perpetrators of violent crimes ever get caught? It's because they go to your world to commit them, and then come back here to avoid pursuit! And now they're all going to be trapped here! Life will be intolerable—it will be just like
your
Manhattan!"

"You'll adjust,” said Mallory.
"We
did."

"How do you adjust to acts of mindless violence?"

Mallory opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly realized that he had no answer. A noise behind him saved him from having to admit that fact to Mephisto.

Mallory and the magician turned to find a uniformed night watchman unlocking the door to the Stock Exchange from the inside.

"You!” said the man, pointing at Mallory.

"Me?” asked the detective, startled.

"You came here with a cat-person, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. I saw you through one of the windows."

"What about it?"

"You'd better come with me,” said the watchman. “She sneaked in here somehow or other, and I can't get her out."

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance,” said Mephisto. “I'm a magician."

"I don't care who the hell takes her out of here, as long as
someone
does,” replied the watchman irritably. “I called the cops, but it's New Year's Eve and they're too damned busy.” He paused. “The bastards actually told me to chase her out myself!” He turned on his heel. “Follow me."

Mallory and Mephisto fell into step behind the watchman as he led them across the marble floor of the outer lobby and up to a set of huge double doors that opened onto the trading floor.

"She's in there,” said the watchman, backing away.

"You're not coming with us?” asked Mallory.

The watchman shook his head vigorously. “You couldn't get me into that place for a million bucks!"

"Why?” asked Mephisto suspiciously. “It's just the floor of the Exchange, isn't it?"

"Right."

"Then why are you afraid to go there?” persisted the magician. “Thousands of people work there every day."

"If it was daytime I wouldn't have any problem,” said the watchman. “But it's different at night."

"Different in what way?” asked Mallory.

"Ghosts!"
whispered the watchman.

"Ghosts?"

The watchman nodded. “Every night at midnight they start wailing and moaning, and they don't quit until maybe an hour before sunrise. The whole damned place is haunted."