M.Y.T.H. Inc in Action Read online

  “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?”

  Chapter Nine

  “Manners are acquired, not inherited!”

  S. Penn

  THINGS ARE PRETTY sweet for a while after I make our arrangement with Frumple. The reduced costs of our off-hour drinkin’ are a real boon on the scut wages the army is payin’ us, and the Deveel sure had the right of it when he said his sushi bar was a happy huntin’ grounds when it came to broads. Of course, ‘broads’ is perhaps a misnomenclature for the type of women what hang out at this establishment evenings. These was not the usual gum-snappin, vacant-eyed skirts we are used to assoriatin’ with, but rather the classy, fashion-wise young female executive with a lot on the ball what normally wouldn’t give lunks like us the time of day. It seems that once we invaded the sanctuary of these upwardly mobile females, however, they was open-minded enough to give us serious consideration in their own deliberations. While I will not try to comment on which of these two types of females actually makes for better companions, there are things to be said for each . . . though not all those things are complimentary.

  There are two flies which mar our enjoyment of this ointment, however, and here I am not referrin’ to the Flie brothers. First, there is the ever-present danger of runnin’ into someone from the Mob, as Frumple’s comments have confirmed our suspicion that they maintain some kind of presence here. Second, there is the annoyin’ detail that we are supposed to be working on an assignment, not havin’ a good time. Naturally, this is the subject of no small amount of conversation between Nunzio and me.

  “The trouble is, we can’t really do a good job of disruptin’ without movin’ around town,” I was sayin’ durin’ one such discussion, “and if we move around town, then the odds of our runnin’ into someone from the Mob goes way up!”

  “Then we’ll have to see what we can stir up from right here,” my cousin sez. “When you stop to think about it, this is a pretty good setup for it ... makin’ trouble, I mean. Most of these women have husbands at home, and even the ones that don’t have sufficient standing in the community that if it comes to an altercation, the local authorities will have to take her side of it.”

  “Why do you say that? I mean, why should messin’ with these broads cause any more hassle than any others?”

  Instead of answerin’ right away, Nunzio leans back and gives me the hairy eyeball for a few minutes.

  “Guido,” he says at last, “Are you tryin’ to be stupid just to get a rise out of me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you yourself said that our commander told us that it was okay if we messed with bimbos, but to leave the respectable women alone. Yet now that I am tryin’ to put together a specific course of action, you are actin’ like it is a brandnew concept to you.”

  “It just seems to me that it is a revoltin’ form of class bias and bigotry,” I sez, “assumin’ that a woman’s respectability is a matter of her financial standin’ and education. Wouldn’t it be better if it were the other way around? I mean, if a woman’s respectability determined where she stood in the financial order instead of the other way around?”

  “There are two problems with that,” Nunzio sez. “First of all, the same unfair standard is applied to men as well . . . meanin’ it holds for everyone, not just women. Them what is rich and educated is always deemed more respectable ... if for no other reason than they wield more power and pay more taxes.”

  “That’s true,” I sez, noddin’ thoughtful-like. “The second problem is that it’s completely off the subject of what we was discussin’ . . . which is to say how to cause disruption.”

  “It is?”

  “What is more, any time you try to start a philosophical discussion with me, it is to be taken as a sure sign that you are deliberately tryin’ to divert my attention ... as normally you avoid such conversations like a subpoena.”

  I say nothin’ when he pauses, as he seems to have me cold. I had been tryin’ to change the subject.

  “All of this, the attempt at stupidity and the lame effort at philosophical discussion, leads me to believe that for some reason you are stalling and do not wish to commence working on our assignment. Am I right?”

  I avoid his eyes and shrug kinda vague-like.

  “Come on, Cuz, talk to me,” Nunzio urges. “Are you really havin’ so much fun playing soldier that you want to prolong the experience?”

  “That is not only silly, it is insultin’!” I sez, my annoyance overcomin’ my embarrassment at havin’ been caught.

  “Then what is it? ... If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Well ... to be honest with youse, Nunzio, I feel a little funny stirrin’ up trouble at this particular location, seein’ as how it was me what did the negotiatin’ with Frumple to not cause him any grief.”

  Nunzio throws back his head and gives
a bark of laughter . . . which to me is a dubious way to express his sympathy at my plight.

  “Let me get this straight,” he sez. “You’re worrying about dealing fair with a Deveel?”

  “You may laugh,” I sez, “though I suggest you not do it often when I am the subject of your amusement. Allow me to remind youse, however, that even though Deveels are notoriously hard bargainers, it is also true that once a deal has been struck, they are equally scrupulous about stickin’ to the letter of said agreement. As such, it occurs to me that failin’ to honor one’s own end of such an agreement is to place oneself in a position of bein’ even less trustworthy than a Deveel . . . which is not a label I relish hangin’ upon myself.”

  “Okay . . . let’s examine the letter of said agreement,” Nunzio shrugs. “What you agreed to was that we would neither trash his establishment, nor would we reveal the true nature of his identity as a Deveel. Correct?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  “. . . Neither of which conditions is broken by us directing our attentions to the lovelies which have taken to making this establishment their after-hours habitat . . . even if our attentions should turn out to be unwelcome.”

  “I suppose . . . but don’t you think that such activity would violate at least the spirit of our agreement, by which I mean the implication that we would not make trouble for our host?”

  “That is the portion of your discomfort which I find the most amusing,” Nunzio sez with an infuriatin’ grin. “Realizing that Deveels make their living as well as their reputation by honoring the letter rather than the spirit of their agreements, I think it is ironic that you are recoiling from dealing with them with the same ethic that they deal with others.”