(eng) Mike Resnick - Fable of Tonight 04 by Stalking The Zombie

Author:Stalking The Zombie [Zombie, Stalking The]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE AMOROUS BROOM

John Justin Mallory, his feet up on his desk, his battered fedora worn at an angle, was studying the Racing Form.

“You know,” he announced, “I think I just may take a run out to the track this afternoon.”

“Oh my God!” breathed Winnifred Carruthers, his pudgy, pink-faced, gray-haired partner. “That poor creature is entered again, isn’t he?”

“How did you guess?” asked Mallory.

“It’s the only time you ever go to the track—when Flyaway’s running.”

“‘Running’ is an overstatement,” said the not-quite-human creature perched atop the refrigerator in the next room. “Flyaway plods.”

“When I want advice from the office cat,” said Mallory irritably, “rest assured I’ll ask for it.”

“That’s what Flyaway does,” continued Felina from atop the refrigerator. “He rests assured.”

“If you ever leave here,” said Mallory, “don’t apply for a job as a comedian.”

“Why should I leave here?” purred Felina. “It’s warm and dry and you feed me.”

“How many races has Flyaway lost in a row now, John Justin?” asked Winnifred.

“53.”

“Doesn’t that suggest something to you?” she persisted.

“That it’s past time for him to win.”

“You are the finest detective in this Manhattan,” continued Winnifred. “How can you be so stupid?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” said Mallory.

‘You have solved a lot of tricky cases, and put yourself in harm’s way at least half a dozen times. Did you do it solely so you could keep losing your money on Flyaway?”

“When I go out on a case, my function is to detect,” replied Mallory. “When I go to the track, my function is to bet. Why do you have such a problem with that? Mallory & Carruthers is paying its bills. This is discretionary income.”

“I don’t have a problem with betting,” shot back Winnifred. “But betting involves an element of chance. Putting your money on Flyaway doesn’t.”

‘You’re going to look mighty silly when he finally wins one,” said Mallory.

“Well said!” cried a voice. ‘You tell ’em, John Justin Mallory!”

Mallory was on his feet in an instant. “Who said that?” he demanded.

Felina leaped catlike to the floor and bounded into the office. She grinned, extended a shining claw at the end of her forefinger, and pointed it toward a broom that was leaning against a wall in the far corner.

“Come on,” said Mallory. “Brooms don’t talk.”

“I most certainly do,” said the broom.

Mallory stared at the broom for a moment, then looked at Winnifred. ‘Yours?” he asked.

“I never saw it before,” she said.

“Then what’s it doing here?”

“Why not ask it?” suggested Winnifred.

“I’ve never spoken to a broom before. How does one address it?”

“You may call me Hecate,” said the broom.

“Isn’t that a witch’s name?” asked Winnifred.

“She was my first owner.”

“All right, Hecate,” said Mallory. “Who and what are you, and more to the point, what are you doing in my office?”

“I want to be near you, John Justin Mallory,” said Hecate.

“Why?”

“The Grundy hates you. Isn’t that enough?”

“Okay, he’s behind this, right?”

“No, he doesn’t know I’m here,” said the broom.

“It’s pretty hard to keep a secret from the most powerful demon on the East Coast,” said Mallory.

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