"How about that one? It looks breakable."
I looked where she was pointing and nodded.
"Good enough. Give me a twenty count head start. If they're not protected, I'll be back out. If you don't see me in twenty, they're fair game. Do your worst."
"You know," she smiled rubbing her hands together, "this could be fun."
"Just remember that I'm in there before you decide exactly what today's 'worst' is."
The display she had chosen was a small, three-sided tent with a striped top. It was lined with shelves that were crowded with an array of stoppered bottles of all sizes and colors. As I entered, I noticed there was something in each of the bottles-smoky things that shifted as if they were alive.
"May I help you, sahr?" The Deveel proprietor asked, baring what he doubtless thought was a winning smile.
"Just browsing," I yawned. "Actually, I'm seeking refuge from gossip. All anyone can talk about is this pack of ruffians that's selling insurance."
The Deveel's face darkened and he spat out the door.
"Insurance! Extortion I call it. They ruined two of my treasures before I could stop them long enough to subscribe to their services. It was a dark day when they first appeared at the Bazaar."
"Yes, yes. Believe me, I've heard it before."
Having established that this shop was indeed under the protection of the Mob, I turned my attention to the displays.
With studied nonchalance, I plucked up a small bottle, no more than a hand's-width high, and peered at the contents. Murky movement and a vague sparkle met my gaze.
"Be careful," the proprietor cautioned. "Once a Djin is released, it can only be controlled if you address it by name."
"A Djin?"
The Deveel swept me with a speculative gaze. Since I wasn't doing the heavy work, I wasn't in disguise and looked like … well, me.
"I believe in Klah, they're referred to as Genies."
"Oh. You have quite a collection here."
The Deveel preened at the praise.
"Do not be fooled by the extent of my poor shop's selection, young sahr. They are extremely rare. I personally combed the far reaches of every dimension… at great personal expense, I might add … to find these few specimens worthy of…"
I had been wondering when Massha was going to make her entrance. Well, she made it. Hoo-boy, did she make it. Right through the side of the tent.
With an almost musical chorus, the stand along the wall went over, dumping the bottles onto the floor. The released Djin rose in a cloud and poured out the open tent side, shrieking with inhuman joy as they went.
The Deveel was understandably upset.
"You idiot!" he shrieked. "What are you doing?"
"Pretty weak shelves," Massha muttered in a gravelly-bass voice.
"Weak shelves?"
"Sure. I mean, all I did was this …"
She shoved one of the remaining two shelves, which toppled obligingly into the last display.
This time the Djin didn't even bother using the door. They streaked skyward, taking the top of the tent with them as they screamed their way to freedom.
"My stock! My tent! Who's going to pay for this?"
"That's Hoozit," Massha retorted, "and I'm certainly not going to pay. I don't have any money."
"No money?" the proprietor gasped.
"No. I just came in here to get out of the rain."
"Rain? Rain? But it isn't raining!"
"It isn't?" my apprentice blinked. "Then, goodbye."
With that she ambled off, making a hole in yet another tent side as she went.
The Deveel sank down in the shattered remains of his display and cradled his face in his hands.
"I'm ruined!" he moaned. "Ruined!"
"Excuse me for asking," I said. "But why didn't you call out their names and get them under control?"
"Call out their names? I can't remember the name of every Djin I collect. I have to look them up each time I sell one."
"Well, at least that problem's behind you."
That started him off again.
"Ruined!" he repeated needlessly. "What am I going to do?"
"I really don't know why you're so upset," I observed. "Weren't you just saying that you were insured?"
"Insured?"
The Deveel's head came up slowly.
"Certainly. You're paying to be sure things like this don't happen, aren't you? Well, it happened. It seems to me whoever's protecting your shop owes you an explanation, not to mention quite a bit of money."
"That's right!" the proprietor was smiling now. "More the latter than the former, but you're right!"
I had him going on now. All that was left to be done was the coup de grace.
"Tell you what. Just so your day won't be a total washout, I'll take this one. Now you won't have to stay open with just one Djin in stock."
I flipped him the smallest coin in my pouch. True to his heritage, he was sneering even as he plucked it out of the air.
"You can't be serious," he said. "This? For a Djin? That doesn't even cover the cost of the bottle!"
"Oh come, come, my good man," I argued. "We're both men of the world … or dimensions. We both know that's clear profit."
"It is?" he frowned.
"Of course," I said, gesturing at the broken glass on the floor. "No one can tell how many bottles were just broken. I know you'll just include this one on the list of lost-stock and collect in full from your insurance in addition to what I just gave you. In fact, you could probably add five or six to the total if you were really feeling greedy."
"That's true," the Deveel murmured thoughtfully. "Hey, thanks! This might not turn out so bad after all."
"Don't mention it," I shrugged, studying the small bottle in my hand. "Now that we're in agreement on the price, though, could you look up the name of my Djin?"
"I don't have to. That one's new enough that I can remember. It's name is Kalvin."
"Kalvin?"
"Hey, don't laugh. It's the latest thing in Djins."
Chapter Seventeen
"The best laid plans often go fowl."
"WELL, except for that, how are things going?"
"Except for that?" Shai-ster echoed incredulously. "Except for that? Except for that things are going rotten. This whole project is a disaster."
"Gee, that's tough," I said, with studied tones of sympathy.
I had gotten to be almost a permanent fixture here at Fat's Spaghetti Palace. Every night I dropped by to check the troops' progress… theirs and mine.
It was nice to be able to track the effectiveness of your activities by listening to the enemy gripe about them. It was even nicer to be able to plan your next move by listening to counter-attacks in the discussion stage.
"I still don't get it," Guido protested, gulping down another enormous fork-full of spaghetti. "Everything was goin' terrific at first. No trouble at all. Then BOOM, it hits the fan, know what I mean?"
"Yeah! It was like someone was deliberately workin' to put us out of business."
That last was from cousin Nunzio. For the longest time I thought he was physically unable to talk. Once he got used to having me around, though, he opened up a little. In actuality, Nunzio was shy, a fact which was magnified by his squeaky little voice which seemed out of place coming from a muscleman.
"I warned you that Deveels can be a nasty lot," I said, eager to get the subject away from the possibility of organized resistance. "And if the shopkeepers are sneaky, it only stands to reason that the local criminal element would have to have a lot on the ball. Right, Guido?"