"It is not easy to explain, but if you will lend me your ears I will attempt to further your education. Boss. You too, Nunzio."
Guido gathered up a handful of the books and sat on one of the cases.
"If you will examine the evidence before you, you will note that while all these comics are the same, which is to say they are copies of the same issue, they each have the number ‘one' in a box on their cover. This indicates that it is the first issue of this particular title."
I refrained from peering at one of the books. If Guido said the indicator was there, it was probably there, and looking at it wouldn't change anything.
"Immediately that ‘one' makes the comic more valuable, both to someone who is tryin' to obtain a complete set, and especially to a collector. Now, certain titles is more popular than others, which makes them particularly valuable, but more important are titles which have indeed grown in popularity since they made their first debutante. In that situational, there are more readers of the title currently than there were when it began, and the laws of supply and demand drive the price of a first-issue copy through the roof."
He gestured dramatically with one of the books.
"This particular title premiered several years ago and is currently hotter than the guy what swiped the crown jewels. What is more, the print run on the first issue was very small, makin' a first-issue copy exceedingly valuable ... with the accent on ‘exceedingly.' I have with my own eyes seen a beat-up copy of the comic you are currently holding on a dealer's table with an askin' price of a hundert-fifty gold on it. Mind you, I'm not sayin' he got it, but that's what he was askin'."
Now it was Skeeve's turn to whistle. I might have been tempted myself, but whistling is difficult with a forked tongue.
"If that's true, this shipment is worth a fortune. He's got enough of them here."
"That is indeed the puzzlement. Boss," Guido said, looking at the cases. "If my memory is not seriously in error, there were only two thousand copies of this issue printed ... yet if all these cases are full of the same merchandise, there are considerably more copies than that in this shipment to which we are referrin'. How this could be I am uncertain, but the explanation which occurs to me is less than favorable to the owner."
"Forgeries!" Nunzio squeaked. "The guy's a multicolored paper hanger!"
"A multi... never mind!" Skeeve waved. "What good would forged comics be?"
"The same as any other forgery," Guido shrugged. "You pass ‘em off as originals and split with the money before anyone's the wiser. In some ways it's better'n phony money, since it isn't as hard to duplicate comics and, as you'se can see, they're worth more per pound. The paper's cheaper, too."
My pet surveyed the shipment.
"So we've been made unwitting accomplices to a comic-forging deal, eh?"
"... And without even gettin' a piece of the action," Nunzio snarled.
"That wasn't what I was thinking about," Skeeve said, shaking his head. "I was thinking of all the collectors who are going to plunk down their money to get a genuine collector's item, only to have the bottom drop out of the market when it's discovered that it's been flooded with forgeries."
He rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully. "I wonder how much my lunch buddy has insured this shipment for?"
"Probably not much, if at all," Guido supplied. "To do so would necessitate the fillin' out of documents declarin' the contents of said shipment, and any insurance type knowledgeable enough to give him full value would also know the discrepancy between the shipment count and what was originally printed. You see. Boss, the trouble with runnin' a fraud is that it requires runnin' additional frauds to cover for it, and eventually someone is bound to catch on."
Skeeve wasn't even listening by the time Guido finished his oration. He was busy rubbing the spot between my ears, a strange smile on his face.
"Well, I guess nobody wins all the time."
"What was that. Boss?"
My pet turned to face them.
"I said that M.Y.T.H. Inc. fumbled the ball this time. Sorry, Nunzio, but this one is going into the records as a botched assignment. I can only assure you that it will not be reflected on your next performance review."
"I don't get it," Nunzio frowned. "What went wrong?"
"Why, the fire of course. You know, the fire that destroyed the entire shipment due to our inattentiveness and neglect? Terribly careless of us, wasn't it?"
"Fire? What fire?"
Skeeve stepped to one side and bowed to me, sweeping one hand toward the cases.
"Gleep? I believe this is your specialty?"
I waffled briefly between using a #4 or a #6, then said "to heck with it" and cut loose with a #9. It was a bit show-offy, I'll admit, but with Guide and Nunzio watching, not to mention my pet, it was pointless to spare the firepower.
They were impressed, which was not surprising, as #9 is quite impressive. There wasn't even any afterburn to put out, since by the time I shut down the old flamethrower, there was nothing left to burn.
For several moments we all stood staring at the charred spot on the warehouse floor.
"Wow!" Guido breathed at last.
"You can say that double for me," Nunzio nodded, slipping an arm around my neck. "Good dragon, Gleep. Good dragon."
"Well, gentlemen," Skeeve said, rubbing his hands together, "now that that's over I guess we can head... What's that?"
He pointed to the collapsed portion of the floor, noticing it for the first time.
"That?" Nunzio squeaked innocently. "Beats me, Boss. It was like that when we got here."
I didn't bother to return his wink, for I was already starting to retreat into heavy thought. I only hoped that in the final analysis I wouldn't decide that either Guido or Nunzio was an unsettling influence on my pet. Time would tell.
Chapter Six:
"Not everything in life is funny."
-R. L. ASPRIN
THE CREW SEEMED to be in high spirits as they gathered in my office for our monthly board meeting. Congratulations and jibes were exchanged in equal portions, as was the norm, and they began to settle in for what promised to be a marathon session.
I was glad they were in a good mood. It might make what I had to say a little easier, though I doubted it. I was still reeling from the one-two punch I had just received, and now it was my job to pass it on to them.
My own view of the pending session was a mixture of dread and impatience. Impatience finally dominated, and I called the meeting to order.
"I know you all came prepared to discuss the sale of The Fun House," I said, looking around at the team members sprawled hither and yon, "but something has come up that I think takes priority over that. If no one objects, I'll temporarily table the casino discussion in favor of new business."
That caused a bit of a stir and an exchange of puzzled glances and shrugs. Not wanting to be sidetracked by a round of questions or comments, I hurried on.
"There's an assignment ... no, I can't call it that. There's no payment involved and no client. It's just something I think M.Y.T.H. should get involved in. I don't feel I can order anyone to take part ... in fact, I don't even see putting it to a vote. It's got to be on an individual volunteer basis."
Tananda raised her hand. I nodded at her.
"Do we get to hear what it is? Or are we supposed to volunteer blind?"
I searched for the words for a moment, then gave up. Instead of speaking, I pushed the little oblong box that was on my desk toward her. She frowned at it, glanced at me, then picked it up and raised the lid.