"Let me see," I growled.
I peered into the lens. I recognized the two-headed female and the sharklike being as two of the bodies I had tried on.
"They've stuffed about eight garters into their handbags and clothing," Cire explained over my shoulder. "They brought about twenty apiece in there with them. They're still trying them on. After that they're going to figure out they can't get out. What do you want to do?"
"Let me think a minute," I breathed, staring into the magikal peephole.
We could just tear in there and interrogate them, but that would kick up a fuss and maybe scare off any other shapechangers moseying around the store.
"Can you throw a silence spell on the room, keep anyone out there from hearing through the walls?" Cire frowned. "The detection spell needs constant attention, Aahz. It's pretty intricate. You don't want me to have to rebuild it from scratch. It takes a lot of concentration."
"And you can't concentrate on more than one thing at a time?" I asked.
Cire folded his arms. "Okay, big mouth, you throw the silence spell!"
"All right, all right," I growled. I hated being powerless. Chloridia wouldn't have given me such an argument. "I'll go in and chat with them. Disguise me as one of the salesgirls. You can multitask on a simple disguise, can't you?"
"Yes!" he responded peevishly. "Boy, anyone would think you'd remember the last time we were together in Miniam."
"I DO remember the last time we were together in Miniam," I rejoined.
"All right, there's no need to be huffy about it," Cire replied, more subdued. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Okay. You're done. You make a cute Djinnie."
"Thanks a heap," I grumbled.
"Which one of you is Massha?" a harsh voice bellowed over the music and the usual screaming of the customers out in the showroom.
"That's me, Tall and Indigo. What can I do for you?"
I listened with half an ear while I studied our prey.
"We've got to separate them from their decks of cards," I told Cire. "Where do you suppose they're keeping them?"
"I didn't notice them in the two-headed gal's handbag. The one with the teeth's got a bigger bag, but she's not wearing any clothes."
"You're operating in this Mall illegally," the rough voice exclaimed.
"No, we're not," Massha replied, still friendly. "Got a business license and a lease, right up there on the wall."
"That isn't enough, and you know it!" the voice growled, low and threatening.
"No, I don't know anything of the kind," Massha answered, patiently but more firm than cordial. "Trouble," Cire muttered.
I glanced out between the curtains at the speaker. The athletic-looking Flibberite in the dull plum-colored tunic reminded me a lot of Woofle, with businesslike mien, and the big guys behind him reminded me of Woofle's muscle men, or maybe the Mob that held sway in Klah. It occurred to me that there might be an equivalent to Don Bruce's boys in The Mall. Maybe we hadn't greased all the palms we had to.
"Change of plans," I snapped out. "Drop the disguise. Now!"
"Make up your mind," Cire grumbled, but he shut his eyes. As soon as he opened them, I hustled out into the showroom, wearing a conciliatory grin.
"Couldn't help overhearing you," I informed him. "Can I help you?"
"I was just talking to the owner of this establishment," the Flibberite stated dismissively, and turned away.
I grabbed his arm and turned him back. The two muscle men started forward.
"She is the owner, but I'm the business manager. Name's Aahz. What can we do for you?"
The speaker shook off my hand and plunked a card down in front of me.
"Inspector Niv Dota, Flibber Revenue. Have you filed for a tax identification card? The department has no record of an application from any firm doing business as Massha's Secret."
Taxes!
"Er—" I glanced at Chumley, who raised his hands to his shoulders. "I thought so. We filled out a whole ream of forms with The Mall's administration." I grinned even more amiably, which caused him and his escorts to backpedal a few paces.
The inspector recovered his aplomb faster than Woofle had, but, then, tax people had to have ice water in their veins.
"The Mall is not empowered to issue tax identification cards. You must apply in person at a licensed Flibber Revenue Office."
"Really?" I asked, my eyes wide with innocence. "We weren't informed of that fact."
"Any business, especially demon-owned, must have proper documentation," Dota snapped out. "And that information is part of the language of any commercial lease issued anywhere in this dimension, so I am sure you were informed. So I have to ask myself," he continued, leaning toward me, his eyes slitted dangerously, "did you skip over reading all of the fine print in the papers you signed, or did you decide you might... get lucky? Maybe we wouldn't... notice?"
"Of course not," I replied smoothly, coming around the counter and dropping an arm onto his shoulders. He cringed. I held on. "Inspector, I am sure that we can work this out to everyone's satisfaction. Naturally we want to be law-abiding members of society—"
"Hey! Let us out!" a shrill female voice howled.
"The door's stuck!" two more voices joined in, as the two-headed woman added her complaint.
I looked innocently at the inspector's frown. "Malfunction in the dressing room. We'll take care of it in a minute."
"You're going to have to close down," the inspector gritted.
"Sure!" I agreed. "At the end of the day. You see, we're not really—"
"No. Now."
Eskina moved up, protest in her eyes. I shook my head surreptitiously.
"Excuse me a minute."
"What'll we do, sugar?" Massha asked in an undertone.
I leaned over to her and Eskina. "Go shut them up if you can. Let Chumley take the register. I'll take care of this." I turned back to Dota. "Now, about that card—like I was trying to tell you, we're not really businesspeople trying to run a store." "No kidding," the inspector replied, with the air that he'd heard this story before. I felt my temper rising, but I pushed on.
"Look," I stated flatly. "We're interdimensional investigators tracking down a ring of dangerous thieves in this Mall. My colleague over there has a badge from the dimension of Ratislava. All we need is a few days."
Dota interrupted me. "Even if such a wild story was true, it's not my jurisdiction. You ought to have applied for the correct credentials in the first place. You can't operate this place without it. I'm padlocking this place until you fill out the correct paperwork."
"What?" I bellowed. "No!"
At that moment, the door of the dressing room exploded outward.
The shoppers in the store scattered, screaming, and the inspector's two sides of beef hit the floor and rolled, coming up with cocked and loaded crossbows, not unlike Guido and Nunzio's Iolo Specials, but the tips of these quarrels were glowing.
"The door was locked," the shark explained coyly, swimming on the air rapidly toward the exit.
The two-headed woman minced beside her, holding a handful of tasteful, pink, pocket-sized grenades. Out of her open handbag peeked a black satin legband and a stack of rectangular cards.
"Clear the store!" Inspector Dota shouted. "You, ladies, out the door. Now!"
The two impostors were happy to oblige, making for the door as quickly as they could.
"Stop those two!" I yelled. "They're stealing our merchandise."
I shoved toward them. Dota's muscle grabbed my shoulders and yanked me back.
"It's illegal to operate here," the inspector insisted. "Let them go."