“Why should I—?”the cabbie began and then saw the Kittchikoostrans emerge from the building. A sheet of flame licked the side window as Djef brought his staff to bear.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” the cabbie yelled and floored it, throwing Sam and Brill back hard against the seats.
As their cab raced away from the pursuing pussies Sam considered his situation. In a single week he had become the owner of two sets of magazines of no value to anyone on Earth. He had driven off the only galactic buyer to places unknown. To make matters worse an auditor was going through Mardnnn’s books. It would take no time for it to discover that he had misappropriated the funds and inform his boss, with whatever consequences followed. Add to that the possibility that he had caused Mardnnn’s elder daughter to do something stupid by his interference. To cap everything, he had offended an entire alien (and reportedly dangerous) race.
“See if you can find a Kevorkian,” Sam suggested earnestly. “That’s the only doctor who can help me now.”
The nurses at the emergency ward had patched up his bums as best they could and refused his request for some potent overdose of anything they had handy. In the end they made him leave with Brill.
Sam made certain that none of the tiny Kittchikoostrans remained in the vicinity before he entered the office. A careful reconnoiter of the neighborhood revealed several traumatized dogs, but nothing resembling a cat.
The Kittchikoostrans had left marks of their visit behind every piece of furniture, an obvious sign of displeasure with their treatment. He half expected a cadre of police to be waiting to arrest him as he stepped through the door. Had they been, he would have gone quietly. It would be simple justice for the mess he had unwittingly created.
“Shammmm, glad you’re back,” Mardnnn said when Sam popped his head into the office door.
Sam couldn’t believe his ears. Was Mardnnn really glad to see him? Could it be that the auditor had failed to discover the most obvious of deficiencies in the accounts?
“What do you think?” Mardnnn announced and waved a tentacle in the general direction of Betelguese.
From the proud way the Crumptonian held himself Sam knew that some congratulatory comment was expected. But about what? He quickly examined the platform, thinking that perhaps Mardnnn had upgraded it, but it was the same dull red one as ever. Mardnnn looked no different, nor did he have any jewelry on that Sam could discern besides that obscenely orange pimple that he always wore. What could it be…?
“My library!” Mardnnn prompted and waved at the wall, his whole attitude one of anxious inquiry.
His library? What did he mean by…? Sain suddenly realized that the entire wall of Mardnnn’s office was covered with knotted tendrils of some sort of rope-like things. It looked as if it were a rug woven by an arthritic elephant, so crude were the knots.
“I HAVE WOVEN AS MUCH OF HIS HISTORY AS I COULD!” Truze said from the far corner of the room. “HE CAN TRACE HIS ANCESTRY BACK AT LEAST TWENTY GENERATIONS!”
“You’re not a bookkeeper,” Sam said, disbelieving his ears.
“I AM A GENEALOGY EXPERT. MY SERVICES DO NOT COME CHEAP.”
“Now that I can display my heritage I can arrange a suitable match for my dear Town. Now I can bargain for the best marriage we can find,” Mardnnn beamed.
That raised a different concern. Mardnnn obviously knew of Town’s emerging adulthood and was prepared to do something about it. Thank God he had stopped her earlier.
Sam’s jaw dropped as he stared at the tendrils that graced the wall, his eyes following the lines from knot to knot. “Well Mardnnn, I must say that I am quite impressed with your,” he coughed politely to hide a giggle, “roots.”
Mardnnn and Truze beamed proudly as Sam quickly backed out of the office, ran down the hall, and exploded in hysterical laughter in the men’s room.
Since Town had fled the office when Sam informed her of her father’s early return there had not been so much as a single sighting of Mardnnn’s elder daughter. Sam sincerely hoped that she had not done something dramatic, such as doing away with herself. Somehow the image of a tentacled, eye-stalked, blue-green tree trunk taking the role of Camille didn’t ring true.
Not that Town was uppermost on his mind. Mardnnn’s certain and imminent discovery of Sam’s improper use of the account was hanging like the sword of Damocles over his head, a sword held by the thin thread of Mardnnn’s trust in Sam. It was a thread that could part at any moment.
Meanwhile, Brill was desperately searching for the missing buyer that Sam had stupidly misled, as well as anyone else who might be willing to bid on the magazines and thereby capture a share of the “hot” export trade in Earth’s exotic literature. Sam did not have much faith in the young Crumptonian’s ability to safely bring them out of danger; there were simply too many obstacles to overcome.
Prison seemed a welcome possibility, free from the opportunity to screw up as he had undoubtedly done to such excess. One thing for certain, he couldn’t get in any deeper than he was at present.
“A-hem.”
Sam looked up, startled that someone should have come into the office without his notice. It was a sign of his preoccupation with his black future. His eyes continued to track up. And up, up, up until he reached the top of an incredibly tall alien, who resembled nothing so much as a large, multilimbed bean pod.
“Ah said, A-hem,” the bean pod intoned in stentorian tones more fitting to an undertaker than a walking vegetable. Sam was fascinated by the seemingly hundreds of tiny arms projecting from the alien’s sides… or were they roots?
“Wha… what can I do for you?” Sam responded while trying to figure out where the alien’s voice was coming from.
“Ah have come to make some purchases,” the bean pod said simply. “Ah understand that you have some,” it paused as a large blossom appeared at the peak of Mount Bean pod, “dirty magazines.” The blossom shriveled, wilted, and shed petals on the carpeting.
“Pardon?” Sam replied intelligently, trying to grasp the main concept of the conversation.
“You know, hard stuff,” the bean thing said as it wiggled its (arms?) in a most agitated fashion. “Brill showed me one and said you had many copies you would sell to the right kind of people, if you know what Ah mean.”
“Could you be talking about these gardening magazines?” Sam exploded, brandishing the single copy of Better Homes and Gardens that Brill had left behind.
The bean pod creature was exploding blossoms like a peach tree in heat. “Oh, you Earthlings are so shameless!” it declared and giggled. “How many copies can you sell me? Don’t be shy. Ah’ll take every one and never tell where Ah got them. Come now, Ah don’t have all day!”
Sam fervently wished that Brill were here to handle matters. Suddenly realizing that he was the purveyor of what some vegetabilian alien considered pornography rested uneasily on his shoulders. Besides, he had no idea of where the rest of the Better Homes and Gardens collection might be. All he knew about were those damned science fiction pulps that the warehouse people still swore were lost.
“I don’t handle that side of the business,” Sam said slowly, brushing aside the shower of petals. “You’ll have to take it up with my partner—the one who contacted you.”
The bean pod snapped to attention, its skin smoothing to a lustrous finish as the (arms?) clenched tightly. “Ah get it. That damned Ahbbbb got to you first, didn’t she? Well, Ah’s not going to be overvalued this time. Ah is certain that my value is double hers! And mine is cash on the mulch sack!”