joegoda | The Framing of Jon Smith

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We drove in Dick's car, a boxy little beater that had four wheel steering and look uglier than it's usefulness. I wanted to go in Dick's car so I could keep a watch on Sparky, who seemed content to just sit on the dashboard with his tail stuck in the cigarette lighter outlet.

It wasn't a long drive, as drives go. The Barrick building was about fifteen miles away, as the crows fly, or 30 minutes in rush hour traffic. The streets of the City at 9:30 were pretty empty, except for those people wanting to go visit the Uptown night life. And there was night life in the city. There were clubs where whatever you wanted could be got for the price of a piece of your soul and there were places where you could go to get away from the craziness of the downtown areas. The homeless non-magical folks tended to not travel Uptown, so the Elite could feel safe from the harassing and angry stares and comments of those less fortunate, let's say.

So, Uptown was a hotbed of concentrated magical peoples. The only good thing about people with that level of ability is that they didn't often co-operate together. Generally they recognized each other for whatever talent the other had and gave and asked for as much personal space as nature allowed.

Robert Barrick was one of the nicer ones. He didn't exactly mingle with us lower classes, but he didn't shy away from it either. Rumor had it that he had been born to a couple who had no magical talent at all, so when his showed up, his parents felt they had struck a goldmine. Not that they were greedy people, probably. It was probably like anybody that I knew and counted as a friend hitting the lottery. And they cashed in on it.

See, the Elite take care of their own. Little Bobby had an automatic trust fund, which was overseen by his parents. His schooling was paid for and a new house was bought for him and his family so they would be closer to where all the action was. You know, mingle with all the 'right' people and stay further away from all the riff-raff. Like you and me.

Now, there are exceptions to this, as there are with any rule. Mendlehousen lived toward the docks and the warehouses, because magic alone won't make you rich. Besides being a first class entertainer and an all around good guy, he was also a businessman who liked to keep his fingers in a lot of pies. He liked being where the action was. The Brownstone he lived in was part of a block or six of wealthy businessmen, like himself. Some were part of the Elite. Some were not. They all had one thing in common, though, and that was a lot of money.

My watch on Sparky wasn't due to my loyalty to Sitch. It had to do with the fact I didn't trust the little bastard. Magical creatures that just seem to appear out of nowhere make me nervous. Sitch couldn't remember where he had first seen Sparky, and I couldn't either. Nobody in the group was even the least bit curious, from what I could tell... except me. Maybe being a magic user myself, regardless of how little actual talent I had, made me a bit more receptive. I don't know. That's for the big brains to figure out.

Right now, my focus was on Sparky, just to see if there was anything that gave him away. I don't know what was supposed to be given away, I was just watching. Sort of like when you first sit down at a table to play poker with a bunch of strangers. Everyone has their give-aways, their 'tells', that lets you know they are planning a certain strategy or they are holding a particular type of hand. You have to watch them to see what those 'tells' are. And that is what I was doing to Sparky. Pretty damn boring, too, because he didn't do anything, except sit motionless with his tail in the cigarette lighter outlet. He didn't even blink.

"Hey Sparky," I threw at him, "you getting any feelings?"

It was a full minute before the lizard blinked slowly and turned to look at me. "Feelings about what, Slick?"

"About where Mary is?" I told him. "Why do you think we brought you?"

"How the hell should I know?" he replied indignantly. "From my standpoint, you monkeys are crazy. I say let her burn." His evil, tiny little face shifted just a bit, as if he regretted saying what he just did. He just did a tell.

"Dick," I said with extreme seriousness, "turn around. We need to go to the warehouse district, where Mary's house is."

Dick began to argue with me. "I thought Sparky said Mary was uptown."

"Sparky is a liar," I growled. "Aren't you, Sparky?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Slick." The Salamander crossed his arms across his chest. "Mary the Match is uptown, just I said."

"Is she now?" I tapped Dick on the shoulder. "Tell me, Dick. What looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, swims like a duck, but isn't a duck?"

Dick shrugged as he turned his car around. "I don't know, Johann. What looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, swims like a duck, but isn't a duck?"

"A shape changing pig." I checked where we were. "Go past Tommy D's and then take a right on Forgive."

Dick nodded. "Okay. You know where we're going? Because I don't know where Mary lives."

Sparky started to get agitated. "You're making a mistake, buddy. Mary is uptown!"

"Pipe down, whatever the hell you are," I growled at him, "or I'll toss you in the trunk."

Sparky's eyes started to turn red. "Slick, you are starting to piss me off."

"Yeah?," I challenged him. "Bring it on." I saw Tommy D's flash by us. Dick was being a safe driver, and I really wish he wasn't. I needed some speed. Forgive was about four blocks ahead and where I wanted to be was another five. Nine blocks. Almost a mile.

The lizard started to puff up and his skin was beginning to give off a soft red light. His teeth were gritted and bared, and his eyes were closed, although I could still see them glowing red from under his eyelids. I could smell the smoke from where the dashboard was beginning to char. I looked around Dick's floorboard to see what sort of junk he had laying around. I needed something relatively fire resistant, and I needed it fast.

"What in the hell is stinking up my car?" Dick looked over at me.

"It's Sparky, Dick! He's trying to start a fire!" Okay, I was getting excited.

"Extinguisher, right side, driver's seat," he said calmly. He glanced over at where his dash had started to smolder. "He's not doing very good at it, is he?"

"No, he's not, and you better thank your lucky stars he's not a real Salamander."

I pulled the extinguisher from under Dick's seat, pulled the pin and shot a short burst at Sparky. The desired effect was to cool him down and to shock him out of his current body and back into whatever his original form was.

Sparky's original form turned out to be a lump of coal.

The secondary effect was to fill the car with a thick white cloud of noxious dust. We rolled down the windows to help clear the stuff out. I urged Dick to keep driving, and let him know it was only a few blocks further.

"I really wish you had given me a bit of warning," Dick said between coughs. His face and shoulders were covered with white powder from the extinguisher. "I'm just glad I saw it coming, else wise I'd be blinded."

"Sorry, Dick. I tried to keep it to a minimum." I put the pin back into the handle of the extinguisher. "I'm glad you had this."

"Old son, I'm a policeman," Dick said matter of factly as he turned onto Forgive. "I used to be a boyscout. I'm always prepared for exploding lizards."

"Lucky us." There was a zip-tie on the floorboard. Not perfect, but it would work. I wrapped the zip-tie around the lump of coal and pulled it tight. That should keep whatever Sparky was in it's current form. For a while, anyway.

"So, What do you mean he's not a real Salamander?" He glanced at his dashboard. "I can see the obvious. There is now a lump of coal on my dash, where there used to be a lizard. Tell me true, old son. What the hell just happened here?"

"He was not a duck, Dick. He's a pooka in lizard clothing."

"A pooka." Dick looked confused for a second before a light came on in his memory. "Granny Whithers used to talk to us about pookas. She said they were nasty little buggers that came out after nightfall and raised all sorts of hell."

"Granny Whithers was right," I told him. "Except some of them, the ones that live with humans, come out whenever someone pays them to."

"Hmm." Dick pondered this. "So, someone paid this pooka to do... what?"

"I wish I knew, Dick."

"So, Johann," Dick looked at me. "We are now on forgive. Where now?"

"Look for a house with blue flowers in the front yard. They'll be inside a little circle of stones. Pull into the driveway."

"Okay doke." Dick started scanning the houses. "Which side of the street?"

"The right. The house is about half a mile up."

"Okay." Dick was silent for a second. "How did you know it wasn't a real lizard?"

"Lucky guess," I said. "Fire Salamanders don't usually hang around people all that much. They are just as antisocial as Sparky appeared to be. So, what was he doing with Sitch?"

Dick shrugged. "Sitch is just a simple man, Johann. Everyone likes him. Why not a Salamander?"

I nodded in agreement. "Sitch is a likable guy and, bless his heart, he is a simple man. A Salamander wouldn't hang around him because Sitch is simple. Not very deep. Salamanders are fiercely competitive. They love debates. They love arguments. They love hanging around and discussing deep topics they can be passionate about. I don't think Sitch has argued... ever."

"All right," Dick nodded. "I'll give you that. But still, that's not really very much to go on."

"I know. That's why I wanted to get away from Sitch. Why he had to stay behind." Seeing Dick's confusions, I explained. "Sitch could not remember when he had first seen Sparky, Dick. And neither could I."

"And?" Dick was not satisfied.

"Salamanders don't use a ring of fire to do their searching. They sniff the air like a dog. They don't pace the ground on two legs, they pace on four. If Sparky had been a real Salamander AND if he was really wanting to help us, he would have sniffed the air like a bloodhound, found a trace of... whatever, and took off like a shot."

"Okay," Dick said. "I bow to your knowledge of Salamanders, since I don't have any."

"The final realization came with Sparky plugging into your cigarette lighter. Salamanders don't recharge from electricity."

"Ah. Now that makes sense," he said happily. "Here's the house, yes?"

"This is the place. Pull into the driveway."

The house was small, smaller than my apartment, even. It had gray tar-paper siding and white clapboard trim around the windows and door. White lace curtains hung over the window and it appeared that there wasn't a light on inside. The tiny flower garden I had mention to Dick was on the driver's side, about three feet way from the single car driveway.

I gently picked up the lump of coal from where it sat on Dick's dashboard. The dash under it and for a few inches all around had scorched. Not badly, but there was a definite discoloration, tending toward the burned color of the spectrum.

"Dick," I asked, "did you ever replace that lighter outlet in your car?"

"You mean where his tail was stuck?" Dick shook his head. "No, old son, I never did. Been meaning to these last couple of years. What has that got to do with anything?"

"Lucky us," I nodded. "If you had fixed that outlet, then Sparky might have been able to flare into some serious heat." I handed the coal to Dick and said "Chuck this out your window and into that circle garden. Try to get it as close to the center as possible."

"Okay." Dick, ever the skillful dart player, did a quick assessment of the distance and flipped the rock into quite nearly the center of the little patch of garden. It hit with a solid thunk and sat there, for all of three seconds.

A bright flare of blue light shot up soundlessly into the sky. There was a brief image of a twisted, two foot tall, almost human form contained in the light. Just as suddenly, the light winked out and with it, the figure, the coal, and then all was silence.

"What the hell?" Dick turned his shocked face toward me. "I seem to be saying that a lot today."

I smiled sympathetically. "It's okay, Dick. You've probably not seen a lot of magic like this."

He nodded and wiped at his forehead. "You are right and true on that account, old son. I've seen bits and pieces of it, but that was a bit different. What was it?"

"Containment and transport," I said, still smiling. "I've only seen it used once before, on a case with a rabid boogum. It sends the thing that's in the ring back to where it belongs and tags it so it can't come back here."

"Cool." Dick stared at the little stone ring around the garden. "What if I stepped into it?"

"Not a thing, Dick. This is where you belong, right?"

"Ah," he said, understanding. "So, if I wanted to go home quickly, and if that was where I belonged, I could step into that garden and - whoosh - away I'd go?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Like I said, I've only seen it used one other time and that was on an evil creature."

"Hmm." Dick continued to ponder the garden ring. "Still... makes one think, yes?"

I never thought about it, so I decided to let Dick think about it. "Sure, Dick. Think about it all you want, but for right now, let's head to the warehouse district. There's a little girl that I need to talk to."

Dick pulled himself away from his contemplation. "Old son, we don't even know where she lives. How will we find her?"

"We'll look for the fire, Dick." I looked south, toward the river, toward the warehouse. Sure enough, there was a faint wisp of smoke floating up into the night sky, crossing in front of the moon. "I believed Sparky when he said there would be a fire tonight. Just like I believe he meant to pull us away from it. We need to go toward the fire."

"You think someone is trying to burn Mary out?"

"I think someone is trying to kill her, Dick. I think someone doesn't like Mary the Match very much at all."

The Framing of Jon Smith

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