The Framing of Jon Smith

[joegoda]

38134 / 50000 words. 76% done!

Once again, I was a celebrity in the neighborhood. From the moment I came out of the Brownstone until I drove away, it seemed that everyone that was walking the streets or driving by were watching my every move. They weren't staring. They were just... focused on me. Severely focused on me. I watched them watching me all the way down Bridgeway until I turned the corner and headed uptown. I made note of it and kept driving. I'd think about this later.

Barrick had answers. He knew where Mary was, or he seemed to. He knew about this... Armand. This alleged love interest of Mary's. I suspected he knew about Mendlehousen's perversions AND the monster in the closet. I suspect that the Great Robert Barrick was deep into a lot of things that he didn't let on.

The Barrick building was this twenty story, modernistic monolithic black block of natural granite that some artist somewhere got paid a lot of money to design. The glass in the windows were black and non-reflective polarized material so that nobody could see into the building. The exterior offices and meeting rooms and even the restaurant on the first floor were filled with business people coming and going at all hours of the night, because business in the world never stops. I'm sure there were offices somewhere that were empty, but if so, there was no evidence of it. Everybody wanted to be part of the Bobby Barrick experience.

Barrick himself occupied the top three floors. The top floor, what I guess you would call the penthouse, was an actual house, that Barrick had built to represent the home he had grown up in. His parents lived in this high-rise frame home until they passed on. Barrick lived on the 19th floor, in rooms well furnished and magnificently appointed.

I parked the thingmobile on the street in front of the building. During the day, this would have been impossible. At eight o'clock, the world of uptown moved more toward night clubs and secluded meeting places. The corner of Hope and Brightwater, where the Barrick Building sat, was fairly clear of traffic. I didn't even put a quarter in the meter.

I walked through the black glass doors on the ground floor and went over to the round security desk next to the elevators. A mountain shaped man whose badge said "Martin" watched me from behind dark glasses. He stood up as I reached the desk.

"Mister Smith, you are expected." He reached under the edge of the desk and produced a small circular featureless disk about the size and shape of a dime. "Please keep this on you at all times. It will identify you as a guest and not an intruder." He passed the disk to me.

"What if I lose it?" I asked smartly, as I put the disk in my jeans pocket.

"Then I'll shoot you if I see you." Martin didn't even crack a smile. "Please take elevator C."

He didn't even point me in the direction or tell me which one elevator C was. He really didn't need to, since there were only three elevators and each was marked by a large red letter above the silvery doors.

I stepped to the correct elevator and pushed the up button and waited. A few seconds later, the doors to elevator C opened and I stepped in. The walls were mirrored, as was the ceiling and the floor was black marble. There was a button panel to the right of the doors was brushed chrome and contained three buttons. The button marked "19" lit up as soon as I looked at it, the doors closed and the elevator began it's ascent.

I was expected, indeed.

It was a short ride and the elevator whooshed to a stop without the feeling of slowing down. The doors opened and I stepped out onto the carpeted hall of Barrick's Sanctum Sanctorum.

Dante' the gnome was standing to the right of the door. "The boss says you have some questions."

"Yeah." I told him. "Good to see you too."

"I haven't forgotten that short remark," he retorted. "I figures I owe you, sport."

"Fine, whatever," I snorted. "When you come up with a decent tall joke, let me know."

"Well," he said, grinning evilly, "how 'bout this? You gotta ask your questions to me. If I can answer them, Barrick says I have to. If I can't, then I don't. If I figure it's not any of your damn business, then I can tell you to go to hell."

"Wait a minute," I said. "Where's Barrick? My questions are for him."

The gnome shook his head. "Not this time, Sport. The boss is busy and doesn't want to be disturbed. You gotta deal with me."

Busy? Well hell. "What could possibly be more important than me?" I crossed my arms and waited.

"Saving the world?" Dante' tossed off without a beat. He scrunched up what passed for his face and said, "Yeah. That would be more important."

Okay. That proved two things to me. One; that Barrick was involved in a whole lot more than everyone thought he was and two; I was suddenly let in on that information, which meant that the old man liked me for some reason only he could know. The first was reassuring in an odd way. I liked the old man a bit two and he scared me enough to believe if anyone could save the world, it would be him. The second was a bit disconcerting. Maybe I didn't want to be let in on the knowledge that an incredibly high powered sorcerer was out saving the world. It bore thinking about.

Dante' started to look bored and tapped his teeth in irritation. "So, what, Sport? You gonna ask me somethin' or not?"

"Uh," I stumbled. "Yeah, sure." What to ask? I had almost forgotten my questions. "So... what does Barrick know about Mary?" There. Number one out into the air.

"Mary?" Dante' laughed. "Mary, Sport, is an old lover of Barrick. Well, lover's not quite the term. They weren't 'xactly lovers. Long term... whatchacallit? Acquaintance? Yeah. They was acquaintances."

"Acquaintances?" I got the impression that Barrick and Mary go way back.

"Yeah. Acquaintances. Next question, Sport."

"When is a dog not a dog?" I figured I had nothing to lose. I halfway asked it to be a smartass, but I also wondered if there was a real answer.

"When is a...," Dante' scrunched up his face, scratched at his beard. "Well, it depends. We're not talking hot dogs, are we?"

"Nope," I said, shaking my head. "This is the dog that Mary had in her arms when she walked outside the Brownstone. Mendlehousen's dog."

"Mendlehousen didn't have no dog," Dante' muttered. "His dog was a spy."

"The dog was a spy?"

"Yeah. The dog was a spy."

"A dog spy?" Wrap your head around it Johann.

"Yeah. A. Dog. Spy. What? You got mental problems?" The gnome was chomping on an unlit cigar and growling.

"Pierre was a spy." This sparked another question. "Was Pierre Pierre?"

Dante' lit the end of the cigar with his thumb. Blew the flame out and winked at me. "Don't tell the boss about the smoke, okay? Yer pretty smart, Sport. Pierre wasn't Pierre. Pierre was Armand."

"Ah. Pierre was Armand." Light bulb. Of course. "Armand was a were... dog?"

"Now, Sport," Dante said, puffing away and looking at me from under his eyebrows. "You know there ain't such a thing." He chuckled and puffed out an enormous blue cloud. "Right?"

"No, of course not." Which was his way of saying of course there is. I still don't believe in were anythings. Werewolves, werecats, werefish, whatever. They don't exist. "He was a shapeshifter?" That would explain how he was able to look like Barrick down at the Warehouse fire.

"Now yer thinking," he nodded. "Armand was supposed to keep an eye on Mendlehousen. He was there for three years, plus." The gnome shuddered, involuntarily. "Imagine. Three years in that... place."

"You knew what was going on?" How do I keep missing out on the gossip?

"Hell, Sport," Dante' shrugged, "everybody knew. You had to have lived under a rock to not know."

Okay. So, I live under a rock. "What does Armand and Mary have to do with each other?"

Dante' stared at me. "And here you was doing so well, too. You are a bit brained damaged, aren't you, Sport?" He lit the cigar again and once he blew out the flame, he said, "They, Mary and Armand, were lovers, see. The real deal. Rainbows and Unicorns and all that crap."

If the light bulbs keep popping, I'll have to hire the Rockettes to dance in my head. "So, Mary and Armand ran away together."

Dante' shrugged again. "Apparently. And let me tell you, the old man was not happy about that."

"Was he jealous of Armand?" I ventured.

"Oh, hell no." Dante' looked like he was going to spit on the ground. "The old man was all for it. He just didn't like the way he was cut out of the picture. The two of them sneaking out like that. They shoulda told him what they were doin'."

"Why," I wondered, "do you think they didn't?"

"Who knows?" Dante' waved me along as he started down the hallway toward the room where I last saw Barrick. "I need a drink. How bout you?"

We walked, and he talked. "Who knows why folks do the things they do? Look, I like Armand. He's a cool enough guy, doesn't cheat at poker and he's even fixed me up a couple of times with a chick. That can be kinda hard on a guy like me."

"Oh?" I wondered what he meant.

"Yeah," he said with a grimace. "We gnomes, when we look like I do, and a lot of them do, tend to be too cute. Chick don't really dig cute. They all want Armand. They want someone who will howl at the moon."

As he pushed open the big double doors to the Great room, he continued. "Nobody wants a guy three feet tall with a red pointed hat. And let me tell you... that stupid fake gnome on those travel commercials? Whatta moron. Ruined it for the lot of us." He gave me an eye. "You realize that's not a real gnome, right?"

"Well," I said agreeably, "sure. Who could be so stupid to take that faker for a real gnome?"

"Damn straight skippy," Dante' nodded. "But you wouldn't believe the number of bubble-heads out there that think we all speak with bad British accents and fall off waterfalls and stupid things like that." He grunted. "We hate that guy."

We walked in silence through the great room. Dante' bowed to a few of the pictures, Great Grandpa and Great Grandma in particular.

"How long have you served the House of Barrick?" I asked, wondering what the bowing was about.

"A couple of centuries, Sport." At the bar, he poured a double shot of something from a lotus shaped bottle into a tall, red, metal glass. "The old man's parents were normals, but his great grands? Damn heavy hitters, both of 'em." He downed whatever he poured in one motion. "Ever hear of the Lovecraft Wars?"

"Um," I said, pouring my own drink - Rum and coke. "No. Can't say I have."

"And you won't, either." Another double from the lotus bottle. "The old man's media keeps it that way. Let's just say that if it weren't for the Great Grands, we'd all be slaves to something unnameable and old and we'd be wishing to die." He took a drink, a smaller one this time, and burped loudly. "I don't want to talk about it." He shivered. "Gives me the willies, thinkin' 'bout it."

"Um." What more can you say to that? A thousand questions, sure... Not something that the gnome wanted to talk about. So, instead of asking my thousand questions, I raised a glass. "To the Grands," I toasted.

"Damn straight skippy." Dante' toasted with me. "Wish there were more like 'em and glad we don't need 'em." He drank and then said, "We hope."

"We hope?" I prompted.

"Yeah." He gave me the eye again. "Weren't you gonna ask me questions of pertinence?"

What? Oh, yeah. "Who killed Mendlehousen?"

"I don't know," he said, plainly. "The old man might, but he's not talking to me about it. When I asked him, cuz I knew you would ask, he just smiled and laughed that weird laugh of his. He wouldn't even give me a clue, the tight lipped bastard."

"Okay," so that wasn't going anywhere. How about, "So, you were telling me why Armand and Mary didn't let Barrick in on the picture?" When Dante' looked confused, I added, "Them running off together?"

"OH!" He chuckled. "Like I said, people do some dumb stuff and think some dumb things." He shrugged. "Maybe they wanted to do something all on their own, without the old man looking over their shoulder. Maybe they wanted to do something that would surprise him, since that's almost impossible to do." He nodded in my direction. "You surprise him, Sport. Take a hint from that."

"Me?" I asked shocked. "How can I surprise him? What did I do?"

"It's not what you did," he explained. "It's what you are, I guess." He shrugged again. "I dunno. I hear him talk about you after hearing about some of the stuff you do. Like that demon fight you did. You shouldn't have won. You should have died. Surprised the hell out of him."

"Huh." Which led me to ask, "Who's his heir?"

Dante just grinned. "That I can't tell you, Sport. I can tell you that if I was you, I'd start dressing better."

Whaaa? Mister Obvious, what the hell? Surely he didn't mean me? Me? Not quite knowing what to say, I shoved that away for a rainy day. Me? Really? Me? Fergit it. Never happen. But... Really... Me?

"I... don't know what to say," I said anyway.

"Then don't," Dante' warned. The old man will know that I let you know this much. He doesn't miss much. Besides, he as good as told you last time you were here, you just didn't hear him. So shut up about it.

"Why?" I could only mutter it.

"Because, if you tell him that I told you, then he'll have my hide," the gnome said miserably. "I only have so many to go around."

"No," I said. "Why me?"

"Who knows?" Dante's shrugged. "Humans are so weird. I can't figure them out. Maybe he like that you surprise him. Maybe he likes that you don't do magic the way everyone else does. I dunno, Sport. It's certainly not that crap car you drive."

"Hey!" I said defensively. "The thingmobile has gotten me around for years."

"Whatever." He hoisted the lotus bottle. "You wanna try a real drink? It's from my home country."

"Where's that?" I asked. "Germany?"

"Hell no," he said, smiling. "Jersey."

He poured some into my glass. It was a lavender color and smelled like a cross between chocolate cake and something meaty. I tasted it. I was half expecting something sweet. It was a deep, dark taste, full of the earth and..., "there's something else."

"Truck tires," he said, smirking.

"What?" I didn't think I heard what he had said.

"Truck tires," he repeated. "Specifically from a '38 dodge pickup. Great year, the '38."

I started to spit it out, but the drink really did not taste that bad, so I swallowed it. "You're kidding, right?"

"Look, Sport," he just sat there grinning like a drunken gnome, which he was. "It's got a bit of old world magic in it. '38 was a great year. The tires just give it a little extra kick." He laughed and snorted. "Get it? Huh? Kick the tires? Ha ha ha."

"Yeah, I get it." Back to business. Whatever it was that I just drank, it was making my head spin just a little. "Where is Mary and Armand now?"

"The old man knows," Dante said. "I think they are in Cuba or the Dominican or somwhere. He isn't telling, least not until you prove that Mary didn't kill Mendlehousen."

"But she is involved," I pointed out. "Barrick himself said so."

"He said she's involved," Dante' said. "He also said she didn't kill Mendle the Monster."

"Mendle the Monster is about right," I said, offering my glass to be refilled from the lotus bottle. I thought that the bottle would be empty by now, but apparently not. Useful stuff, old world magic.

"You went to his place, right?" Dante' asked. "What did you find?"

"You ever go there?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"No," he said. "That's why I'm askin' you."

"Mendle has monsters in his close'" I said. I began to think I was a bit drunk.

"Closet monsters?" Dante's eyes grew round. "No shit? Real Closet monsters?"

"All hair and teet' and big blue eyes!" I said emphatically, nodding till my head almost fell off. "Chase me the hell out of there!"

"Whoa, Sport," Dante' put the lotus bottle back under the counter, which made me sad. "No more dodge mead for you. It's too high octane if you've never had it before."

"Aw, c'mon, Dante' ol' buddy." Yep. I was drunk. I don't get drunk much. This stuff was damn strong.

"No," he denied me. "You just sit there till you sober up a bit."

"Hokay," I agreed sloshingly. My eyes were very heavy and I wanted to sleep. "Coffee?" I hoped. No way was I going to drive home like this.

"Somewhere," He said. "Hold on a sec." He called up his wormhole and popped out.

Drunkely, I tried to stand and only made it as far as my hands and knees. Off in the distance, I could see one of the sofas nearby, only thirty or so miles away as the drunk crawls. I decided that it would be best if I just lay down. The floor was so cool on my cheek. That dodge mead was strong....

And the next thing I knew was Dante', standing above me, slapping me awake.