Foxy Malone pays a call

[Jordanna]

The taxi had dropped Alex Malone three blocks down from the address of Grimalkin Investigations, at his own request. He hadn't exactly wanted to advertise his destination. All the same, as he walked down the street, he began to regret not keeping to the security of the taxi for as long as possible. He felt uncomfortably conscious of the way he stood out in his suede leather coat and Rolex watch. It wasn't a pretty neighborhood, and he wouldn't have wanted to be wandering around it at night.

If this was the sort of place most mutants were already relegated to, perhaps Sid's fears about a repeat of Nazi Germany were not just paranoia, after all.

His nervousness about the scenery made Alex want to hurry... but his steps were weighed down by a greater trepidation about what he would find in the person of Regina Dawson. He continued to argue with himself about whether he should be going to her at all. In a way, asking one mutant for help in dealing with others on behalf of a human seemed rather absurd. On the other hand, as Ed Fearney had observed, another mutant was far more likely to be knowledgeable about this alleged mutie gang. It all came down to the question of whether she was good-willed enough to help an ordinary guy like Sid over her own kind.

Our own kind, Alex reminded himself with a pang. Not that the detective would know that. He wasn't about to tell her what he really was, even if that made presenting his case on Sid's behalf more difficult.

The truth was, Alex had knowingly encountered very few other mutants. In his itinerant days, he'd always avoided working in any sideshows or carnivals that employed openly mutant performers. He had a rather irrational fear that they would somehow be able to see through him, recognizing him as one of their own--and that their acknowledgment alone would be enough to invisibly brand him for all the world to know.

Quite simply, he was afraid to be associated with others of his kind. He fully admitted that to himself, and part of him was ashamed of it--but he was lucky enough to look normal (if slightly comical), and to be easily capable of "passing". By any logical assessment, that was something to be valued and protected.

In any case, it had been a moot point in his years at the Paragon Club. For all Sid's open-mindedness toward mutants, very few distinguishable ones ever visited, as if the high-society human clientele exuded a tangible wall of prejudice to repel them. And Alex was content to be a glorified parrot for those people's amusement--as long as it got him what he wanted.

But now his comfortable bubble had been punctured, and reality was staring him in the face, daring him to defy his insecurities for the sake of a friend.

Really, he was surprised he'd had the courage to come this far.

Absorbed in his mental turmoil, he almost walked right past the office of Grimalkin Investigations. Noticing it at the last moment, he stopped in his tracks and warily regarded the careworn shopfront. He approached the door, hesitated, then at last wrenched it open and hastily stepped in.

The front room looked empty in more than one sense of the word. Alex dubiously sized up the setting, taking in the inner door marked with the detective's name. He looked around, searching for something like a bell to ring for service.

Finding nothing of the sort, he looked back at the door, and resolved himself. He squared his shoulders, marched up to the door, raised his fist... and managed a very faint, hesitant tap with two knuckles.

[skybright]

If her hearing hadn't been the sort that registered far beyond both ends of the traditional human range, Daws probably wouldn't have heard the knock. She was bent over the battered leather desk journal that contained her casebook, poring over notes from an old case in hopes of gleaning some information for a new one.

As it was, however, the hesitant taps at the office door pulled her out of her reverie. She quickly shut the casebook and slipped it back into the desk drawer. "Come on in."

She rose as a man cracked the door open and stuck his head into the room. Keen blue eyes studied the room from under a thatch of reddish hair.

"The rest of you can come in, too." Daws remarked, amused.

[Jordanna]

At first, Alex didn't quite notice the gray-furred figure in the drab room. It wasn't until she spoke that he realized the desk was occupied by a... person.

He knew better than to stare, but he couldn't suppress a twitch--and it wasn't entirely from surprise, either. The more reasonable part of his brain had just decided it was an ideal time to remind him that he was allergic to cats.

As if on cue--or the mere power of suggestion?--he began to feel an urgent itch in his sinuses.

"Um--er--Miss Dawson?" he stammered, rubbing his nose as he edged into the room.

[skybright]

"The same." Daws nodded and gestured at the client's chairs, sitting back down as she did so. "Come on in, have a seat. The chairs don't bite and neither do I -- except on Thursdays."

Daws studied the man as he edged nervously into the room and perched on the edge of one of the hardbacked chairs. He was well-off -- that much was obvious from the expensive coat and the swanky watch -- but he put off an air of down-to-earth, good-natured affability that she wouldn't expect from a rich guy. He was good-looking in an offbeat way; and those blue eyes sparkled and flicked around constantly, as if they couldn't quite keep still. Truth was, most of the rest of him followed suit -- especially his nose, which he was trying and failing to keep from twitching.

Daws leaned forward across the desk. "What can Grimalkin, Inc. do for you, Mister . . .?"

[Jordanna]

"Malone--Alex Malone," the entertainer answered hastily. "You know, Foxy Malone, star of the Paragon Club? ...No, I... guess you wouldn't." With a nervous chuckle, he squirmed on the hard seat--and suddenly erupted in a small sneeze.

Blushing to his collarbone, he fumbled for the handkerchief in his pocket. "I'm sorry, Miss... erm. I have an ah-ah-allergy..." He quickly stifled another sneeze with a finger under his nose, and took a moment to conquer his sinuses. Of all the problems he had anticipated in meeting the mutant detective, this was hardly one of them!

"I'm... here to help out a friend," he began at last, having at least temporarily overcome his urge to sneeze, although his nose continued to twitch. "Only he doesn't know I'm here. Sid Rosenstein, my boss at the Paragon. You see, he just got a threat from a gang that wants him to pay protection, and the rumor is it's a... a mutant gang. All I know is, they left this lying around."

Reaching beneath his coat, Alex produced the black-bladed dagger which had been the cause of Sid's worries, and set it on the desk in front of Daws. He had discreetly "borrowed" it the night before--and he would have to return it before his employer realized it was missing.

He shrugged slightly. "Sid likes mutants, Miss Dawson. He's... well... got friends who are mutants. He's afraid if he gets the cops or anybody else involved, it'll make trouble for people like--you." He caught himself just in time to keep the word us from coming out, and grinned wanly before continuing. "But I thought a detective who was... you know... might be able to deal with something like this without... uhm."

At this point, a shadow of Alex's true concern fell over his face, and a faint plea crept into his voice as he looked at Daws--no longer even noticing her difference. "Sid's got a wife and three beautiful kids, Miss Dawson. He's the nicest guy I know. He doesn't deserve--"

His speech abruptly ended in another sneeze. With a meek sniffle he raised his handkerchief to his nose and shrugged, watching anxiously for Daws' reaction through his half-closed, itching eyes.

[skybright]

"Bless you, Mr. Malone." Daws was trying her hardest not to laugh at the poor guy. There was something undeniably comical about the whole situation -- in all her years, Daws had never run across anyone who was actually allergic to her.

Daws slid the knife across the desk and examined it. It was one of those carbon-bladed numbers; you could buy them in most gun shops, but they weren't cheap. Most ordinary thugs would go for the more economical (and just as deadly) steel versions. But if you were going for style, and a touch of intimidation, the black-bladed knife would be just the thing.

But the knife wasn't the oddest thing about the sniffling, nervous man in the visitor's chair. There was something . . . not all right. . . about him. Nothing Daws could quite touch on; just a faint oddness when he spoke, something that tickled her suspicions.

Daws leaned back in her chair, balancing the knife between her hands. She studied Malone intently over the weapon's black blade.

"Mister Malone, I'm an honest person. But every once in a while I find myself being . . . less than honest. Usually I've got a good reason for it.

"Now I'm sure you're a standup guy, Mister Malone; and I like helping out standup guys. But my business is one of a handful of businesses you just can't do unless your clients are honest with you. Now, you can lie to your doctor, your lawyer, and your auto mechanic -- heck, you can lie to your priest if you want to. But if you want me to help you with your problem," She set the knife on the desktop and fixed his blue eyes with her grey ones,

"I need for you to tell me the rest of the truth."

[Jordanna]

Alex drew a sharp intake of breath, and it caused him to sneeze again.

Holding the handkerchief over his nose with both hands--perhaps subconsciously trying to hide behind it--he stared back at Daws with a silent sense of panic. He thought fast: Could she tell he was different? Was this the confirmation of those fears that had caused him to avoid other mutants?

Slowly he straightened on his chair. Lowering the handkerchief, he sniffled with as much dignity as he could muster, and forced himself to fall back on his acting skills.

"I don't know what you mean. I've told you all I know about what happened. What else could I say that could make any difference?"

[skybright]

Daws shook her head. "Mister Malone, I don't know too much about upscale human joints like the place you work. But I know enough to know that a nightclub in this town doesn't last two weeks before it gets touched for protection -- no matter what the cops in the RICO office want us to believe. A big, successful place like the Paragon's gotta be paying someone already; why is it your boss doesn't talk to them about this?" She nudged the knife.

[Jordanna]

Alex frowned, only halfway relieved. So it wasn't a personal question, then; but it was about Sid's background, and he hesitated to talk about that, too.

On the other hand, it wasn't exactly a secret whose family Sid had married into. Alex sighed and shrugged.

"Okay, look. Sid's father-in-law was the boss of the Comancini family, and they've always... sort of... looked out for him. But he's not in the business." Anymore, that is.

Alex rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose as he went on. "Sid hasn't tipped them off for the same reason he won't tell the cops. He thinks if they start fighting with this--mutant gang... it'll get people even more worked up about mutants than they are now." He squinted his watery eyes at Daws. "I told you he's trying to look out for mutants--even if it means getting squeezed by ones that aren't so nice."

[skybright]

Well, that was more like it -- although there was still something guarded about Malone, like he was telling her only the parts of the truth he thought she needed to hear. She wasn't all the way comfortable with that -- but it could ride for now.

Daws scratched behind her ear and said slowly "So he's putting himself under the hammer to keep a gang war from starting. I can admire that."

She frowned. "I'm not real sure what I can do to help you out, Mister Malone. I've started hearing things that make me think those rumors about a mutant mafia are probably true. With some snooping I could probably link them up solid with this." She gestured at the knife and then ran her fingers through her tousled hair.

After a minute she straightened in her chair. "If your boss has links with the Comancinis, and a liquor license, he must have some friends in the PD. Do you know of anyone in particular he might know -- a higher-up sort, someone who might consider him a personal friend?"

[Jordanna]

Alex's brow furrowed thoughtfully. Sid's relationship with the police was... interesting, to say the least. The more industrious ones had been unsuccessfully trying to pump him for information about the Comancini family for years--unsuccessful not only because Sid was faithful to his in-laws' trust, but because he really didn't know anything of current value.

That said, he did have a certain low-key friendliness with a few police officials who liked the company of rich, successful businessmen. Alex didn't know much on that score, but he'd encountered a few of them at least briefly--in much less than official circumstances.

"Well, there's a tall scarecrow with a creepy face named Engler," he recounted to Daws, gesturing broadly to embellish his descriptions. "And a little guy named Robinson--bad toupee, walks with a limp. You know either of 'em?"

[skybright]

"Oh, I know Robinson, all right. Tried to arrest me for a -- don't laugh -- cat burglary a couple years ago. Burned him good when he found out he couldn't fingerprint me, since I don't have any.

"As for Engler," Daws thought for a minute. "Yup, I think he might be the right guy for our purposes. If someone were to pass along some concrete evidence linking the mutant mafia -- or whoever else -- to this new pressure on your boss, Engler'd know the right ears to put the bug in."

She chuckled at the dismayed look on Malone's face. "Look, the fact of the matter is that the NYPD's RICO office -- that's 'Racketeer-Influenced and Corrupt Organizations', by the way -- have given up on breaking most of the big mobs. They've settled themselves down to just pushing the Mobs around -- keeping them out of the upscale areas, things like that. Most of the top RICO guys'll sit down and have lunch with a mob boss like they were long-lost cousins. And at one of those lunches, it's easily implied that everyone'd be happier if a certain boss backed off of a certain club; and in return, maybe the boss's next lawsuit might go a little faster. It isn't legal, it isn't even right: but that's the way that the Law handles these things.

"Now, I'll pull together the evidence; then you can see about putting it in Engler's hands. Sound all right?"

[Jordanna]

"You're the detective," Alex conceded. "Anything to get these people out of Sid's hair without rocking the boat the way he's worried about. I'm not going to tell him anything about this until we've got it settled, by the way."

Standing, he picked up the knife from the desk and slipped it into his inner coat pocket. "I've gotta put this back before Sid knows it's missing... So do you want a retainer now, or what?"

[skybright]

Daws chuckled. "You've watched a lot of Bogart movies, haven't ya Mister Malone?" She slid open the desk drawer and fished out her ledger.

"I usually ask for $500 up front -- that's a fifty buck retainer and three days of work on the case. If it takes me less time than that, you'll get the difference back. Everything'll be itemized, of course."

She glanced up at the entertainer, wondering if this was going to be one of those all-too-rare instances when she actually got paid up front.

[Jordanna]

Alex couldn't resist; he smiled slyly and replied, "You said it, sweetheart," in a perfect Bogart voice. Then, taking out his wallet, he laid down five hundred-dollar bills on the desk.

"It's really all Sid's money, when you think about it. I wouldn't be anywhere without him--that's why this is so important to me." He sniffed slightly and grinned, and after a hesitation prompted by the thought of picking up allergens, he held out his hand. "Thank you, Miss Dawson."

[skybright]

Daws couldn't help grinning at the impression. "And I thought my Bogart was good. No wonder you're a star."

She handed Malone a reciept for the money and returned the handshake. "I admire a guy who'll go the extra mile for a friend, Mister Malone -- and I'll do what I can to help you out. I've got a few days free; I'll see what I can dig up. You can expect to hear from me by the end of the week, I think." Daws couldn't help grinning. "Next time, I'd say you oughta take some benadryl before you stop by."

[Jordanna]

Alex grinned. "Yeah, I was kind of planning on that..." He abruptly disengaged from their handshake to stifle a sneeze with his handkerchief, and blushed. "See you around, Miss Dawson."

With a salutatory gesture, he turned and left the office. Once back outside, he lingered for a moment to wipe his eyes and take several deep breaths of outdoor air, trying to clear his sinuses. Then he set off down the street, once again intending to put some distance between himself and the detective before he hailed a cab.

He never noticed the little man who stood in the shadows across the street, a cigarette clamped between his small, sharp teeth.

[skybright]

Daws tucked the $500 into the inner pocket of her trenchcoat and leaned back in her chair, thinking.

Daws had a good strong suspicion of who was pressuring the Paragon Club for protection -- there was only one name in New York that ever connected to the phrase "mutant mafia". She had the sneaking feeling that her two latest cases were going to turn out to be the same case.

She'd planned on hitting up a few of Jack's old buddies along the waterfront for information regarding Tiernan's 'shipment'; but now she had two different problems she wanted information on, and one of them wasn't the sort of thing the regular crowd of snoops and sneaks would know about.

Daws stood briskly, retrieved her caselog from the desk drawer -- she never left it at the office -- and retrieved her hat from the perpetually-grieved bust of Shakespeare on the bookcase.

It was time to see the Twins.