Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

“Get real, kid,” said Stella. “My mother peddled the stuff for years. She knew what was going on. You’re from a long line of con men, going all the way back to Sieur Athanate de la Perpétuite, who came over with Champlain in sixteen-oh-eight. The family always kept a kid in the attic. It’d be bad for business for Athanatos the Eternal to die.”

Stella butted the stunned young man with the gurney, knocking him to the floor. Then she hopped around to maneuver Bullock into place. Tap, tap went the heel against his temple. “Stay down there or he’ll shoot,” she warned.

“Can’t shoot what you can’t see,” said Billy, jumping up with a small fire extinguisher he’d found under the workbench. The foam hit Bullock full in the face and blinded him. Stella, her forearm across Bullock’s chest, tried to keep control of the gurney, while with her free hand she scooped the foam out of his eyes.

“Dad said we never die,” panted Billy. “Every so often we just retire to Peacock Island and the next generation takes over.”

“Dream on,” said Stella, clearing the last of the foam from Bullock’s eyes.

“Yeah?” answered Billy loudly. “Yeah? Did you actually see a cigarette in Dad’s hand?”

Stella stopped. “Come to think of it, I didn’t,” she admitted. “He was kind of smoldering all over like he’d stuffed cigarettes in his pockets.”

“As for spontaneous combustion,” said Bullock, trying to get control of the situation, “I find that I concur with Leibig on the matter.”

Suddenly Billy changed tactics, jumped up on the gurney and clambered wildly toward the service revolver in Bullock’s holster. But when he drew it out, Stella grabbed the lanyard that was attached to the gun butt and yanked hard. The weapon flew from his hand, slammed against the wall, and discharged, striking a laboratory propane tank. The explosion hurled the gurney against the far wall.

Bullock regained consciousness in a cellar aflame. The force of the explosion had torn him free from all the straps except the one on his left ankle. Stella lay nearby against the wall, the back of her head wet with blood. Bullock couldn’t find a pulse. He crawled toward the stairs to the outside, dragging the gurney. On the way he found Billy Athanatos crying with pain and trying to save money from the burning duffel bag. Half pulling, half shoving, Bullock got the protesting young man up the stairs, the gurney bumping along behind him.

Billy sat on the curb with his seared hands between his knees, sobbing. Bullock glumly worked to undo the strap binding him to the gurney, wondering if it wouldn’t be better, when he was done, to walk right back into the fire and burn up like good old Mavis’s nest egg. Maybe the “Killed-in-the-Line-of-Duty” pension would make up for things. Bullock looked at the flames and sighed. Around him the neighbors were starting to gather. In the distance he heard a fire engine.

“Boy,” said Billy through his tears, “talk about rotten luck. No formula. No five million. No house. What have I got?” With tender hands he reached inside his coat, pulled out a wad of money, and counted. “A measly sixty seventy thou.”

Bullock grabbed the money. “Threatening a Mountie with cheese and rats is a federal offense, Billy,” he said, as he counted out twenty thousand dollars. “But I’m going to let that pass.” He handed back the rest of the money. “Got to go, Billy,” he said. “If I wait around, they’ll put me on traffic control. Tell them about Stella and everything. Tell them they can get in touch with me at headquarters. I’ve got to get to the bank before it closes.” He stood up and walked away.

“You’re not off the hook, you know,” shouted Billy. “When I don’t show up with the five million, Lady Chin-Chin will start diving on her own. She’ll find the formula and she and that crew of hers will rule the world.”

Sure, sure, Billy, said Bullock to himself, rubbing his ear thoughtfully. By godfrey, maybe it was his responsibility to go up to the Arctic after them. On the other hand, if the Blue Bread of Happiness worked and The Sea Monoceros really existed, then the giant Ice Worms existed, too. Why not just leave Lady Chin-Chin and the salvage crew to the terrible mercies of the Ice Worm Queen?

Pre-Mortem by Dixie J. Whitted

Detectiverse

The coroner sharpened his knife
And sighed as he honed it, “That’s life.
  We just never know
  When it’s our time to go...”
And called, “Come in, dear,—” to his wife...

Gemini by Gerald Pearce