The Librarians and the Lost Lamp

  Eight Ball, corner pocket, Stone thought. One more to go.

  “You stupid hick!” Rudy reached into his jacket, almost surely for a weapon, but Stone lunged at Rudy, body slamming into him and pinning his arm to his chest. The back of Rudy’s head banged against a wall-mounted hand dryer, activating it. Hot air blew noisily from the unit as Stone grabbed Rudy’s wrist and, twisting, relieved him of a Smith & Wesson pistol. He ejected the cartridge, almost as smoothly as Baird might have done, and lobbed the pistol into the nearest urinal, where it cracked loudly against the enamel. Rudy slid down the wall onto the floor, landing in a sitting position on the pseudo-Arabic tiles. His cowboy hat sat askew atop his head as he practically spat at Stone.

  “You’re making a big mistake, buster! You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

  “Neither do you.” Stone pocketed the cartridge, just to keep it out of the wrong hands, and tugged Rudy’s hat down over his ears. “Would you believe this isn’t even the first time I’ve busted heads in a men’s room? I should really look at my life choices.”

  Dunphy gaped at him from the handicapped stall. “Who … why…?”

  “Later, man.” Stone grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet. “We’ve got better places to be right now.”

  Dunphy nodded, still looking understandably shaken. Stone hustled him out the door into the hallway, where a pack of senior citizens were clucking over the sprawled form of Bad Toupee. One of them cautiously prodded him with her foot, eliciting a low moan.

  “Will you look at that?” Stone shook his head. “Some people just can’t hold their liquor.”

  He figured that it was only a matter of time before the casino’s own security staff showed up, so he hauled Dunphy out of the casino onto the sidewalk with all due haste. Oddly enough, as Stone knew from experience, local authorities were seldom keen on meddling Librarians disturbing the peace, and getting bailed out by Baird was not high on his to-do list.

  “Thanks, buddy!” Dunphy said. “I owe you one, big time!”

  Water dripped from his soaked red hair onto his shoulders. Stone was glad he’d managed to barge into the restroom before anything worse happened to their unlikely person of interest. Aside from possibly using magic to beat the odds at gambling, Dunphy struck Stone as harmless enough. Looks could be deceiving, especially where magic was concerned, but Dunphy wasn’t exactly giving off a diabolical mastermind vibe. He seemed better suited to Gamblers Anonymous than the Serpent Brotherhood.

  Then again, sometimes clueless amateurs, messing with forces they didn’t really understand, could be more dangerous than an actual black magician or mythological creature. Like that well-meaning college student not long ago, the one who accidentally opened a doorway to another reality and sicced a hungry, tentacled monster on her campus.…

  “We probably ought to stick to public places.” Stone guided Dunphy toward an empty bus stop, planting him down on a bench, before pausing to take stock of the situation and look Dunphy over. “You okay, man?”

  “Pretty much, I guess. Just a little rattled, you know.” Dunphy wiped his brow and tried to slick his hair back into place. “Good thing you came along when you did.”

  “Glad to be of service,” Stone said. “What was that all about anyway?”

  “Bunch of sore losers, that’s what. I cleaned Rudy out at a high-stakes poker game last night. He didn’t take it well, accused me of cheating him somehow.” Rudy shrugged. “Guess he holds a grudge.”

  That doesn’t sound like the same crew who ransacked the trailer, Stone thought. Then again, a guy like Dunphy who had been winning big, and conspicuously so, was probably bound to attract the wrong kind of attention from more than one party. “Some people just don’t like losing, which means they’re probably in the wrong town.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Dunphy extended his hand. “Gus Dunphy, by the way.”

  “Jake Stone.” He shook Dunphy’s hand. “Glad I could play Good Samaritan for you. Guess anybody who wins big needs to keep looking over their shoulder around here.”

  Dunphy glanced around nervously, even though the passing crowds were ignoring them. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” His stomach grumbled audibly. “Say, Jake, I know a great steakhouse downtown. You want to join me, maybe watch my back? My treat, naturally.”

  Stone mulled over his options. Befriending Gus had not been part of the plan, but maybe he could work with this? He needed to stick close to Dunphy anyway.

  “Sounds good to me. Let me just check in with my old lady.” He stepped away from the bus stop and dialed Baird. “Sorry to interrupt your reunion with your buddy, but we’ve had some new developments.”

  He concisely briefed her on recent events, including the fracas in the restroom and his unexpected dinner invitation.

  “Seems like I’ve ended up as Dunphy’s temporary bodyguard.”

  “There are worse ways to shadow him,” Baird said over the phone. “Do you need backup? I can cut things short here and rendezvous with you.”

  “Nah. We’re just going out for steak. I don’t expect things to get hairy.”

  To be honest, a nice slice of rib eye was sounding pretty good.

  “Okay. Just keep your eyes open and stay on your toes. Remember what Dunphy’s former neighbor said about loan sharks, ex-wives, et cetera. Lots of people may want a piece of him, including any number of sore losers … or worse.”

  “Duly noted,” Stone said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  Wrapping up the call, he returned to Dunphy, who looked visibly relieved to have him around.

  “Everything cool with your lady friend?”

  “You bet,” Stone said. “So, you were saying something about steak?”

  12

  2016

  “Heads or tails?”

  Jenkins flipped the purloined penny.

  “Tails,” Cassandra said, not entirely sure this was the most scientific way to test the coin, which landed heads up on the conference table in the Annex. “Does that count as a win or a loss?”

  “Unlucky for you,” Jenkins said, “but possibly lucky for me?” He flipped the penny again and got tails this time. “I must say, I’m not really observing anything remarkable about this coin so far.”

  Cassandra was reaching the same conclusion. She scanned the penny with a handheld magic detector that resembled a battery-powered egg beater with spinning silver globes at the end of the probes. A lighted display panel measured any unusual electromagnetic energies, but was failing to register any anomalies along both the conventional and paranormal spectrums. She recalibrated the device, which she had customized herself, to search for unlikely quantum fluctuations, which you’d expect if probability was being messed with, but struck out again.

  “I know what you mean,” she says. “I’m not detecting any supernatural emanations at all. And the composition of the coin is perfectly standard as well. 97.5 percent zinc and 2.5 percent copper … well, copper-plated zinc, to be exact.”

  “As one would expect from any US penny manufactured after 1982,” Jenkins confirmed. He stopped flipping the coin and tallying the results long enough to consult a massive tome lying open on the table, which he had retrieved from the reading room earlier. He leafed through the book while examining both sides of the coin with a magnifying glass. “Hmm. Just as I suspected. Zumwalt’s Guide to Arcane Numismatics has nothing to say about a 2003 copper penny minted in Denver displaying any special properties.” He put down the magnifying glass. “Now if it had been an 1857 Flying Eagle penny from the secret mint in Baltimore that would be another story, but this, to all appearances, is a perfectly mundane piece of currency, of no particular distinction.”

  Cassandra scanned the penny one more time, looking for residual traces of manna or ectoplasm, but found nothing but greasy fingerprints. Nor could she spot any occult sigils hidden in the engraving.

  “I’m striking out here,” she admitted. “Could it be that we’re on the
wrong track?”

  “That certainly appears to be the case.” Jenkins closed the book on the matter, literally. “It seems Mr. Dunphy’s lucky penny is nothing but a red herring as far as our investigation is concerned. If there is indeed a magical explanation for his improbable winning streak, it must lie elsewhere.”

  Discouraged, Cassandra put away her scanner. “So this has all been just a wild goose chase?”

  “Not if the Clipping Book dispatched you there. More likely, you have simply taken a wrong turn.” He stepped away from the table. “Which reminds me, though, I need to collect some eggs from the Golden Goose. She gets cranky if her nest gets too full.”

  Cassandra’s eyes widened. “We have a goose?”

  “Nothing you need concern yourself with this minute,” Jenkins said. “You had best deliver the results of our analysis to Colonel Baird and the others.”

  Cassandra sighed. Despite the brief exhilaration of her epic blackjack run, she was in no hurry to return to Vegas, let alone to inform the rest of the team that they were back at square one. Pocketing the penny, she took the Back Door to Ali Baba’s Palace, Jenkins having fine-tuned the coordinates to (hopefully) bypass the wedding chapel. A flash of light, along with a crackle of eldritch energies, deposited her in a backstage dressing room crammed with Vegas showgirls getting ready for a show. Sequined belly dancer costumes let Cassandra know she was in the right place, give or take a door. A leggy brunette looked up from a lighted makeup table, where she’d been applying her lipstick.

  “You lost, babe?” She looked Cassandra over. “No offense, but aren’t you a little short for a showgirl?”

  “I’m a Librarian,” Cassandra explained. “And I’m only a little bit lost.…”

  * * *

  Skorzeny’s was a downtown steakhouse just a block or two off the main action on Fremont Street. A far cry from the gaudy, theme-park excesses of Ali Baba’s Palace, it was an unpretentious, old-fashioned eatery that wasn’t pretending to be anything it wasn’t. Exposed brick walls and wooden beams conveyed a cozy ambiance, while cloth tablecloths and linens provided a touch of class. Autographed photos of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Lauren Bacall, Sammy Davis Jr., and other legendary entertainers were framed upon the walls. Judging from the photos, the restaurant’s decor hadn’t changed much since the Rat Pack was in its prime. Classic crooners played softly over the sound system. A rolling salad cart went from table to table.

  “Isn’t this place great?” Dunphy asked, digging into his prime rib. “Real, old-school Vegas. Used to be a mob hangout back in the good old days. Everybody ate here: Bugsy Siegel, Meyer Lansky, that whole crowd. If you look close, you can still see a few bullet holes in the brickwork.”

  “I can believe it.” Stone couldn’t fault Dunphy’s taste in restaurants. This place felt a whole lot more authentic than Ali Baba’s, and the food was pretty good, too. He sprinkled some more black pepper over a thick rib-eye steak, cooked just the way he liked it. “So, you a local?”

  “You bet,” Dunphy said. “I’ve got Vegas in my blood. Couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.” He looked across the table at Stone. “Where did you say you were from?”

  Stone hadn’t, but saw no harm in volunteering the info. “Oklahoma, originally, although I’m working out of Portland these days.” He took advantage of the opportunity to try to find out more about Gus. “You one of those Vegas high rollers you hear about?”

  Dunphy lowered his voice and looked around warily.

  “Can’t tell a lie. I’ve been making out like a bandit since winning the lottery last week. Poker, craps, roulette … you name it, I’ve been winning big time. And no penny-ante stuff. We’re talking real money here.”

  “Whoa.” Stone made sure to sound suitably impressed. “So what’s your secret, man, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Dunphy hesitated before answering, taking a gulp from a beer bottle to buy time.

  “No secret, really. You just gotta trust your instincts, you know, and go for broke when Lady Luck comes your way. Trust me, I was way overdue for a hot streak, but I stuck it out and look at me now.”

  Stone remembered the unpaid bills and past-due notices littering Dunphy’s run-down trailer. Gus’s luck had changed, all right, but he doubted his new buddy was being entirely straight with him. Maybe a few more beers would loosen his tongue?

  “So that’s all there is to it?” he asked. “Just seizing the day when you’re on a roll?”

  “Well, there’s some skill involved, naturally.” Dunphy puffed up his chest. “You need to have a clear head, steady nerves, and the guts to roll the dice in the first place. Gambling is just like life, if you think about it. It’s all about—”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen. Allow me to join you.”

  Without asking for permission, an attractive woman in a black turtleneck and slacks sat down at their table. Straight black hair and bangs matched the kohl accenting her eyes. A golden stud pierced her nose, while an exotic accent suggested that she was hardly native to these parts. A sly, somewhat icy smile told Stone at once that she was trouble.

  Dunphy’s eyes bugged out. He grinned as though he couldn’t believe his luck. “Do I know you? Maybe from that pool party at Ali Baba’s the other day?”

  “Hardly,” she said. “I’m here to make you a business proposition.”

  Stone had no doubt that this was the “looker with an attitude” who had come looking for Gus at the trailer park. What she wanted now was anybody’s guess.

  “What kind of proposition?” Stone asked.

  She cast a disdainful glance in his direction. “I recommend you stay out of this, Mr. Stone. Believe me when I say I have no great love for Librarians.”

  Stone sat up straight, going on full alert. The very existence of the Library was a deeply guarded secret. Only the most serious bad guys, like Delaque or Prospero, knew of them, let alone could identify them by name.

  Forget local toughs like Rudy and his goons, he realized. We’re playing in the big leagues now.

  “Librarians?” Dunphy swung his gaze back and forth between Stone and the woman, understandably baffled. “You know each other?”

  The woman shook her head. “Only by reputation.”

  “That puts you one up on me, lady,” Stone said. “’Cause I don’t have a clue who you are.”

  “Call me Marjanah, and please don’t think of doing anything rash, Mr. Stone.” She preemptively confiscated both men’s forks and steak knives. “I assure you I’m not here alone.”

  Looking away from her for a moment, Stone surveyed the interior of the steakhouse. A quick sweep of the place confirmed that Marjanah had muscle loitering near all the exits, watching the dealings at the table intently. Stone counted at least four men, all of them radiating menace if you looked hard enough. A telltale bulge under the nearest thug’s jacket made it clear that he was armed with more than just a surly expression.

  Crap.

  Stone suddenly wished that he had held on to Rudy’s pistol. Not that he was all that eager to trigger a gunfight in a crowded restaurant, full of innocent diners; as a rule, he preferred to rely on his fists—and brains—to get out of a tough scrape. Firearms were for fighting genuine monsters, not human beings, even though the former had an annoying tendency to be bulletproof.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” Gus picked up on the rising tension at the table. “Am I missing something?”

  “As I said,” Marjanah replied, “I have a business proposition.” She smirked coldly. “Your life … for the Lamp.”

  Lamp? Stone thought, confused. What lamp?

  This wasn’t about the penny?

  “Um, what lamp?” Dunphy nervously took a swig from his beer bottle, no longer delighted by their beautiful visitor’s presence at the table. “I don’t know anything about a lamp, although there’s a nice home furnishings shop a few blocks from here, by the Greyhound station.”

  Wow, Stone thought. He’s an even worse liar than Cassandra.
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  “Don’t try my patience, little man.” Marjanah scowled while toying with a commandeered steak knife. Contempt dripped from her voice. “You’ve had your fun with the Lamp, wasting it on petty diversions, but it’s time to surrender it to those of us who truly appreciate its value. Enjoy your winnings and count yourself fortunate that there’s no need for matters to get … messy.”

  “Messy?” Gus swallowed hard, going pale beneath his spray tan. “What do you mean by messy?”

  Instead of answering, she helped herself to his steak, slicing off a big piece of pink meat, cooked very rare. She took her time chewing the morsel, letting Dunphy sweat and Stone ponder his next move.

  “Ah, nice and bloody,” she declared finally. “Just the way I like it.”

  “Really?” Stone asked. “Looks to me like it needs pepper.”

  She may have taken his cutlery, but Stone had palmed the pepper shaker while she was looking at Dunphy and furtively unscrewed the cap underneath the table. Before this could go too far, he threw the contents of the shaker into her face. She cried out furiously.

  “No! Not again!”

  Again?

  Stone had no idea what she was referring to, but could live without an explanation. Tears streaming from her eyes, and sneezing uncontrollably, she slashed blindly at him with the knife, but he threw himself backward in time. Springing to his feet, he took hold of the tablecloth and yanked it off the table, spilling plates and food and drinks into her lap to keep her off her game.

  “Kill him!” she shouted at her men. “Make him pay with his life!”

  * * *

  Baird’s phone chimed, alerting her to an incoming call from Cassandra.

  “Excuse me,” she told Krieger. “I need to take this.”

  Stepping away from the booth in the bar, she answered the call. “Cassandra? What’s the verdict?”

  “It’s not the penny,” Cassandra blurted. “It’s something else.”

  That was not what Baird had expected to hear. “Such as?”

  “I have no idea, and neither does Jenkins. We investigated the penny every way we could think of, but it still tested negative for magic. We’ve been looking in the wrong direction.”