A Very Small Matter, Part 3

    Notice: This story was been rated "NC17" for adult language, nudity,
strong sexual content, violence, and explicit smoking. If you don't like these
things stop right here, but you'll never know what you missed.


    This last is for Loring, who maintains the trough at which we all feed.


    "A Very Small Matter" Part 3 of 9


    Author's note: This story concludes (for the time being) the trilogy begun
in "Behind the Times" and continued in "A Letter from Paradise." As the
subject matter is more than a little strange, I recommend you peruse the
earlier stories (both available on Loring's page) before reading further. If
you find it all makes sense in the end, please e-mail me with the explanation.


    3. Conversation with an Old Fiend

    When I got home, Niles was waiting for me in the foyer. "A gentleman is
here to see you, sir" He said in his usual laconic tone. "I told him you were
out, but he insisted on waiting."

    "Who is it, Niles?"

    "He asked me to give you the name Higgenbotham, sir, but that is not the
name which appears on his calling card."

    A familiar, cold chill settled into my gut. Higgenbotham was the alias I'd
used on my last excursion. The one where Laurie had vanished. I snatched the
business card from Niles's hand and examined it.

    "Walter P. Huntington III
    Executive Vice President for Operative Management
    ALLIANCE OF GOD"

    Niles was kind enough to retrieve the card after it slipped from my
nerveless fingers. "Shall I show him out, sir?" Niles did his best to look
hard and dangerous, but didn't quite bring it off.

    The Alliance of God was a group of fanatical anti-pleasurists who
occasionally assassinated people. Laurie had said she was one of them, right
before she disappeared.

    "Uh, no, Niles, it's all right." Hah! "He's in the sitting room?"

    "Yes, sir."

    "Is he...did you see..."

    "If you mean 'is he armed,' sir, I'm afraid I cannot tell. My days in MI5
are far behind me."

    Niles was always full of little jokes. "It's all right, Niles. I'll speak
with him." It was anything but all right, but this was a link, and so far my
only one. "No further duties."

    "Do be careful, sir," Niles said, and departed.

    When I entered the sitting room, I had another nasty shock. Sitting in one
of my overstuffed chairs was Baldy, or so I had nicknamed him. The last time I
had seen Baldy, he was suffering from an acute case of death, caused by
Laurie's head shot. He was wearing a conservative business suit today instead
of black tie, and the glasses were missing, but it was the same man.

    He seemed quite lively, now, too. "Good evening, Mr. Grant. It's good to
see you." He rose and extended a hand. Automatically, my sweaty right clasped
his.

    I was determined to play this cool. In my limited experience, assassins
rarely come to your door with a calling card showing their true affiliation.
Or so I hoped.

    "Good to see you...again, Mr. Huntington. Please, sit down." We sat. This
would be tough. I was sweating like a hog, and my voice shook.

    "I don't believe we've actually met, Mr. Grant. What you saw in Paris was
a partial of mine, and not a particularly well-made one at that." He frowned,
as if at an unpleasant memory. "I'd offer my congratulations on your success
there, but it was hardly to your credit, do you think?"

    "Hardly," I agreed, pulling out a smoke. I knew he wouldn't approve, but
fuck him! This was my house. "And success is a relative thing." That night in
Paris had only been the worst of my life, but Baldy seemed none the worse for
wear.

    "Well put, Mr. Grant, and quite pertinent to the crux of this little
matter." To my astonishment, he produced a cigar in an aluminum tube, removed
it, clipped it with a gold instrument, and lit up with obvious relish. The
cigar bore a "Cohiba" band, which if I knew my cigars (and I didn't) meant a
connoisseur's smoke.

    "As a great writer once put it," he continued around the cigar, "the
downfall of the big liar starts the day he begins to believe his own big lie

    Why, the fucking hypocrite! My hands clenched the arms of my chair

    "So its all a con?" I asked. "All the anti-smoking, anti-pleasure
garbage..."

    "Oh hardly that, Mr. Grant." Baldy blew a near-perfect smoke ring. "How
shall I put it? Self-denial is for the peasants, not the nobility. Now, let's
get down to business, shall we?" The only business I wanted right then was to
punch that grinning jackal in the face. "I believe we have a mutual interest
in a certain young lady, a Miss Banning, is that correct?"

    "Yes." I tried to keep all expression off my face.

    "She was quite a valuable asset to us, Mr. Grant. Young. Attractive.
Deadly. A smoker. We do not employ many smoking agents, as I'm sure you can
imagine." Baldy was leering as he spoke. I decided I definitely liked him
better with his brains blown out.

    "She was, in fact, by far the most elaborate of our sleeper operatives.
When sleeping, that is between assignments, she retained little or no memory
of her association with us, or the...traumas which lead her to join the
Alliance." Baldy paused, flashing an awful smile. "And those were artful
traumas, don't you agree?"

    "Artful?" I couldn't help shouting now. "You mean false?"

    "That wouldn't be entirely accurate, no," Baldy said. "All of those
experiences did indeed happen to one or more Laurie Bannings in one or more
worlds, just not to the Miss Banning you came to know. We lent her those
memories, as well as arranged your putative responsibility for them."

    "God damn you, I..." I started to rise from the chair.

    Baldy spoke sharply. "Do you wish to see her again, Mr. Grant? If so,
please sit down. And no more unpleasant displays." Baldy waved his cigar,
indicating the mansion around us "In any event, you should be thanking me, not
cursing me. Who do you believe arranged for your little 'inheritance?' It
certainly wasn't Miss Banning."

    I sat, beaten. "What is it you want?

    "It's quite simple. When she used the breath spray she took from my
partial..."

    "Breath spray?

    "Did you think we would use cigarettes and lighters?" I could hear phony
disgust in his voice. "Please don't interrupt again. She was removed to a time
and place where a woman with her skills could be of some small damage to our
cause. I have neither the time nor the personnel to hunt her down at the
moment. More important opportunities are knocking elsewhere.

    "We want you to find her for us, Mr. Grant. We are prepared to arrange
transport for you to her current approximate location. After you arrive, you
are on you own. I have no doubt you will be quite dedicated to the search."

    "Find her for you, so you can...enslave her again?" I shouted. "Load her
down with painful, horrible memories that happened to someone else..."

    "Temper, Temper, Mr. Grant. Remember you manners That damage has already
been done, I fear."

    I choked back rage. "And if I find her? Then what?"

    "Then nothing, Mr. Grant. You may whisk her back to this hedonistic
hellhole, and waste your short lives as you see fit. We are willing to endure
this loss in exchange for your service in removing her from her
present...unfavorable location."

    Guys, I hope you don't think I believed this bastard. I wanted to though,
and badly. It almost made sense. A favor for a favor. Laurie out of danger and
both of us back here, safe, our world-hopping days over. We'd be no threat to
any dread powers.

    Not for a minute did I believe him. So I asked the usual stupid hero
question.

    "How do I know I can trust you?"

    "Why would I go to the trouble of betraying you? Please, Mr. Grant, do not
overestimate your own or Miss Banning's importance. In the larger scheme of
things this is a small matter. A very small matter indeed."

    Baldy didn't give me time think up any more dumb questions. "Give me your
lighter." He was clearly used to obedience. I obeyed.

    He held the lighter in his right hand, which also held his cigar. He
examined it with distaste. "Primitive." He shook it next to his ear. "But
adequate." He took a tiny, round, metal plate from his jacket, peeled
something off the back, and placed it on the lighter. It stuck.

    Baldy stood and handed back the lighter as I also rose. "When you are
ready to depart, simply light a cigarette. There's no rush, as the time and
place of your arrival is fixed by the locator." He indicated the metal disk
affixed on the lighter. "Just don't wait until you're old and gray." He
chuckled.

    He took another, larger disc from his pocket and handed it to me. "This is
the homer. Simply leave it here when you depart, and it is to here you will
return. If you are returning with others, as I hope you will be, have everyone
light up from the flame simultaneously. It helps the homer to function
properly. Am I understood?"

    "Perfectly," which I hoped was true.

    "Then I shall say good night to you, Mr. Grant. It's been a pleasure doing
business." As we walked to the door, he gave me a false-hearty slap on the
back.

    Eat shit and die, asshole, I wish I had said. I opened the door.

    "Oh, and one other thing, Mr. Grant."

    "What's that?"

    "When you arrive at your destination, ditch the cigarette. Quickly."

    With that he was gone. I went to the window and looked out. No sign of
Baldy.

    No doubt he had taken the breath spray express out of town.

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