Page 60 of Shadow Ticket
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“So…you’re bringingme in to Vienna?”
“We are continuing on to Budapest.”
“I thought Vienna was you folks’ version of downtown.”
“Another ‘tale of two cities,’ Vienna solemn and psychoanalytic, while just down the river in Budapest carouses a psychical Mardi Gras in every shade of the supernatural no matter how lurid.Dieser Stadt,” a shiver perhaps not altogether unconnected with sleigh-riding activities, “ist mir sehr unheimlich.You would say, it gives me the creeps. Vienna is perhaps not for everyone, but Budapest—iih! Budapest just at the moment is the metropolis and beating heart of asport/apport activities, where objects precious and ordinary, exquisite and kitsch, big and small, have been mysteriously vanishing on the order of dozens per day, creating hours of overtime not only for the Budapest police but for us at the Inter-police Commission in Vienna as well.
“The chief beneficiaries according to the Evidenzbüro are a syndicate of fences closely associated with Bruno Airmont.” Handing over a folder with a couple of mug shots.
“Who’s this?”
“Bruno’s deputy, Ace Lomax, wants and warrants out on him internationally for years now, a miracle of lubrication, no matter how tightly we think we’ve got hold of him, somehow he always slips away. We have found it necessary to seek help in Budapest, and come to arrangements with the noted apportist Dr. Zoltán von Kiss. Obviously the Directorate cannot officially admit any connection with apports and the paranormal, preferring infact to deny all acquaintance with Dr. von Kiss, despite his reputation throughout Central Europe.”
“Hep to that, Milwaukee PD has the same problem, psychics make ’em all jumpy.”
“Dr. von Kiss will be meeting us at the East Station. He is actively engaged on a daily basis with criminal elements in Budapest, especially receivers of stolen goods, and through them, from time to time, with Mr. Lomax. Which should allow you to keep a close eye without raising too much suspicion.”
“That’s not what I’m supposed to be doing over here, you can check with U-Ops—”
“We did. Ace Lomax is your new assignment. The paperwork will arrive in a few days.”
“If somebody’s dog don’t eat it first. And if I decide to skip on you? That could happen too.”
“Where would you go? We would arrest you before you could get anywhere. Here’s the warrant, all filled in, approved, signed and stamped, Unlawful Flight to Avoid Employment.” Out with another mug shot, which he attaches to the warrant.
“Wait. That’s me?”
“Belinograph, all the way from Chicago. Pretty close likeness, isn’t it, allowing maybe for some facial wear and tear since the long-ago day it first went into your file.”
“I look like such a kid, what happened?”
“Something about this troubles you, I can tell.”
“Well, there used to be more time to make a getaway. Now they’re flashing everybody’s mug shot all around the world in the blink of an eye, pretty soon there’s no place to run to anymore. Aside from that, no, nothin too bothersome.”
“Meanwhile please accept this gift from the ICPC—”
Setting it carefully in easy reach. Well. What’s this then. Black, quietly gleaming, shape like a 1911 Colt automatic but smaller, lighter, the little guy in a saloon fight who eventually mops up the floor with everybody.
“Mr. McTaggart, may we introduce the Walther PPK. Newest model, fits unobtrusively in the pocket of the most respectable civilian suit, even what you have on. As popular on this side of the law as the Mauser Bolo is on the other. Already billed to U-Ops corporate overhead and registered in your name. Legally yours, take it away.”
“Quick work.”
“All done before you even left the States.”
Takes a minute for this to register. By the time it does, Praediger, nose merrily aglow, is on about the PPK vis-à-vis the Versailles-compliant Mauser C96, known as the Bolo because it’s said to be a big favorite with Bolsheviks, “providing a fine example of the LOUIE, or Law of Unintended Effects, five and a half inches having been too long a barrel for the victorious Entente, who decreed that the C96 must have aninchandahalfof its barrel chopped off before they’d feel safe in their peacetime beds, but then ha-HA! in kicks the LOUIE, as criminals everywhere begin to realize owing to the shorter barrel how concealable under any number of getups the Bolo has turned out to be, finding its way into places where its earlier full length never would have allowed it…” another jingle-bells excursion out onto the ski slopes of commentary. Hicks chisels a Régie from a passing train attendant, lights up, and pretends to be listening. But his mood is troubled.
22
The Oktogon is jumping. A good percentage of the foot traffic in this part of Budapest look to be young women, turned out far more snazzily than anybody working West Wells Street, or the Loop for that matter.
Zoltán von Kiss is sporting a suit of summer-weight fresco in a citric shade sometimes observed on swing musicians. A quick once-over further reveals that the suit, though appearing slept in for a number of nights in a row and uneasily at that, has working buttons and buttonholes on the sleeves, suggesting that it may have been run up just for him, someplace exclusive.
“Ebenstein’s,” von Kiss notices him looking, “actually, best in town, I’d be delighted to introduce you.” His gaze remaining for an extra few seconds on Hicks’s own purple-and-orange check turnout.
“OK with this one I’ve got on, no place in my bag for another suit anyway, but thanks, Doc.”
