‘The mutt is Loafers McGuire, your partner. He’s a metal man. It’s a two-tiered job. You open the doors. Loafers escorts the mark back here.’
Escorting the mark. Mulch understood what that term meant, and he didn’t want any part of it. Robbery was one thing, but kidnapping was another. Mulch knew that he couldn’t actually turn down this assignment. What he could do was ditch the metal man at the first opportunity and head to one of the southern states. Apparently Florida had some lovely swamps.
‘So, who’s the mark?’ said Mulch, pretending that it mattered.
‘That’s need-to-know information,’ said Loafers.
‘And let me guess, I don’t need to know.’
Carla Frazetti pulled a photograph from her coat pocket.
‘The less you know, the less you have to feel guilty about. This is all you need. The house. This photograph is all we have for the moment; you can case the joint when you get there.’
Mulch took the photo. What he saw on the paper hit him like a gas attack. It was Fowl Manor. Therefore Artemis was the target. This little psychopath was being sent to kidnap Artemis.
Frazetti sensed his discomfort. ‘Something wrong, Mo?’
Don’t let it show on your face, thought Mulch. Don’t let them see.
‘No. It’s… eh… That’s quite a set-up. I can see alarm boxes and outdoor spots. It’s not going to be easy.’
‘If it was easy, I’d do it myself,’ said Carla.
Loafers took a step forward, looking down at Mulch. What’s the matter, little man? Too tough for you?’
Mulch was forced to think on his feet. If Carla Frazetti thought he wasn’t up to the job, then they would send somebody else. Somebody with no qualms about leading the Mob to Artemis’s door. Mulch was surprised to realize that he couldn’t let that happen. The Irish boy had saved his life during the goblin rebellion, and was the closest thing he had to a friend – which was pretty pathetic when you thought about it. He had to take the job, if only to make sure that it didn’t go according to plan.
‘Hey, don’t worry about me. A building hasn’t been built that Mo Digence can’t crack. I just hope Loafers is man enough for the job.’
Loafers grabbed the dwarf by the lapels. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Digence?’
Mulch generally avoided insulting people who were likely to kill him, but it might be useful to establish Loafers as a hothead now. Especially if he was going to blame him for things going wrong later.
‘It’s one thing being a midget monkey, but a midget metal man? How good can you be at close quarters?’
Loafers dropped the dwarf and ripped open his shirt to reveal a chest rippling with a tapestry of tattoos.
‘That’s how good I am, Digence. Count the tattoos. Count ’em.’
Mulch shot Miss Frazetti a loaded look. The look said: You’re going to trust this guy?
‘That’s enough!’ said Carla. ‘The testosterone in here is starting to stink worse than the walls. This is a very important job. If you two can’t handle it, I’ll bring in another team.’
Loafers buttoned his shirt. ‘OK, Miss Frazetti. We can handle it. This job is as good as done.’
Carla stood, brushing a couple of centipedes from the hem of her jacket. The insects didn’t bother her unduly. She’d seen a lot worse in her twenty-five years.
‘Glad to hear it. Mo, put some clothes on and grab your monkey kit. We’ll wait in the limo.’
Loafers poked Mulch in the chest. ‘Five minutes. Then we’re coming in to get you.’
Mulch watched them go. This was his last chance to duck out. He could chew through the bedroom foundations and be on a southbound train before Carla Frazetti knew he was gone.
Mulch thought about it seriously. This kind of thing was totally against his nature. It wasn’t that he was a bad fairy, it was simply that he wasn’t accustomed to helping other people. Not unless there was something in it for him. Deciding to help Artemis Fowl was a completely selfless act. Mulch shuddered. A conscience was the last thing he needed right now. Next thing you knew, he’d be selling cookies for the Girl Guides.
CHAPTER 6: ASSAULT ON FOWL MANOR
EXCERPT FROM ARTEMIS FOWL’S DIARY. DISK 2. ENCRYPTED
MY father had finally regained consciousness. I was, of course, relieved, but his last words to me that day were chasing themselves around in my mind.
‘Gold isn’t all-important, Arty,’ he had said. ‘Neither is power. We have everything we need right here. The three of us.’
Was it possible that the magic had transformed my father? I had to know. I needed to speak to him alone. So, at 3 a.m. the following morning, I had Butler bring me back to Helsinki’s University Hospital in the rented Mercedes.
Father was still awake, reading War and Peace by lamplight.
‘Not many laughs,’ he commented. More jokes. I tried to smile, but my face just wasn’t in the mood.
Father closed the book. ‘I’ve been expecting you, Arty. We need to talk. There are a few things we have to straighten out.’