Loafers bristled. “What do you mean, two short guys?”
Carla snapped the compact shut. “Who are you talking to, McGuire? Because you couldn’t be talking to me. Not in that tone.”
Loafers paled, his life flashing before him.
“I’m sorry, Miss Frazetti. It’s just the short thing. I’ve been listening to it my whole life.”
“What do you want people to call you? Lofty? You’re short, Loafers. Get over it. That’s what gives you your edge. My godfather always says; there’s nothing more dangerous than a short guy with something to prove. That’s why you’ve got a job.”
“I suppose.”
Carla patted him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Loafers. Compared to this guy, you’re a regular giant.”
Loafers perked up considerably. “Really? Just how short is Mo Digence?”
“He’s short,” said Carla. “I don’t know the exact inches, but any shorter and I’d be changing his diaper and stuffing him in a stroller.”
Loafers grinned. He was going to enjoy this job.
Mo Digence had seen better days. Less than four months ago he had been living it up in a Los Angeles penthouse with more than a million dollars in the bank. Now his funds had been frozen by the Criminal Assets Bureau, and he was working for the Chicago Mob on a commission basis. And Spatz Antonelli was not known for the generosity of his commissions. Of course, Mo could always leave Chicago and go back to L.A., but there was a police task force there with his name on it, just waiting for him to return to the scene of the crime. In fact there was no safe haven for Mo aboveground or below it, because Mo Digence was actually Mulch Diggums, kleptomaniac dwarf and fugitive from the LEP.
Mulch was a tunnel dwarf who had decided that a life in the mines was not for him, and put his mining talents to another use. Namely, relieving Mud Men of their valuables and selling them on the fairy black market. Of course, entering another’s dwelling without permission meant forfeiting your magic, but Mulch didn’t care. Dwarfs didn’t have much power anyway, and casting spells had always made him nauseous.
Dwarfs have several physical features that make them ideal burglars. They can dislocate their jaws, ingesting several kilos of dirt a second. This dirt is stripped of any beneficial minerals, then ejected at the other end. They have also developed the ability to drink through their pores, an attribute that can be very handy during cave-ins. It also transforms the pores into living suction cups, a convenient tool in any burglar’s arsenal. Finally, dwarf hair is actually a network of living antennae, similar to feline whiskers, that can do everything from trap beetles to bounce sonar waves off a tunnel wall.
Mulch had been a rising star in the fairy underworld, until Commander Julius Root got hold of his file. Since then, he had spent more than three hundred years in and out of prison. He was currently on the run for stealing several gold bars from the Holly Short ransom fund. There was no safe haven belowground anymore, even among his own kind. So, Mulch was forced to pass himself off as human, and take whatever work he could get from the Chicago Mob.
There were hazards associated with impersonating a human. Of course, his size drew attention from everyone who happened to glance downward. But Mulch quickly discovered that Mud Men could find a reason to distrust almost anyone. Height, weight, skin color, religion. It was almost safer to be different in some way. The sun was a bigger problem. Dwarfs are extremely photosensitive, with a burn time of three minutes. Luckily, Mulch’s job generally involved night work, but when he was forced to venture abroad in daylight hours, the dwarf made certain that every inch of exposed skin was covered with long-lasting sun block.
Mulch had rented a basement apartment in an early-twentieth-century brownstone. It was a bit of a fixer-upper, but this suited the dwarf just fine. He had stripped out the floorboards in the bedroom, dumping two tons of topsoil and fertilizer onto the rotten foundations. There was already mold and damp climbing the walls, so no need to remodel anything there. In a matter of hours, insect life was thriving in the room. Mulch would lie back in his pit and snag cockroaches with his beard hair. Home sweet home. Not only was the apartment beginning to resemble a tunnel cave, but if the LEP came a callin’, he could be fifty yards belowground in the blink of an eye.
In the coming days, Mulch would come to regret not taking that route as soon as he heard the knock at the door.