“It’s more difficult than it looks,” explained the boy.
Mulch cranked open his massive jaws, pouring the whole pile down in one swallow. After several minutes’ chewing, he reached an entire hand into his mouth, dislodging a chunk of roast turkey.
“Next time, more mustard,” he said, brushing some crumbs from his shirt, and in the process inadvertently switching on the microphone clipped there.
“You’re welcome,” said Artemis.
“You should be thanking me, Mud Boy,” said Mulch. “I came all the way from Chicago to save your life. Surely, that’s worth one lousy sandwich. And when I say sandwich, I mean it in the loosest sense of the word.”
“Chicago? Jon Spiro sent you?”
The dwarf shook his head. “Possibly, but not directly. I work for the Antonelli family. Of course, they have no idea that I am an actual fairy dwarf, they think I’m simply the best cat burglar in the business.”
“Chicago’s district attorney has linked the Antonellis to Spiro in the past. Or rather, he’s tried to.”
“Whatever. Anyway, the plan is that I break in here, and then my partner encourages you to accompany us to Chicago.”
Butler was leaning against the table. “Where is your partner now, Mulch?”
“Outside the gate. He’s the small, angry one. Glad to see you’re alive by the way, big man. There was a rumor going round the underworld that you were dead.”
“I was,” said Butler, heading for the security booth. “But I’m better now.”
Loafers took a small spiral pad from his breast pocket. In it he had recorded any quips that he felt had really worked in dangerous situations. Snappy dialogue, that was the trademark of a good gangster, according to the movies, at any rate. He flicked through the pages, smiling fondly.
It’s time to close your account. Permanently. Larry Ferrigamo. Bent banker. August 9.
I’m afraid your hard drive has just been wiped. David Spinski. Computer hacker. September 23.
I’m doing this ’cause I knead the dough. Morty the Baker, July 17.
It was good material. Maybe he would write his memoirs some day.
Loafers was still chuckling when he heard Mo talking in his earpiece. At first he thought the monkey was speaking to him, but then he realized that his so-called partner was spilling the beans to their pigeon.
“You should be thanking me, Mud Boy,” said Digence. “I came all the way from Chicago to save your life.”
To save his life! Mo was working for the other side and the little idiot had forgotten about his microphone.
Loafers climbed out of the car, being careful to lock it. He would lose his deposit if the rental was stolen, and Miss Frazetti would take it out of his commission. There was a small pedestrian entrance in the wall beside the main gate. Mo Digence had left it open. Loafers slipped through and hurried down the avenue, careful to stay in the shadow of the trees.
In his ear, Mo kept chattering on. He laid out their entire plan to the Fowl kid without so much as the threat of torture. It was completely voluntary. Digence had somehow been working for the Irish kid all along. And what’s more, Mo was not Mo, he was Mulch. What kind of a name was that? Mulch who was apparently a “Fairy Dwarf.” This was getting weirder and weirder. Maybe the Fairy Dwarfs were some kind of gang. Although it wasn’t much of a gang name. The Fairy Dwarfs were hardly going to strike terror into the hearts of the competition.
Loafers trotted up the avenue past a line of elegant silver birches and an honest-to-God croquet pitch. Two peacocks strutted around the edge of a water feature. Loafers snorted. Water feature! In the days before TV gardeners it would have been called a pond.
Loafers was wondering where the delivery entrance was when he saw the sign: DELIVERIES AT REAR. Thank you very much. He checked his silencer and load one more time, and tiptoed across the gravel driveway.
Artemis sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
Mulch poked his head around the refrigerator door.
“Me, I’m afraid,” he mumbled, an unfeasible amount of food revolving inside his mouth. “Sun block. Disgusting, I know, but I’d smell a whole lot worse without it. Think bacon strips on a flat rock in Death Valley.”
“A charming image.”
“Dwarfs are subterranean creatures,” explained Mulch. “We lived underground, even during the Frond Dynasty.”
Frond had been the first elfin king. During his reign, fairies and humans had shared the earth’s surface.
“Being photosensitive makes it difficult to exist among humans. To be honest, I’m a bit fed up with this life.”
“Your wish is my command,” said a voice. It was Loafers. He was standing at the kitchen door, brandishing a very large gun.
In fairness to Mulch, he recovered well.
“I thought I told you to wait outside.”
“It’s true, you did. But I decided to come in anyway. And guess what. No septic tank, no effluent pipe. The back door is wide open.”