The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

Jorge Vasquez came back while Michael was still incanting. He handed me the certificates I'd asked for. Sure enough, they showed he was bringing in flayed human skin substitute produced by the law of similarity, as certified by some high sorcerer down in Tenochtitlan, the point of origin of the stuff. The certificate had Aztecian export stamps and Confederation import stamps right where they belonged. On parchment Chocolate Weasel was as legal as could be.

"Thanks very much, Mr. Vasquez," I said. "You maintain excellent documentation."

"I have to," he answered, his tone bitter, "It is the only way I can protect myself from harassment because I am an Aztecian businessman serving my people on Confederation soil." He was back to that song again. I let it alone; nothing I could say was going to make him change his mind.

Michael spoke a last couple of magical words, lifted the wet sheet of flayed human skin substitute from the one he'd taken out of his little black bag. "No skin of bleeding," he said, sounding as surprised as he ever did - which is to say, Vasquez, who didn't known him well, wouldn't have noticed any change in his voice. "I must conclude that the specimen from the vat is thaumaturgically inactive with respect to Huitzflopochtli."

"I could have told you as much," Vasquez said. "In fact, I did tell you as much, but you chose not to listen. Are you satisfied?"

I nodded, reluctantly. I'd thought we'd surely find the pot of gold at Chocolate Weasel (which reminded me I'd have to do something one of these days about the study on naturalizing leprechauns). Michael said. The data we have obtained leave us no reason to be dissatisfied," which struck me as damning with faint praise. He must have been disappointed, too.

"I presume you will have the courtesy to mention this in your written report," Vasquez said with icy, ironic politeness.

"I also trust you will be making that report soon."

I knew a hint to get out of there when I heard one. I'd have liked to stay and snoop some more, but after Michael failed to find any trace of Huitzilopochthc influence on the flayed human skin substitute, I didn't see how I could. I waited for Michael to finish packing the tools of his trade, then dejectedly followed Vasquez back to his office.

In front of that office, he sank another barb: "I hope you gentlemen can find your own way out. Good day." He went inside and closed the door after him.

We found our own way out. Once again, nobody up front took any interest in us except to speed us on our way. I was ready to go, too. I'd had such high hopes everything would break open at Chocolate Weasel. But what did we get there?

Nothing, the same as we'd got everywhere else. It wasn't just a case any more, either. Judy's life lay on the line.

"Damnation," I said as we scuffed our way across the lot toward Michael's carpet "No skin of it there, not so far as I could prove," he said,

"although, so far as I know, flayed human skin substitute, unlike the authentic product, comes in only one color and is merely toughened, not darkened, by the tanning process."

"Really?" I said. "That's interesting, but if you found no skin of Huitzilopochtii, it's nothing more than interesting."

"My thought exactly," he said, sitting down and reaching for his safety belt A tattered old carpet on its last fringes flew slowly into the lot, settled into a parking space maybe fifty feet from us. The two guys on it were talking in Spainish, and paid us no attention whatever. One of them wore a red cap, the other a blue one.

That rang a vague bell in my mind, but no more. Then the fellow in the blue cap turned his head so I got a good look at his face. You don't soon forget the looks of a guy who's tried to bounce your balls - it was Carlos, the charming chap from the swap meet. And the man with him was Jose. They got off their carpet - they didn't bother with safety belts - and went on into Chocolate Weasel.

I stood there staring after them. "Come on," Michael said, a little querulously. "Having failed here, we may as well return to the office and more productive use of our time."

"Huh?" He snapped me back to myself. "We haven't failed here - your test may have, but we haven't." He looked at me as if he had no idea what I was talking about. After a moment, I realized he didn't. I explained rapidly, finishing, Those are the two who sold Cuauhtemoc Hemandez his poison, full of real human skin and the influence of Huitzflopochtii. What are they doing at Chocolate Weasel if it's really as legit as your test showed?"

"A cogent question." But Michael was frowning. "Yet how could the similarity test I employed on the flayed human skin substitute be in error? It was conducted under universally valid thaumaturgic law."