The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

"Dragon blood is muy caro - very expensive. I buy this mix from another man - he say he is a curandero, too - at one of the, how you say, swap meets they have here. He give me good price, better than I get from anybody else ever."

"I believe that," I told him. "The reason you got such a good price is that it's not what he told you it was. Tell us about this fellow. Is he young? Old? Does he come to the swap meets often?"

You can find just about anything at a swap meet, and cheap. Sometimes it's even what the dealer says it is. But a lot of the time the fairy gold ring you got will turn to brass or lead in a few days, the horological demon in your watch will go dormant or escape - or what you think is medicine will turn out to be poison. The constabulary and the EPA do their best to keep the meets honest, but it's another case of not enough men spread way too thin.

Hemandez said, "He calls himself Jose. He's not young, not old. Just a man. I see him a few times. He is not regular there."

Sublegate Higgins and I looked at each other. He looked disgusted. I didn't blame him. An ordinary guy named Jose who showed up at swap meets when he felt like it… what were the odds of dropping on him? About the same as the odds of the High Priest in Jerusalem turning Hindu.

That's what I thought, anyhow. But Bomholm said, "If we can put a spellchecker at the dealers' gates at a few of these places, I'll bet they'll pick this stuff up - its that strong. I'll work weekends without overtime to try, and I'll be shocked if some other thaumatechs don't say the same thing. Everybody knows about Huitzilopochdi; no one wants him loose here."

Greater love hath no public servant than volunteering for extra work with no extra pay. Folks who carp about the constabulary and about bureaucracy in general have a way of forgetting people like Bomholm, and they shouldn't, because there are quite a few of them.

I said, "If you'll lend me one of these fancy spellcheckers, I'll take a Sunday shift myself. I know a lot of people would rather worship than work then, but that's not a problem for me."

"I think I'll take you up on that," Higgins said after a few seconds' thought I'd figured he would; the constabulary doesn't draw a whole lot of Jews. I wrote down my home phone number and gave it to him. "You'll hear from me," he promised.

"I hope I do." I have to confess: I had an ulterior motive, or at least part of one. The dealers at a swap meet get in early, so they can set up. I figured I'd bring Judy along, and after we were done with the checking (assuming we didn't find anything), we could spend the rest of the day shopping.

Like I said, you can find just about anything at a swap meet v A couple of days after we put Cuauhtemoc Hemandez out of business, Sublegate Higgins did indeed call me to set up Sunday surveillance at one of the Valley swap meets. That evening, I called Judy to see if she could come along with me. As I'd hoped, she could. After we'd made the date, we kept on talking about the whole expanding case for a while.

I was saying, "If Hemandez can show he gave Lupe Cordero that vile potion out of ignorance rather than malice, he'll get a lighter sentence than he would otherwise." °I don't think ignorance is a proper defense in case like that," Judy said. "If a cwandero doesn't know what he's doing, he has no business trying to do it." Dealing with grimoires every dav, she takes an exacting view of magic and its abuses.

"I'm not sure I agree with you," I said. 'Intent counts for a great deal in sorcery. It-" I heard a noise from the front part of the flat and broke off. "Listen, let me call you back. I think somebody's at the door."

I went out to see who it was: most likely one of my neighbors wanting to borrow the proverbial cup of sugar, I figured.

But somebody wasn't at the door, he was already inside, sitting on a living room chair. I could still see the chair through him, too, so it was somedisembody.

"How'd you get in here?" I demanded; as I may have said, I have more than the usual line of home security cantrips. I gave fair warning: "I forbid thee, spirit, in the name of God - Adonai, Elohim, Jehovah - to enter within this house.

Depart now, lest I smite thee with the consecrated blasting rod of power." You don't (or you'd better not) bluff when you say you're packing a rod; mine was in the hall closet behind me.

But the spirit didn't move. Calm as could be, he said, "I think you'll want to reconsider that." He traced a glowing symbol in the air.

If you've ever been to a light-and-magic thrillshow, you probably think you know that symbol. As a matter of fact, the one you think you know isn't the genuine article: close, but not quite. Only specially authorized beings may sketch the true symbol and have it take fire for them. I happen to know the difference. My eyes got wide. An ordinary Joe like me never expects to meet a real spook from Central Intelligence.

"What do you want with me?" I asked hoarsely.