11

New York, New York

Dredly waved the useless cab driver away and the three friends walked to their small hotel on East Sixty Sixth Street. Now, some people might think that it would be dangerous to walk eight blocks in New York, with loads of baggage, but they had no problem at all. Maybe it was their air of confidence that protected them from assault, or maybe it was clear that they came from a rough part of another world capital and that they knew how to handle themselves, but it could have been because Greta had thrown off her disguise and that your average New York mugger is put off by the sight of nine foot polar bears. Dredly got the suspicion, as people crossed the road to avoid them, that perhaps all travellers should have a polar bear in tow, just to be on the safe side.

(It is useful to note at this point that this will be easier to achieve in years to come. Research has shown that the North Pole is definitely melting and that by the next century, the whole icecap will disappear in the Summer. This will affect the population of polar bears who live on the ice, and they’ll all be coming south anyway, thus giving travellers the chance to pick up a bit of insurance against mugging. Walruses will also be easier to come by, and although they are not as swift on land as polar bears, scientists feel that they would make an admirable substitute for frightening muggers away, just so long as you can keep them in clams, which are their favourite food.)

Their hotel, booked in advance by Dredly while Sage and Calorie had been setting up the surveillance system at Albert's, was somewhat on the seedy side. The desk clerk was short, chubby, grubby, and - as far as Sage could tell - probably a number of other things ending in “Ubby” - though it was unlikely he was anyone's 'hubby'. A disconcerting odour hung all around him, as if he were the sort of person who ate only onions. Indeed, stray strands of overcooked onion were caught in the veritable gorse bush of a moustache that adorned his upper lip. It was the kind of moustache that would have even frightened Friedrich Nietzsche, and as the man spoke to them, it wiffled in the breeze.

“Okay, so that’s three single rooms for three nights, cash up front?” The man’s bad tempered, New York accent was slightly muffled by the sheer weight of his facial hair.
“Er... Yes.” Dredly replied, mesmerised by that eco-system under the man’s nose (it must surely have been the habitat for hundreds of as yet unrecorded species of flora and fauna).
“Sign here.”
He brusquely pushed the register across the front desk.
The three of them signed the register, Greta’s paw shaking slightly as she did. She had a bad feeling about the clerk and she couldn’t hide it. He stared at her hard and she avoided his gaze. Meanwhile, Sage and Dredly played it cool, as if she wasn’t a polar bear. They picked up their bags and had just started up the stairs when the desk clerk suddenly cried:
“Hey!”
‘Damn!’ Dredly thought, ‘He’s spotted the bear.’
“What?” He asked, turning around with a look of wide-eyed innocence.
“None of you have any houseplants with you do you?”
“Er... How do you mean?” Sage was confused - not an abnormal state of affairs, but on this occasion his companions shared his confusion.
“You know, plants in pots - yucca plants; cheese plants; cacti; begonias, that kind of thing.”
“No... No, nothing like that here...”
“Good!” He said, growing red in the face. Then with a crescendo, “Cos if there’s one thing I can’t stand it's houseplants. They just sit around, taking up too much room, you have to get people to look after them when you go away, you have to feed them special plant food, you have to talk to them, and I’m sick of people talking to their plants all hours of the day and night, all I hear are people chattering away, talking to their goddam plants and it’s driving me crazy!” He stopped and calmed his moustache down. “Have a nice day.” And with that he slumped back in his chair and into the arms of his malodorous sloth.

Their rooms were like their host - small and grubby. No expense had been spent for their comfort. But before Dredly could settle in, or even open his suitcase, Sage called him over to his room, which was just across the hall.
“What’s up?”
“Everything." Sage replied simply.
The room seemed empty - no chair, no bed, not even a carpet. Just bare boards and scuttling cockroaches. Then Dredly looked up. Sage had been right - everything was nailed onto the ceiling.
"This isn't good enough." Dredly spoke angrily.
"Too right. They should have used screws - that's the best way of securing furniture to the ceiling." Sage was wise in such matters.
"We're going to have to get you another room." Dredly started for the door, his shoes squeaking loudly.
"And face that weird guy at the desk?" Sage looked disconcerted. "Well you're on your own - that moustache..."
He didn't need to say any more. Dredly shuddered. He had only seen the 'tache for a minute, but he had sensed a brooding evil in it.
"On the other hand, there's a bit of space in my room." At that juncture, cowardice seemed more sensible than bravery. They were there to find a Shoe Whisperer, not tangle with manic facial hair.

Within minutes, Sage was ensconced in Dredly's room. Dredly looked out of the window. It was still raining, and dusk was creeping over Gotham. Suddenly there was a loud crunch from Greta's room. The two men dashed next door to find her lying in a state of mild shock on the floor exactly where the bed should have been. Sticking out from under her were the four flimsy legs of what had been her bed.
“Keep forgetting I weigh nine hundred pounds.”
“Great!”
“Do you mind if I sleep in with you?”
Five minutes later, the three of them were crammed into Dredly's room. It was time for a 'Mission Against An Unseen Evil Foe' direction meeting, with Dredly as Chair, Greta as Secretary and Sage as the incredibly ordinary member. After detailing the minutes of the last meeting (of which there were none, because this was the first meeting - a fact which caused much confusion and which took them half an hour to sort out amicably) Dredly pointed out the flysheet that was pinned to the back of the door.
"It's an advert for dry-cleaning services, restaurants and..." He indicated the last entry, which was in a larger, bolder print than the rest, "Biff's Shoe Repair Shop."
"You think they may be able to guide you in the direction of the Shoe Whisperer?" Asked Greta.
"Indeed I do." Dredly replied. "I think our luck's changed. Biff could lead us to our man, and then once I'm out of these shoes we can go after our enemy. Maybe the Whisperer will know where our mystery foe is."
“It’s very exciting!” Sage exclaimed, totally ruining the pompous decorum of what was supposed to be an important meeting.
“Does the ordinary member wish to address the Chair?” Dredly asked stuffily.
“But I’m not sending it anywhere - and anyway, who would I address it to?”
“Hey, wild!” Said Greta “What a great new concept! For sure, this could revolutionise the postal service - furniture as a form of communication! Think of the saving on paper!”
“What?” Dredly could feel the meeting slipping into the mire of stupidity.
 “And it would be really easy to do, because chairs are, like, stackable, aren’t they.” Greta was off and away, “You could send different kinds of chair for different occasions, isn’t it? Y’know, a comfy chair for happy things like birthdays, rickety chairs to people you don’t like, Ikea chairs to Swedish meatball sellers... The list is endless!”

“So who should we send this chair to?” Asked Sage, pointing at the moulded plastic monstrosity he was sitting on.
“Probably someone we hate...” Greta began.
“Er, excuse me, but could we please get on with the meeting?” Dredly protested.
“Hey, girlfriend, you were the one who started in with the whole chair thing.” Greta wasn’t about to be bullied.
“Okay, yes… Yes I did, but let’s forget about the chair for the moment because if we don’t have this meeting, we’re never going to get started on our quest, let alone finished.”
“Of course!” Sage suddenly saw the light, “The sooner we finish the quest, the sooner we can send this chair to someone we don’t like.”
“Oh, okay, get on with it, then.”
“Right. Good. I move that you two get some sleep as soon as possible, while I get into contact with Biff. Then, when you're rested, we'll look for the Shoe Whisperer.”
“Brilliant!” Greta replied and went to sit on the bed.
Dredly couldn't even form the ‘N’ bit of the word ‘No’, before there was a loud crack as the bed shivered and split beneath her weight.
“Sorry. Forgot!” She said, looking up at Dredly with contrition.
“Okay, okay. You just stay there Greta...”
“But what about me?” Asked Sage.
“Er... You sleep on Greta, I’m sure she’s very comfortable.”
“I could probably do with a couple more pillows before I’m really comfy.” She piped up.
And so ended their first 'Mission Against An Unseen Evil Foe' direction meeting.

Dredly left his two compatriots to sleep and went down to the foyer. As he descended the stairs, he could see the desk clerk engrossed in torturing what looked like a geranium.
“Heh heh! You don’t like that, do you?” He hissed as he pulled off one of its leaves. “Yes, not so cocky now are you, you little bastard. Do you bleed?” He rasped, his face leering close to one of the flowers as he teased the flat edge of a knife down its stalk. Dredly shut his mind off to the horror of it all, crossed the foyer and coughed politely. The desk clerk jumped in surprise and then desperately tried to regain his composure as he shoved the knife under some paper on the desk, while shuffling the plant to one side.
“Can I help you sir?” He forced a smile onto the features which only a moment before had been twisted into an aspect of hate. The result was an ugly, cruel grin and, as Dredly looked at him, he could see that the man's moustache was still straining to get its whiskers on the helpless young plant.
“Er... No, I’m fine.” Dredly replied. “I’m just going out... to... sample the... delights of New York by night.” He could not take his eyes off the moustache and the plant that was its prey. He backed slowly towards the door, then turned quickly to leave. As the heavy glass door closed behind him, he heard an evil laugh. A single backward glance showed Dredly more than he wanted to see. The clerk had the plant at his mercy again and had started to dig the point of the knife into its plump, green flesh. Dredly could not stand the sight and ran to the corner of the street. He stopped, gagging and gasping for breath, shocked at the scene he had just witnessed. He cursed his weakness. How could he call himself a man when he had not lifted a finger to stop that barbarian? But as Dredly walked away, something nagged at him - it was the way the clerk had looked at him. There was something in the man's look that didn't fit... He continued on into the chill night. There were so many questions and no answers.

Dredly was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't notice the Cadillac across the street. The engine had started as soon as he had left the hotel and now the car moved quietly along like a great shark, shadowing Dredly as he made the journey to Biff's, squeaking every step of the way. Inside the car, the moon-faced blonde-haired woman flicked open a lightweight mobile phone and dialled a number. The red, blue and gold sequins on the woman's tight-fitting basque glinted under the street lamps as she drove. Her ample breasts, barely constrained by the tight material, wobbled gently as the car went over the lumps and bumps of the New York streets. Finally the phone was answered.
"Yes?" Came a high pitched man's voice, with an accent straight out of the North West of England - Blackpool.
"Er... Hello Number One..." Said the woman. Her voice, with its accent from a more rural part of Lancashire than Blackpool was... Nice. It conjured an image of bland, ordinary middle-England, with undertones of warmth and homeliness tinged with tedium.
"This is number... Um... Oh, I've forgotten again... Am I number two?"
"No, Pauline, you're Number Three! Now get on with it!" The man's tone was sharpened from years spent haranguing others, and lashed the woman in the car.
"I'm sorry Number One... But I told you to make me Number Two - you know I have trouble with big numbers. Why you made Franz Number Two I don't know, after all, he's only been part of the operation for three months..."
"Pauline..." The man interrupted, "Did you only call to discuss the numbering system within the organisation, or do you actually have something useful to tell me?"
"Oh yes... Sorry, yes." She replied, pulling to a halt as Dredly stopped to look at a street sign.
"They've taken the bait."
"Already? That's fantabulous!"
"The one called Dredly has the flysheet with Biff's name on it. And he's on his way now."
"Good. Excellent. Number Four has done his job well..."
"Oh yes, I wanted to talk to you about Number Four. He's got himself a plant and he's torturing it in the foyer."
"Oh let him have his fun. I'm sure it won't jeopardise the mission."
"But what if they get suspicious..." Pauline was concerned.
"It'll be fine. Just make sure you don't let this Dredly bloke out of your sight. When you get to Biff's, wait outside. I've got a warm reception prepared for him."
The line went dead; Pauline turned her phone off and concentrated on the man walking along the far pavement.

Why is Dredly being shadowed by a showgirl? And what sort of shows has she appeared in? And how much of her has appeared?

Find out in the next highly revealing chapter...