Fritz Leiber - The Green Millennium

“What’s your pleasure?” the big red-head asked.

Phil felt Carstairs’ gun dig his ribs. He tried to wet his lips.

“Mrs. Brimstine, I want my green cat,” he croaked.

Moe Brimstine wrinkled his forehead. “That made with creme de menthe, chartreuse, or green fire?”

“I mean my live green cat,” Phil told him.

“We don’t serve drunks here,” Brimstine said evenly. “Your friend’s had one too many. What would you ladies and gentlemen care for?”

Mary Akeley opened her handbag and laid the Moe Brimstine doll on the counter before her. She looked at it thoughtfully for a moment and with deliberate finickiness took off its tiny dark glasses. Its eyes were piggy. She smiled. She replaced the glasses and fished out of her handbag a hatpin, a pair of scissors, a small knife, a little pair of pliers, a sample size flame-pack, a tiny iron with insulated handle, and a white crusted black bottle, and lined them up in a neat row.

“This isn’t a powder room, lady,” Brimstine said. “Order your drinks.”

Phil couldn’t help but be impressed by the big man’s composure, and then without warning he felt a gust of terror that he knew at once had nothing to do with guns behind him and could hardly stem from the childish paraphernalia for black magic Mary Akeley had set out.

He could tell that the gust had hit Moe Brimstine too, for the big man dropped the towel and backed up against the shelves of bottles behind him.

Mary Akeley said, “Mr. Brimstine, you stole the Green One, whom my husband adores as Bast. You are going to suffer until you return him.” Her voice shook a little at first, then settled down to a cold and cruel monotone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring my little rack and iron maiden, but these implements are quite adequate.” She ignited the flame-pack and held the tiny iron over it.

Phil heard Juno draw in her breath and Carstairs give a funny grunt behind him. The end of the iron grew red. Mary Akeley turned the doll over on its face and touched it lightly with the iron. Its pants smoked.

Moe Brimstine gasped loudly and clapped his hand behind him. Then he grabbed tremblingly at the doll, but Mary Akeley closed her hand around its two arms and its middle. Instantly Brimstine’s arms clamped down against his sides and stayed there. Mary stood the doll up. Brimstine straightened. She moved it away from her a few inches. Brimstine backed up into the shelves. Sweat beaded his forehead. Mary unexpectedly flicked the doll on the cheek with the hot iron. Moe Brimstine gasped again in pain and jerked his head back.

“This sort of thing is going to go on until you give us the Green One,” the young witch said matter of factly. Phil saw that a red spot had appeared on Moe Brimstine’s ashen cheek.

“Only it’s going to get much worse fast,” she amplified, reaching for the white crusted bottle. Moe Brimstine started to say something, but she clamped the thumb of the hand holding the doll over its little mouth.

“After a while I’ll be much more apt to trust the things you say,” she explained. Moe Brimstine’s face grew red and his eyes bulged.

Then a shadow came strolling softly along the top of the bar. Turning fearfully as he shrank away from it, Phil saw that it was green and silken and had a wise and winsome face. In a split second of realization Phil knew that it was Lucky who had breathed supernatural terror at them, just as he had at the Humberford Foundation; Lucky. who had opened Moe Brimstine’s mind and built a bridge between it and Mary’s, so that suggestion had made him experience everything happening to the doll.

And then Phil realized that no further unpleasant things were going to happen to Moe Brimstine and that no one was going to cause any trouble, even Carstairs or Buck, for suddenly all terror vanished and friendliness and invincible good will began to pour out of Lucky like Scotch from a bottle. Phil could feel it enter and fill at the others. There were little sighs and chuckles. Mary Akeley’s lean finger shrank from the white crusted bottle, then hurriedly swept all the implements off the bar into her bag.

Lucky stood in front of Phil and stretched, slowly and luxuriantly working the muscles of his neck and back. Moe Brimstine beamed at the green cat, and the happy creases around his little eyes suggested those of Santa Claus. With an “If you don’t mind?” to Phil, he reached out his big hand and softly and wonderingly stroked the silky fur.

“You sure rescued Uncle Moe in the nick,” he told Lucky, scratching behind his ears. “I’m sincerely sorry for the things I did to you. I don’t understand them now, and I’m sure glad you got yourself unstunned, though I don’t understand how you did.”

Then he straightened up and boomed out, “What’ll it be, friends? The drinks are on the house!” And they were, too – several quick, happy rounds of them. Even Lucky got a cocktail compounded of milk, egg white, powdered sugar and gin. On Phil’s advice Moe put it behind the bar so Lucky could consume it in private.

Buck let out an adolescent guffaw and handed two guns, butt-first, to Brimstine.

“Reckon I better check my shootin’ arns, podner,” he explained, adapting his hillbilly accent to cowboy lingo. Moe accepted them, tested one by shooting out a light in the ceiling, and put them away. Likewise Carstairs gave up his weapons, with the added injunction that Moe was to sell them and use the money to buy more liquor when the bar gave out.

Juno, with a smacking big whiskey in front of her, leaned across Phil and assured Mary, “From now on, I’ll believe every word nuts tell me, especially you and Sash.”

“And I’ll always tell you when we’re lying,” Mary assured her back, rather mumblingly, since Dion was nuzzling her.

As customers drifted into the bar by ones and twos, Brimstine called them to join the party. As soon as they did, they became as friendly and glowing as anyone else. After a time there was a small crowd and Moe did nothing but pour, shake and serve. Shortly he quit the shaking part.

Mary broke away from Dion and picked up the Brimstine doll and hugged and kissed it, saying, “You dear, dear man.” Moe paused for a moment in his bartending to shut his eyes and quake ecstatically.

Then Lucky came out from under the bar and jumped on it and walked up and down in a very lordly way but with a definite lurch. After a bit he jumped down in front of the bar and the crowd parted for him. The drunken green creature zigzagged with dignity toward an exit.

Moe heaved himself over the bar, spilling several drinks, and called out, “Come on, everyone, let’s have fun! Everything at Double AP is free!”

And so a bacchanalian procession began to weave through All Pleasures Amusement Park, with Moe serving as Bacchus, Lucky as a leopard, and, thought Phil, if the others only knew about Dion.

There were nymphs a-plenty, as Moe invited each girl to leave her concession after everybody that wanted had a turn and Moe had explained how the games were gimmicked and all the prizes had been distributed or at least offered.

Once or twice concession owners bleated indignantly at Moe’s rallying cry, “It’s all free, folks!” But their objections always dissolved at Lucky’s arrival.

The procession grew steadily larger. Occasionally groups would leave it to go on free rides, but there weren’t as many of these groups as might have been expected and they always seemed to be happy to get back.

Moe was enjoying himself with godlike capacity. He skipped like a lamb on the rubberized surfacing. He had a word and a joke for everyone and could always think of a new stunt to cap his last. Perhaps he reached his high point when he loosed a tiger and two black panthers from the animal show. Arousing no fear, they wove in and out of the procession happily, accepting caresses from everyone but apparently getting the most pleasure out of lowering their necks to rub Lucky’s.