For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [10]
Then she was bending over the case. Sure enough, the lock had been professionally picked. At least four rings, among the most valuable items in her modest stock, were missing. She hesitated only briefly before glancing down at Flinx.
“You’re positive it was him, ye say?”
He nodded energetically.
Mother Mastiff put two fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle. Almost instantly, a half-dozen neighboring shopkeepers appeared. Still the bald man showed no hint of panic, simply stared curiously, along with the others in the store at the abrupt arrivals. The rain continued to pelt the street. Mother Mastiff raised a hand, pointed directly at the bald man, and said, “Restrain that thief!”
The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but he made no move toward retreat. Immediately, several angry shopkeepers had him firmly by the arms. At least two of them were armed.
The bald man stood it for a moment or two, then angrily shook off his captors. His accent, when he spoke, marked him as a visitor from one of the softer worlds, like New Riviera or Centaurus B. “Now just a moment! What is going on here? I warn you, the next person who puts hands on me will suffer for it!”
“Don’t threaten us, citizen,” said Aljean, the accomplished clothier whose big shop dominated the far corner. “We’ll settle this matter quick, and without the attention of police. We don’t much like police on this street.”
“I sympathize with you there,” the man said, straightening his overcoat where he had been roughly handled. “I’m not especially fond of them myself.” After a pause, he added in shock, “Surely that woman does not mean to imply that I—”
“That’s what she’s implyin’, for sure,” said one of the men flanking him. “If you’ve nothin’ to fear, then you’ve no reason not to gift us a moment of your time.”
“Certainly not. I don’t see why—” The outworlder studied their expressions a moment, then shrugged. “Oh, well, if it will settle this foolishness.”
“It’ll settle it,” another man said from behind a pistol.
“Very well. And I’ll thank you to keep that weapon pointed away from me, please. Surely you don’t need the succor of technology in addition to superior numbers?”
The shopkeeper hesitated and then turned the muzzle of his gun downward. But he did not put it away.
Mother Mastiff stared at the man for a moment, then looked expectantly down at Flinx. “Well? Did ye see where he put the rings?”
Flinx was gazing steadily at the bald man, those green eyes unwinking. “No, I didn’t, Mother. But he took them. I’m sure of it.”
“Right, then.” Her attention went back to the offworlder. “Sir, I must ask ye to consent to a brief body search.”
“This is most undignified,” he complained. “I shall lodge a complaint with my tourist office.”
“I’m sorry,” she told him, “but if you’ve nothing to hide, it’s best that we’re assured of it.”
“Oh, very well. Please hurry and get it over with. I have other places to go today. I’m on holiday, you know.”
Acting uncertainly now, two of the men who had responded to Mother Mastiff’s whistle searched the visitor. They did a thorough job of it, working him over with the experience of those who had dealt with thieves before. They searched everything from the lining of his overcoat to the heels of his boots. When they had finished, they gazed helplessly over at Mother Mastiff and shook their heads.
“Empty he is,” they assured her. “Nothing on him.”
“What’s missing, Mother?” Aljean asked gently.
“Kill rings,” she explained. “The only four kill rings in my stock. Took me years, to accumulate them, and I wouldn’t know how to go about replacing them. Search him again.” She nodded at the bald man. “They’re not very big and would be easy enough to hide.”
They complied, paying particular attention this time to the thick metal belt buckle the man wore. It revealed a hidden compartment containing the man’s credcard and little else. No rings.
When the second search proved equally fruitless, Mother Mastiff gazed sternly down at her charge.