Cloneward Bound (10 page)

The woman let out a long breath and tapped a key, looking over her screen for a moment.

“Fourth door on the right,” she said, pointing to a corridor with a long, manicured finger.

“Thanks,” Fisher croaked. He felt as though he’d just drunk a pint of sandpaper. He motioned to Amanda.

They advanced down the corridor, each step ringing hollowly on the polished marble.

“I’ll be back,” Amanda said as soon as they reached the
correct door. A huge placard read, in elaborate gold script,
GG McGee
.

“Back?” Fisher spluttered. “Where are you going?”

“Just taking care of something quickly,” she said. “Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

Before Fisher could respond, Amanda slipped away. Part of him wanted to chase right after her. How could she run off on him at the last second, when she had insisted on coming in the first place? How did she expect him to do this on his own?

Thoughts whirled through his head, faster than his mom’s gigantic centrifuge. He was posing as Two. So what would Two do? Two was brash, straightforward, fearless. He would walk right through that door without thinking twice.

He turned back toward the door, sucked in a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” he heard McGee’s brassy voice proclaim. He turned the silver-plated knob, and walked in, FP cradled in one arm.

The office looked like the contents of a tourist-trap gift shop had been flung into a stateroom on the
Titanic
. Velvet-upholstered sofas accented with gold leaf were worn down to threads by piles of cheap plastic dolls, collectible drinking cups, and bags full of kazoos. An antique-looking grandfather clock with no hour hand stood in one
corner, its brass pendulum being clung to by a stuffed monkey with Velcro paws.

GG sat behind a mahogany desk covered with bobbleheads and stacks of paper tall enough to cast long shadows. She wore a sharp-fitting gray suit and much more reasonable-looking sunglasses than the day before, although Fisher still didn’t see why she was wearing them indoors. Her hair was coiffed into a perfect sweep.

“Basley!” she exclaimed, pointing to a leather-cushioned chair that looked like it could swallow him whole. “Come on in and have a seat. Is that our little star-to-be?” She looked at FP with a cheek-splitting grin.

“Hi, Ms. McGee,” Fisher said, unwrapping FP’s blanket and slipping off Trevor’s headgear. “Yep, this is FP.”

“Please, call me GG,” McGee said, flipping through a binder on her desk. “Now, I’ve been working up some ideas for the little guy—what’s his name again?”

“FP,” Fisher repeated. “Flying Pig.”

“I see,” McGee said. “An adorable name for a personal pet, but we’re going to need a stage name with a little more flash. What do you think of Jet Jowls, the Wonder Pig, or Ace McSnout?”

“Um …” Fisher said, looking down at FP.

“Too ordinary?” McGee tapped her chin. “Thinking of something more sophisticated? How about Ham-let, Prince of the Sky or Sir Flapsis Bacon?”

“Sir Flapsis isn’t bad,” Fisher admitted honestly.

“Well, we have plenty of time to make a final decision. Here are some ideas my team and I have been pitching back and forth. Picture it: a run-down old city full of crumbling buildings that are always catching fire. The fire department does the best it can, but they have trouble rescuing people trapped on the upper floors! So who do they send for? A humble pig gifted with the power of flight to swoop in and save the day! We’ll call it
Out of the Flying Pan
.”

FP had perked up in Fisher’s lap. Noticing the large tray of baked goods on the desk, he began devouring bagels and muffins with astounding speed. GG either didn’t mind or didn’t notice.

“Or imagine him as a superhero!” she continued. “Similar setting, a town where crime is running out of control. The police are overwhelmed. Nobody can stem the tide. Nobody except … 
The Pink Avenger
. He uses his powers of flight, his sensitive, crime-detecting ears, and his mighty snout to fight crime. Or we can go the holiday movie route! Imagine: it’s days before Christmas and Dancer has a broken leg. How will Santa power his sleigh with only seven reindeer? But then, a lowly stable pig, the property of a poor elf farmer, accidentally falls out of the hayloft and realizes he can fly! The reindeer don’t accept him at first, but eventually he warms everyone’s
hearts and fills in the eighth spot, and the sleigh can fly at last!”

She set down her sunglasses, revealing electric-green eyes, and whisked away a tear. She leaned across the desk and started to pet FP, who began to shudder uncomfortably in response.

“What a sweet little creature you are,” she said, scratching at FP’s ears. “You’re going to have a marvelous future in—
oww
!!” As FP snapped at her, she yanked her hand back quickly. Suddenly, her face contorted in a frown, and she spat out: “Why, you miserable little bacon factory! I’ll—” She caught herself quickly and immediately pasted a large, sugary smile back on her face. “… Er, sorry, I just, um … had a bad experience with a pig … as a child. As I was saying … this little fellow has a big future.” FP hopped down from the desk, spreading a trail of corn muffin crumbs as he went. “Maybe one day he’ll even be as big as my Molly.”

“Your who?” Fisher said. His head was spinning. GG changed topics—and, apparently, personalities—so quickly, he had trouble following her train of thought.

“Molly.”
McGee picked up a small white fluffball from her lap, which had been concealed from Fisher’s view because of the mounds of stuff piled on McGee’s desk.

Molly turned out to be a Maltese dog, smaller than FP, covered in long, white fur. She let out an annoyed yip as McGee lifted her up. McGee set Molly down on the floor and picked up a huge binder, handing it to Fisher. “She’s my pride and joy. Just look at some of the modeling work she’s done.”

Fisher thumbed through the photo album halfheartedly, all the while wondering how he could turn the conversation to Two. There was Molly as a Roman senator, dressed in full togas and robes, Molly as an Elizabethan duchess, with big, fluffy sleeves and a wide ruff collar, Molly as Cinderella in a draping white thing that was apparently supposed to be a ball gown, Molly as an astronaut with a tiny space suit and a bubble helmet.…

“She’s, um, very … versatile,” Fisher remarked, handing the binder back to GG.

“I’m in discussions now to get her first major motion picture deal. Aren’t I, Mollykins? Aren’t you the most talented little … 
Molly
!”

GG jumped up out of her chair. FP had wandered over to one side of the office, and Molly, upon seeing him, had leapt at him and begun to hump his leg enthusiastically.

“You are a
lady
.” McGee pulled Molly off the terrified-looking FP. “Sorry about that, Basley. Molly can be a little … rambunctious. Quite the little vixen! Like owner, like pet.” McGee laughed loudly. “I’ll keep her with me until we’re done with our business. Speaking of which, I have just a few preliminary legal documents
for you to sign. That is, unless you think you can get a better deal with Lulu O’Lunney.” She chuckled a little to herself.

“Oh … uh, no, not at all,” Fisher said. “I thought Lulu was big-time when I first met her, but … 
clearly
you’re the high-caliber one around here.” He smiled so wide, he felt like his jaws would split open.

GG beamed. “Well,” McGee said, “I’m glad you’ve come to such a reasonable conclusion.”

She returned to her desk, placing Molly firmly in her lap, and reached into a drawer.

A towering stack of paper landed in front of Fisher with a
boom
.

McGee uncapped a pen and passed it over to Fisher. “Go ahead and give it your autograph.”

Fisher leafed through the pages, which were filled with terms like
periodical, fiduciary, notwithstanding
, and
heretofore
. He couldn’t make the slightest sense out of any of it. He wished he had Amanda with him now. His palms were sweating, and he was no closer to finding Two than when he had set foot in the office. He needed to buy some time.

“Before I sign anything,” he said, “I … uh … I have to consult with my legal representative.”

“Legal representative?” McGee said. “Who might that be?”

“Yours truly,” said a husky female voice from behind Fisher.

He turned around and barely managed to keep his jaw in place. Amanda walked into the room wearing five-inch platform heels and a gray suit that fit her like a football jersey on a ballerina. In place of her normal glasses was a pair of mirrored aviator shades that hid half of her face.

“And you are?” GG McGee asked, wrinkling her nose and giving Amanda a once-over.

“J. Nadine Weathersby, Esquire,” Amanda said, her voice rumbling as low as she could push it. “Mr. Basley’s personal attorney. If you don’t mind, we’ll take a look at these later on.” She scooped the pile of legal documents into a large briefcase. “Now, if you could arrange a cab for Mr. Basley, he must be getting back to … Sunset Boulevard isn’t it, Basley?”

Fisher just gaped at her mutely.

“Sunset?” McGee said. “I thought you were staying on Melrose Place.”

“Melrose, of course!” Amanda said. “I have so many clients, I sometimes lose track.” She lowered her glasses slightly and winked subtly at Fisher. “Now come on, Mr. Basley, we have a lot of work to do.” She hoisted Fisher out of his chair, swept up FP with her free arm, and handed him to Fisher. “Good day to you, Ms. McGee.”

“To you, too, Ms. Weathersby,” McGee said, looking
somewhat flustered. Fisher and Amanda hurried out of the office. Fisher was bursting with so many questions, he could feel them pressing at his throat. But he knew they had to wait until they were outside.

A sense of triumph was spreading, like warmth, through his chest. They had started out with an entire city to search, and had narrowed it down to a street. They were closing in on Two.

CHAPTER 10

“This thing is heavier than a bowling ball,” Amanda said, hefting the briefcase full of contract paperwork. “What was she asking you to do, sign away your soul?”

“I’m sure there’s a section called ‘Soul Rights and Percentages’ somewhere in there,” Fisher said as they walked down the sidewalk toward the bus stop. “Where did you
get
all of that stuff, anyway?” He gestured to her getup.

“Found it,” Amanda said, looking straight ahead, the immense aviators sliding up and down her nose with every wobbly step. She was obviously not used to walking in heels.

“You just found it,” Fisher said disbelievingly, crouching down to work FP’s disguise back into place. The pig, thankfully, was sleepy after his meal in GG’s office and didn’t put up too much of a fight.

“Yep.”

Fisher hoisted FP in his arms and fell into step again
next to Amanda. FP settled into the blanket, curling up in Fisher’s arms, while the evil-looking headgear pinned his ears back and obscured most of his face.

“Well, thanks for covering me. So. We know Two lives somewhere on Melrose. What now?”