Chumley's ears perked up. "Like the—" he began, sitting forward eagerly.
'Wo, not like that," Moa retorted peevishly. "You're as bad as that, that girl out there, what's-her-name. Forget about it. We know a lot about these thieves, and I'm sure they're just one band working together. They're a pain where I sit. You said your pal has a credit card. Most of the problems we have from this particular gang comes from credit cards. Once you've got them, it's easy to use them. No more hauling around big bags of money or letters of credit from Gnomish banks. No more weighing gold dust and disputing the grams, or wondering whether the scale's crooked." He sighed. "The biggest problem is that it is easy to use them. With money, when your pocket's empty, you're done spending. When you flip out a card, it feels the same when you're ten thousand gold pieces overdrawn as it does when you've got cash in the bank. The Gnomes say it's our problem. They get their cut no matter what."
"What's the scam?" I asked, frowning.
"Easy," Moa snorted. "Like with your friend. These characters cotton on to someone. Sometimes they get ahold of the card itself, don't ask me how. Maybe they've got a spell that lets them make a copy of the card owner's face and personality, and put themselves in the way to get it instead of the rightful owner. Here's what I do know. It's easier if the victim's got a credit card—it's as if he, or she," he added, with a little nod of his head toward Massha, "has put a little self into it. It's an extension of you."
"I get it," I growled impatiently.
"Okay, then. They must have some way of utilizing that little bit, because we've had face-to-face encounters just like the one that happened today with you and your friend's double. He's one of the easy ones to copy."
I nodded. I had known that damned card was trouble the second the kid flashed it at me, but I wasn't about to air family troubles in front of strangers. Massha and Chumley exchanged knowing looks with me.
Moa continued. "But I know it's happened to plenty of people without cards. We've got regular thieves; every merchant knows some of their goods are going to walk away under their own power. You've got to accept that as a fact of life, or you should never open your doors to the public. It's not a good thing to consider, but it's reality. Am I wrong?"
"Nope," I agreed tersely.
"I'm not wrong. I know. Anyhow, we only hear about it after it starts to happen. A customer, or maybe even a stranger, starts to run up big bills, uncollectable bills. Sometimes there's a protest. If they can prove they were somewhere else when the fraud was committed, we let them off."
I narrowed an eye at the squirt in the chair against the wall.
"We have to try to recover our losses," the little Flibberite explained imperturbably.
"I'm sending you a bill for my living room," I informed him. "So what am I doing here?"
Moa spread out his hands. "I'm explaining you our problem. This ring of thieves consists of one or more magicians who can duplicate the appearance of a legitimate, innocent shopper. All I know is that we see the person come into a store, commit what amounts to daylight robbery, then disappear like a wraith." Chumley let out a wordless exclamation. Moa held up a warning finger. "Don't start again. I don't know why, but instead of hanging low and getting what they want, these thieves like to make with the flamboyant purchases, the big ones. They go away for weeks or months. Then they're back again. With the same faces. We've tried, Oximit knows, but we've never caught one of them yet. It's either a huge gang, or they have some way of maintaining several identities at once." Enlightenment shone a beacon in my eyes.
"Option B," I said, firmly. "I'm pretty sure I saw one of your thieves today, in The Volcano."
"What did he look like?"
"She," I corrected him, and described my Pervect enchantress. "But she flipped through a stack of cards and turned into a he. It looked pretty effortless. Whatever magik is involved, it's pretty sophisticated."
"Mr.—I mean, Aahz, that's incredible news!" Moa exclaimed. "We've got spies and magik eyes everywhere in this Mall, and no one has ever seen what you have just described."
"It's a hell of a way to run a railroad," Skocklin, the bandy-legged Flibberite opined. "Cards! Consarn it! It just figures! Them cards is a burr under my saddle." I had already decided he must have been born in the land of outdated phrases. "But it sure sounds like you folks have earned your reputations for observation."
"Thanks," I said.
"And yet," the peaky Flibberite began, tapping his fingertips together in a manner that seemed to pave the way for bad news, "this could all be a story, concocted to keep from paying off the debts of your friend, the Great Skeeve."
"You can take that attitude and—" I bit off my words as the guards came away from the walls with their weapons pointing at me. "Didn't I just prove to you that it couldn't be the real Skeeve out there?"
"You didn't really prove anything," the squirt announced with satisfaction on his narrow little face. "All you told us was something we have already deduced and might have found out in time. There's nothing to determine that it's actually true. It's just one of many suppositions that we're exploring."
I had hated the jerk from the moment I had seen him. Bean counters were the same all over the dimensions. I wanted to take the little creep and squeeze his head until there was only one four-pointed ear on top of his neck. I knew a bureaucrat when I heard it.
"Who the hell do you think we were chasing for an hour? The will-o'-the-wisp?"
"I have no idea," the squirt smirked, and I really wanted to commit mayhem on him at that moment. "For all we know you're in league with the thieves."
"WHAT??? That's it—it's clobbering time."
I kicked out of my chair, only to find Parvattani and his spear in my face. Chumley picked him up by his collar. Five of Parvi's guards surrounded the Troll with their magik polearms. Massha geared up with some of her jewelry. The little guy flung up his hands, one pointed at her and one at me, readying a spell. I cracked my knuckles and prepared to dive in. I could probably take half a dozen of the guards before it got complicated. It was going to be a beautiful brawl. Then The Mall manager stepped in between us.
"Enough!" Moa held up his hands. "No fighting!" Everyone sagged a little, disappointed. He shook his head wearily. "You know, and I know, that we don't think any such thing. We've heard of M. Y.T.H., Inc. We know who you are."
With an eye on the obnoxious squirt in the corner I nonchalantly flipped my chair upright and sat down in it again. Massha kept her hand on the glowing jewels on her jangly belt.
"Then what the hell do you want?" I demanded.
"Well," Moa suggested apologetically, "we've just finished telling you that we've been unable to break up this ring of thieves. Maybe our approach is wrong."
"Duh," Chumley chided him, in his Big Crunch voice. "Not catch."
"Exactly," Moa remarked, with, an emphatic upward swing of his forefinger. "Look, gentleman and madame, I'm a businessman. I'm not a detective. I sell goods. I don't solve mysteries." A thin eyebrow climbed up his shiny bald dome. "But you do." I'd known the conversation would take this turning the moment Moa asked us back to his office.
"Sorry," I snapped. "Not interested."
Moa looked surprised. I knew he'd do that, too. "What?"
"You're about to ask us to investigate the thieves here in The Mall. Right?"
"Of course, right. We do want to hire you. You want the same thing we do. The sky's the limit on fees. Why not?"
I held up a hand and ticked off the fingers. "Several reasons. One: we don't want exactly the same things. I'm here to figure out who's impersonating my friend. Nothing else. Two: I don't like to get tied up in local issues in which I have no stake. Three:"—and here I fixed the squirt next to Moa with a full-throttle glare—"I might have considered differently, but your partner here decided to try and burn my office down."