Free Away Games: Science Fiction Sports Stories by Mike Resnick Page B

know?”
    “Only that I expect results,” said the Grundy. “And soon.”
    “Stop looking over my shoulder and you just might get ’em.”
    “I have every right to see how my money is being spent.”
    “That wasn’t part of the contract,” said Mallory. “I’ll let you know when the case is solved. In the meantime, if you pop up again or interfere with me in any way, the deal’s off and I’m keeping the retainer. I’m not an actor, and I don’t want an audience.”
    “All right,” said the demon after a moment’s consideration. “We’ll try it your way for the time being.”
    “I’d thank you, but I don’t recall wording that as a request.”
    “Just remember, Mallory,” said the Grundy, “that my patience is not unlimited.”
    And then he was gone.
    “Thanks for warning me that he was about to pay me a visit,” said Mallory to Felina.
    “They cheated,” growled Felina with a single-minded intensity that Mallory had rarely encountered in her before.
    “They’re not the only ones,” said Mallory. He grabbed her hand and began leading her down the shed row. “Let’s take a little walk.”
    He asked a stable girl with scaly green skin and a sullen expression to point out which barn housed the Grundy’s stable of elephants, then walked over to it.
    Four tweed-clad leprechauns suddenly barred his way.
    “No trespassers,” said the nearest of them with a malicious smirk.
    “I’m working for your boss,” replied Mallory.
    “And I’m the Sultan of Swat,” came the answer.
    “I’m telling you the truth,” said Mallory. “Check it out.”
    “Sure,” said another one sarcastically. “The worst enemy the Grundy has, and we’re supposed to believe you’re working for him.”
    “Believe anything you want, but I’m going into that barn.”
    “Not a chance, Mallory,” said the first leprechaun. “I’ll fight to the death to keep you out.”
    “Fine by me,” said Mallory. He turned to Felina, who was eyeing the leprechauns eagerly. “I knew you’d prove useful sooner or later. Felina, fight him to the death.”
    “Just a minute!” said the leprechaun. “I meant I’d fight you to his death.” He pointed to one of his companions.
    “Okay,” said Mallory. “Felina, fight this other one.”
    “No!” screeched the leprechaun. “I mean, I’d love to fight your cat to the death, really and truly I would, but I strained my back last week and my doctor told me that I couldn’t have any more duels to the death ’til a month after Christmas.” He pointed to a companion. “How about him? He’s a real fighter, old Jules is.”
    “Right!” chimed in the first leprechaun. “Go get her, Julie! We’re behind you one hundred percent.”
    “What are you talking about?” demanded the second. “I told you: I have a bad back.”
    “Oh, right,” replied the first. “Go get her, Julie! We’re behind you almost sixty-seven percent!”
    “Uh … count me out, guys,” said the fourth leprechaun. “I got a tennis appointment at nine.”
    “You need a doubles partner?” asked Jules, backing away from the slowly advancing catgirl.
    “I thought you were fighting her to the death,” said the fourth leprechaun.
    “Maybe it’ll just be a mild case of death,” suggested the first one. “Maybe it won’t prove fatal. Go get her, Julie.”
    The unhappy Jules reached into his pocket and withdrew a wicked-looking knife. Felina merely grinned at him, held out her hand, and displayed four wicked-looking claws, each longer than the knife’s blade.
    Jules stared at the catgirl’s claws for just an instant, then dropped his knife on the ground, yelled “I gotta go to the bathroom!” and lit out for parts unknown at high speed.
    “Can we enter the barn now,” asked Mallory, “or is someone else interested in a fight to the death?”
    “How about if we play checkers instead?” asked the first leprechaun.
    “Or we could cut cards,” suggested the fourth. “I happen to have a