Chapter 2: How much is my sister in the window? Woof! Woof!


Two newspaper boxes sat by the corner, chained to the lamp post. One was
yellow. The other was red. One carried the Free Press. The other had the
New York Times. One was free. The other was a dollar. There was a stack
of free Free Press papers waiting in the yellow box. The red box was
completely empty, having sold out of the Times earlier in the day.

As though making the newspaper boxes completely redundant, a newsstand
stood a mere twenty feet from the corner. It was well stocked with every
newspaper that sold in the city, from the Times to The Post to The Sun
to Newsday. It even had some foreign newspapers. And who could forget
the tabloids of dubious journalistic repute, featuring the latest
stories on alien spacecraft and bizarre government conspiracies? In
addition, the news vendor had a large selection of other convenience
items: cigarettes, lighters, candy, gum and small toys for the kids.

Maybe about fifty feet up the sidewalk from the newsstand, a man stood
selling roast meat. He was next to a stainless steel wheeled pushcart.
In the middle of the pushcart, there was a steel pole. On that pole was
what looked like a tower of meat all stacked up from the shelf to the
top of the cart. The vendor was standing next to the cart. He had on a
small muslin cap, barely covering his head of hair. Over his street
clothes, he was wearing an apron, partly stained with blood and grease
from the meat and partly stained with who knows what. In his hands were
a large carving knife and a large steel fork. As the orders came in from
passing folks who stopped for the roast meat, he would swing his knife
up and down the skewered meat and carve off chunks of it.

Like most city street corners, this corner on Broadway was a hive of
activity. Crowds of people walked, almost in lockstep, with a few going
the other way, almost like a couple of salmon swimming upstream against
the white water rapids. A tall skinny man stood next to the corner of
the building reading a newspaper. A mother was bent over and tending to
a child who was fussing and pining for a piece of candy from the
newsstand. Three teenagers rode bicycles boldly through the crowd.

And in the midst of it all, stood Frankie, by the bus stop.

Frankie pondered his little predicament. He had gotten off the bus about
six blocks from his destination, if that was even known at the time. He
had left his umbrella on the bus. The sky was starting to get angry with
dark storm clouds. He took a look at his watch, which at that time
appeared not to be working any more. It was stuck at five past two when
he knew he started from home at two o'clock and the bus ride was clearly
a lot longer than five minutes. He sighed. Oh well, he thought, let's at
least get going in the right direction.

And with that, he set off, one step at a time, in a downtown direction.
The sidewalk was a sea of people. He dodged to the left, then to the
right, then left again, in order to get around, through and between
crowds of people who themselves were either standing on the sidewalk for
some reason or other, or trying to move in directions of their choice.

Along the way, he passed a number of stores, as was typical for the
neighborhood. There were grocers, fruit markets, banks, drug stores,
restaurants and cafes, pizza places, book stores, hardware stores, and
many, many more. And then he saw it...

His sister was in a store window.

Actually, Frankie had nothing to go by as to what his sister, Freda,
would look like as he had not seen her since the day of the kidnapping
and that was a very long, long time ago. Still, the sight of the
mannequin with the form of a ferret lady did cause him to do a double
take. She was tall and slender with a fluffy tail cast in plastic. She
was posed with one foot in front of another, hip slightly tilted, one
arm in front a little and one arm behind a little, as though she was
about to take a stride and walk right out of the window display. She was
wearing a frilly pink dress with a lace trim and a bow on the waist, a
rather conservative old fashioned style. As he took a look at the finer
details of the mannequin, he noticed that her eyes were remarkably like
his sister's and her head hair was tufted and flowing a little, just
like his sister's used to be. The resemblance was uncanny, almost as if
his sister had aged the appropriate number of years, and had been cast
in plastic to make a store mannequin for the window display.

He took a step or two back and saw that the store was a ladies' clothing
boutique. It was the Lace n' Love Boutique. He took a breath, opened the
door and walked right in.

The interior of the boutique was a little musty, cobweby even. It was
almost as if no one had been there in a while. Inside, there were a few
rows of racks holding many kinds of dresses. There were cocktail
dresses, evening gowns, everyday wear, and even some satin dresses of a
more provocative nature. Along the walls, he could see that they stocked
ladies' straw hats, straw bags, and other accessories. The store itself
was minimally decorated. There was wood paneling running along the base
of the walls, although Frankie was pretty sure that all the stores had
that. By the door, there was a sculpture of an Muscee Indian Chief who
was serving double duty as an umbrella stand. And seeing that reminded
Frankie of the umbrella he had left behind on the bus.

The store's sales help came hobbling over. He was a mousey guy, who was
in fact a mouse. His manner of dress was simple. He had on a long
sleeved button down white shirt. He also had on a pair of dark
grey slacks held up by a pair of colorful red and yellow suspenders.
His suspenders were the only item with any color at all in his otherwise
black and white outfit. He approached Frankie, who was looking at the
racks and racks of dresses.

"Can I help you?" the mousey guy offered.

"Umm... uhh... I would like to get something for a night soiree, perhaps
one of those satin evening gowns over there," replied Frankie, with a
bit of a smirk. Upon seeing a quizzical look from the mousey guy, he
added "Oh... heh heh... I was just kidding. Actually, I came in to ask
about the mannequin in the window display."

"That is not for sale, sir." said the mousey guy.

"Uhh, yeah. Actually, I wasn't going to buy it. I had a question about
it." said Frankie, a finger on his chin.

"Yes, sir?" asked the mousey guy.

"I was wondering where you got the mannequin from. Who made it?" asked
Frankie, rather directly.

"I do not know, sir. It's been there for a long time, maybe even before
I started working here a year ago." explained the mousey guy.

"Well, do you know who else may know more about the mannequin? Would the
store manager know?" asked Frankie.

"Uhmmm... we can try. Follow me please, sir. We can go see if the store
manager is in the back room." The mousey guy motioned to Frankie to
follow.

So they walked past the racks and racks of dresses to the back of the
store. There was a door on the back wall. A sign on it said "Employees
Only". The mousey guy reached for the door handle and opened the door.
He walked in and held the door open for Frankie, who in turn walked in
too. Behind the door was a hallway. The hallway was a bit darker than
the boutique area of the store. The only illumination in there was a
naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the hallway.
They passed a number of doors. Then the mousey guy stopped right in
front of the door. He knocked a few times, gently but with a loud rap.
Frankie heard a muffled voice coming from behind the door.

"Okay, you got him. He's in his office." The mousey guy said, as he
opened the door.

"Ah, okay. Thanks." replied Frankie.

The mousey guy, holding the door open, motioned to Frankie to go in.
And so he did. The office was pretty dark and cool. Right next to him,
as he entered, stood an rather ornate vase depicting a number of hand to
hand combat scenes painted and embossed on the body of the vase. The
vase was on a wooden pedestal about waist high.

Next to the wooden pedestal, there was a potted plant in a large
earthenware pot. Like the vase, the pot was decorated in a combat motif
with armored warriors clashing in a battle of swords and spears. The
plant itself was a short squat rubbery looking specimen with large
rounded dark green leaves. It appeared to be growing from a base of wood
chips although he was pretty sure that there was soil under the wood
chips. Frankie wondered how the plant could live and grow in such a
dimly lit room. As far as he could tell, the room did not have a window,
although he wasn't sure if there would be a window behind the printed
throw hanging on the wall and that throw again depicted the same battle
scene.

Along the wall to his left, there were a number of framed oil paintings
in a row, all exactly at the same height from the floor. The detail was
good enough in one of the paintings for him to see who was fighting with
whom. The armored warriors with the swords had murine features, large
round ears, long whiskers and long thin pink scaly tails. They were
fighting with what appeared to be human beings, if his recollection of
his last trip to the natural history museum was good. They were fighting
with crude spears and were almost naked, except for the loincloths that
he could just make out as tiny flecks of paint on the figures.

On the wall to his right, there were a number of bookcases with shelves
of dark brown, possibly mahogany, wood. As far as he could see, most of
the books were about war history and general history. There were some
odds and ends like a book on the care of india rubber plants and one
title that caused Frankie a bit of alarm, a book of ferret recipes.

He looked downwards and on the otherwise bare marble tiled floor, there
was a woven shallow pile wool rug, about six feet by six feet in size,
depicting the same battle scene as was depicted in the oil paintings, on
the pot and on the vase.

Looking forwards, he saw a large wooden desk, again the same dark brown
wood that could be mahogany. Behind the desk, there was a reclining
chair with dark brown wooden arm rests and upholstered in dark brown
leather. On that chair sat the manager of the boutique, a rather
imposing fellow in a grey sport jacket, a button down shirt and an
incongruous red tie with small yellow stars. The manager appeared to
have a complexion composed of tan colored scales. His nose was but mere
holes, barely visible at the end of his diamond shaped head. His eyes
were somewhat glazed over with pupils that were shaped like vertical
slits. Every so often, a forked tongue would flick out of his mouth for
a split second. And Frankie wondered why he did not notice this at first
but the manager had no arms and the sleeves of the sport jacket hung
down loosely from where the shoulders would be if there were shoulders.
For the manager of the boutique was a snake! (Ooh, a snake.)

"Ssss" said the manager "Welcome to the Lace 'n Love Boutique. I'm
Sssssmith." He pointed to the gold nameplate with black lettering on his
desk.

"Sh-sh-shadow Ferret" said Frankie, who suddenly felt the need not to
reveal his identity. "Umm... yeah, that's my name."

"Sh-sh-shadow" repeated Smith. "What an unusual name. Might I inquire...
is that Burkina Fassoan?"

Frankie fidgeted a bit. "Urmm... East Brunswick." 

"Ssss... Oh okay" Smith furrowed his eye ridges for a bit. He never
could understand the weird New Jerseyans. "Sssso what's your pleassssure
here in the back office?"

"I... uhh... wanted to ask about the mannequin in the store window
display out front."

"Ah yessss. It'sssss our best mannequin. It'sssss been in the ssssstore
for quite a number of yearsssss. I've dresssssed her myself a couple of
timesssss."

Frankie wondered about that last part, given that Smith had no arms. But
he suppressed his curiousity for a bit. "I would like to acquire an
identical mannequin for my store across town. Uhh... Ferrets 'n Love."
Smart, he thought, making up a bit of a story so he could find out
where the mannequin came from. A second after he said that however, he
realized how silly and made up that store name sounded. Darn, he
thought. He shifted around a bit on his feet with a touch of
nervousness.

"Ohh... ssss... funny that my ssstore also has 'n Love in the name.
I would be careful. Wouldn't want a trademark infringement on our
handssss now, would we?" Smith half cracked a smile, in as much as a
snake can do that. He continued "umm, well... okay, alwayssss willing to
help a fellow busssinessssman in the ssssame trade. Let me ssssee if I
can find the sssstore ssssupplier in my Rolodex."

Smith then ducked below the desk. Frankie could here a drawer sliding
open, followed by the sounds of a bit of rummaging. Smith reemerged,
carefully holding a business card holder in his mouth. He set it down on
his desk, opened it and started flipping through the cards with
gentle and nicely aimed flicks of his forked tongue. After about fifteen
seconds, he stopped flicking. He ducked down to the drawer again and
came up with a small pad of sticky yellow notes. He then moved his head
across the desk to a small desk set filled with pens and pencils. He
picked up a pen in his mouth, went back to the yellow pad and, with what
appeared to be amazing dexterity, wrote something on the pad with
almost imperceptible rolling and twitching of his scaly lips. When he
was done, he returned the pen to the desk set. Then he carefully flicked
up the top note with his forked tongue, tore it off the pad with his
mouth and set it down on the desk in front of Frankie. He said "Here
issss the address information you need." Then he moved backwards and
once again leaned back on his chair. "I hope it helpsss you in ssssome
way."

Frankie reached out, picked up the note from the desk, folded it and
placed it in the right pocket of his jacket. "Thank you so much for your
help," he said. "Well, I guess I will be off now."

"Sss... Wait" said Smith. "I would like you to try some of my
mussshroomssss. I grew them mysssself." He ducked down again, and there
was the sound of another drawer opening and a bit of clattering. He then
reemerged carrying a small China plate in his mouth. He sat the plate
down on the desk. On the plate were some small, light brown cubes of
unknown makeup. "Try one" said Smith.

Those did not look at all like mushrooms, thought Frankie. Nevertheless
he reached out and picked up one of the cubes between fuzzy thumb and
fuzzy index finger. Hmm, he thought, the cube felt just a bit squishy,
like jelly but a bit firmer. It was also very smooth, and a little
slippery maybe a bit moist or oily. He brought the little cube up to his
mouth and popped it in. It tasted a bit savory, like a saltine, but when
he bit into it, it was a little sweet not unlike the taste of a
moderately ripe apple. Not bad, he thought. And he nodded just a bit.

"Ssss... Ahh, I knew you would like it," said Smith. "I have been
growing these musssshrooms in the back orifice for many yearssss now. It
is a ssspecial variety imported from Ssssenegal."

Then and only then did Frankie notice that there were some small
planters on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. It looked like there was a
bit of dirt in each of the planters. And sprouting from the dirt, there
were mushrooms. All the mushrooms had tops that were red in color, while
the stem was a light beige.

As he was looking at the mushrooms, a small badger ambled across the
floor. It walked across the rug, looked up at Frankie for a second, and
then continued ambling across the rug and disappeared.

"Ssssbadger ssssbadger mussshroom ssssbadger" said Smith. "Hope you have
ssssbadger ssssbadger thissss ssssbadger in your ssssbadger."

Frankie was bewildered. First the badger hallucinations happened on the
bus, and now he was seeing things in the back office of the Lace 'n
Love. And he wondered, did Smith just say "back orifice"?

As he was thinking about that, the room started spinning slowly at
first, and then faster and faster until everything, Smith, bookcases,
oil paintings, potted plant, vase, was a blur. He felt his legs slowly
giving way as he started falling backwards slowly to the floor. He
reached out to find something to steady himself and caught the vase,
which tipped over, fell to the floor and shattered. The sound of the
vase shattering, however, seemed to Frankie like it was a distant sound
of about a hundred feet away instead of mere feet from where he stood.
As the room continued spinning, he felt his legs go more and more limp
and he fell further and further backwards, finally landing on the rug.
But before his head landed on the floor, everything became dark.