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The Long and Short of It Mike Resnick A John Justin Mallory Story John Justin Mallory was having a bad day. He'd gone out to Jamaica and picked the wrong horse six races in a row, a feat made even more remarkable by the fact that his favorite, Flyaway, who had lost fifty-four consecutive races, wasn't even entered. When he'd stopped by Joey Chicago's for a drink on the way home, he found out they were all out of Old Peculiar and that some irate mage had hexed the tap on the Old Washensox. He decided to eat at Morgan the Gorgon's 2-Star Diner and Hardware Store, made what he thought was a funny crack about wanting to eat Can't Miss, who had just missed by sixty-three lengths with Mallory's twenty dollars riding on him, and got a steak so rare that he could still see the jockey's whip marks. Finally he went back to the office, where with his partner Winnifred Carruthers he plied his trade as a private detective. Winnifred had gone home for the night, and he plopped down wearily in his chair, briefly looked at the Playmate he'd pinned up on the wall (and on which Winnifred had meticulously drawn undergarments), and considered taking a hit from the office bottle, which shared a drawer with his collection of old Racing Forms and garish pulp magazines. "Welcome back," said Perriwinkle, his magic mirror. "How much did you lose today? You did lose, didn't you? I mean, I haven't noticed the stars stopping in their courses or anything like that." "If there's one thing I hate, it's a lippy mirror." "I have no lips." "Details |
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