She was fattish, though not so fat as to be reminiscent of Mother. Also, Mother had never carried a violin case.
The fattish lady, from her uniform and the steely look in her eyes, was obviously guarding the door, which was the only place Minnie's benefactor could have gone. This would take some fancy work. She looked mean.
Minnie stuffed the diamonds she had been clutching during the chase into her pocket and approached nonchalantly. This was becoming far too much like an episode of Rod Sterling Jr.'s `Morning Scream' show. Just to be safe, Minnie parked her brain in neutral and let her writer's instinct take over.
"Hi," she said.
"Excuse me," said the guard slowly in thick New Brooklynese. "I hate to be rude, and maybe I should introduced myself before I do anything else, but you know, it's just the line of work I'm in, not much time for chat, if you know what I mean." She paused and pulled a large laser disruptor from the violin case. "This is a kinda private hallway, an' I'm gonna hafta shoot ya. Or at least, state your business and maybe I'll just letcha off with a gentle knee-cappin'."
"I'm Minnie," said Minnie with more confidence than the Soviet hockey team. "I'm here for my hair appointment."
She wasn't sure what reaction to expect, but the one she got blew her away - not literally, you understand, or there wouldn't be much of a story, would there?
What happened was this. "Minnie Finster?" said her antagonist. As quickly as the laser disruptor had appeared, it vanished back into the violin case, and the large guard gave a series of knocks on the door.
The door swung open about half an inch. "Go on in," said the guard, still speaking very slowly. "The Madam and Mister Hargraves-Jones are expecting ya."
Minnie pushed the door open enough to slip inside.
And found herself in a gigantic beauty parlour.
All the walls were lined with mirrors, throwing image after image of chairs and hairdryers and rinse sinks out to infinity. But the apparent size of the room wasn't really just an illusion; it was huge, bigger than any room on a cruise ship had a right to be, especially considering the box Minnie had got.
Over the loudspeaker came a mournful violin, taking Minnie uncomfortably back to memories of her mother's record collection -especially Songs of the Italian Crimeworld, the box set. It was one of the true classics of the genre that was playing right now, she recognized it. The theme from Son of the Godfather, Part VI.
Minnie had the feeling she'd somehow fallen out of her own time and into one of those amusement parks that were the major source of entertainment throughout the twentieth century, according to Mel Brooks' `History of the World, Part Three'.
The feeling was intensified by the pudgy woman at the centre of the room, who now wore a bright red apron. With her hair that peculiar shade of brilliant orange, she looked like a cross between a sideshow fat lady and Ronald McDonald.
"I sent my husband out," said the fat woman, coming towards Minnie with quick little fat-woman steps. "He won't be back for several hours, unless someone on board remembers who won the 1991 Stanley Cup. Bobby's a fine companion, but this is business. I assume that you aren't just here to get your hair coloured."
"No - " said Minnie, which was all she managed before the other woman interrupted her again.
"Maybe I shouldn't have tried to help you. I blew my cover. Your mama didn't know what she was doing when she gave me this assignment."
She turned to one of the sinks lining the walls of the great room. "Come, dear," she said loudly, and fastened a polymer apron around Minnie's neck. "Time for your hair. Play along in case we're being observed," she added more quietly.
"By whom?" said Minnie, and looked around.
"The rats, for one," said the fat woman, helping Minnie into a chair. "But more about them later. Right now, there are more pressing things to discuss, like your hair. I'm Annette, by the way."
I don't like this at all, thought Minnie, leaning back. Annette ran warm water over Minnie's hair.
"Wha-o ttok ma caaad?" she asked, her neck bent back to a point where it was difficult to breath.
"Hmm? Oh, who took your card? It was that blue-hair. Damnable little posturer, excuse my language, acting like they can do anything just because they dress like fashion models."
"Wha dint ya-o sthop hin?" said Minnie as water washed over her face and into her nose.
"Why didn't I stop him? I would have loved to, dear, but it would have completely botched my mission. I couldn't have afforded calling attention to myself. One of the other girls got him. I think we'll have all your belongings back quite soon. I know how difficult it is to live nowadays without a charge card."
Minnie was beginning to put everything together. "De mahn woo dite ahn dehk."
"Man? Hmm," said Annette, and lathered Minnie's hair with something that smelled like rotten cabbages. "Your mortal enemy, my dear, although you didn't hear it from me."
Another day, Minnie might have picked up on that particular ominous assertion. But right then, there was something more important on Minnie's mind. "Ahm givin de diamons bahk, okhay?" she said as Annette put a towel around her hair and let her sit up.
Suddenly, Minnie remembered something the fat woman had said earlier, something that had been vaguely disturbing, something about -
"Mother! What did you say about my mother?"
"She assigned me to guard you. I've botched it so badly. First day aboard, and you've already been robbed. Of course we could hardly have known this ship would be so full of... And now they know who you are, I'm going to need to protect you full time."
"Protect me? What do you mean they know who I am? And what are you?" asked Minnie. "A private investigator? A bodyguard?"
"Goodness no, dear," said the fat lady. Her eyes met Minnie's in the mirror, an amused spreading her broad face even farther. "How could you not know? Your mama, Miss Minnie, is one of the biggest crime bosses in all of New New York. She's the fairy godmother of the Fat Ladies' Mafia."
"Uh," said Minnie gutturally. "I'm very sure I didn't hear you right."
"I thought you were Godmother Finster's smart writer girl. How could you live with her all these years and not... Of course, you were a great disappointment to her, through no fault of your own." She looked disapprovingly at Minnie's slight figure.
"And the jewels?" said Minnie, her gorge rising.
"A trifle. Oh, they're real, all right," she added, noticing the look of hope crossing Minnie's face, "But they're only the smallest portion of your inheritance. They're for pawning in times of minor financial crisis. You'll get everything after your mother retires - all the money, houses, airplanes, yachts - provided, of course, you gain a couple of hundred pounds and get married to secure a line of succession."
Suddenly, a whole lot of things about Minnie's life began to make more sense. "So, all these years Mother's been trying to fatten me up and marry me off - "
"She just wants you to be her heir. And I would guess she wanted you to be able to make up your own mind, not swayed by the extravagant wealth and prestige of life as boss of the Fat Ladies' Mafia," the fat woman said. "It makes sense now, why she wanted you on a cruise, doesn't it? There's few better places than a long cruise to meet a man, and definitely no better place to get fat. A pound a day, minimum.
"And now," said Annette, "My own little touch, to keep you a bit safer aboard this ridiculous ship and make you look the part of the debutante you should be. It'll be hard for them to believe you would be disguised as one of their own." She turned Minnie's chair to face the mirror and whipped away the towel.
Minnie sat up straight, and looked at her reflection for a long moment. Then she began to laugh.
Her hair was blue, peacock actually, that very shade that was all the rage in Neo-Paris that year. But everyone knows that high fashion is for neo-parisian models, not for ordinary people like Minnie -
- who was the heir to a crime empire -
- and a fortune in jewels and property and who knew what else -
She sobered up. It was just more disruptions for her writing. She hated it.
"Why did you give me the diamonds?" said Minnie. "Will my mother be mad that you've revealed her occupation to me?"
"Actually, dear," said Annette, a little warily, "She's been planning on telling you for some time now, but the situation never seemed right. She suggested I might find some way to tell you during the cruise, if I thought you would take it well enough."
Minnie put her head in her hands, and watched the blue strands of hair fall into her lap. "Please tell me this isn't happening. Doesn't Mother have any bastard children she can pass the business to? I mean, I've watched all of the Godfather movies. Aren't crime bosses are always - "
She was interrupted by the hurried arrival of Mr. Hargraves-Jones, out of breath and too flustered to speak.
"Oh dear," said Annette. "He gets this way when he can't think of a way to phrase what he wants to say as a question." She took Bobby's hand in her pudgy ones and massaged it. "Come on, dear, we'll do Jeopardy. The answer is - The reason you are so excited."
Bobby's eyes lit up. "What is - This ship is under attack?"
"Space rats," hissed Annette, and grabbed a laser disruptor that had been sitting among her blowdryers and curling irons.
"What if it's not?" said Bobby, a sly look on his face that almost concealed his fear. Annette looked back from where she had begun barricading the door. "What if it's space pirates?"
"Good lord," shrilled Annette, and ran for a concealed panel near the door. "I've got to shut the vents. They'll have gas."
Minnie, unable to figure out anything useful to do, and having the time of her life, flipped up a pad of woven monofilament and took a stylus out of her pocket. If this didn't win her the Neo-Pulitzer, it didn't deserve to be won.
