Read Online Dragon Sword by Mark London Williams - Free Book Online Page B

your
position. Center field.”
    Even in the dark, I can see
DiMaggio looking at me a moment. “Center field, huh? Does he have a
hitting streak?”
    “ He’s not bad.”
    He reaches into a pocket and hands
me a piece of paper. It’s some kind of flyer or
pamphlet.
    “ What’s this?”
    “ Read it. I figure a guy who
manages werewolves might be able to make sense of it.”
     
    DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE HOLY GRAIL
IS?
    THE GERMAN HIGH COMMAND
DOES!
    THE NAZIS ARE COLLECTING
    — POWERFUL OBJECTS—
    Such as the Spear of Destiny, the
Holy Grail, and Excalibur — King Arthur’s Dragon Sword!
     
    “ The Dragon Sword,” I tell him,
tapping my finger on the word Excalibur . “They had a fake
one inside the museum.”
    “ Keep reading, kid. It gets
worse.”
     
    The possessor of these objects could
wield
    GREAT POWER!!
    No government should be allowed to
own them!
    No government should be
asleep!
    Demand an investigation!
    Demand ACTION!!
     
    “ Corny stuff, huh?” DiMaggio’s
shifting around from foot to foot, like he’s getting colder. Or
maybe having a conversation just makes him nervous.
    “ What does it mean?”
    “ Well, if you don’t know, kid, ask
him.” He jerks his head in the direction of a man standing by the
steps of the museum, holding a sign with big letters saying WAKE UP! You could see him trying to give
handouts to people who were standing outside, but nearly everyone
was pretending to ignore him.
    “ Who knows?” DiMaggio says. “That
guy marches around my restaurant, trying to get people to take his
flyers.”
    “ Why?”
    “ Hollywood people go there. Sports
people. He wants to get noticed. That’s why he came to the museum.
Figured this is where the action was tonight.” He shook his head as
if the sign man had done something wrong. “Everyone wants to get
noticed.”
    “ You got noticed, Mr. DiMaggio,” I
point out to him.
    “ And you know what, kid? All I
wanted was to play ball well enough so I could avoid putting in all
those hours on my old man’s fishing boat. Here’s what they used to
say to me when I was starting out…”
    And then, to my surprise, he grabs
the hat off my head. He turns it around in his hands. “Why is it
all sticky like this?”
    Of course I can’t tell about the
Thickskin, the synthetic coating that prevents direct contact with
the cap, which has become some kind of supercharged,
backward-traveling time particle. When I touch the cap, I get
tangled up in time, heading off somewhere usually not of my
own choosing.
    “ It’s to protect it,” I tell him.
“It’s valuable.”
    “ We just sweat in ’em. Here.” He
takes a pen out of his coat, looks under the cap, and rubs away
some of the Thickskin with his fingers. He writes on the band. Two
initials: a D and a B .
    “ That stands for ‘DiMaggio, buon .’ That’s how the old-timers wish me good luck.” He
hands the cap back to me, then walks over to where the squad cars
are parked and taps one of the policemen on the
shoulder.
    “ In a minute, mister, I’m still
with — oh, it’s you, Mr. DiMaggio.”
    “ I really have to go
now.”
    “ Uh, did we get your
statement?”
    “ I’ve been trying to tell you guys.
I didn’t see anything. I got here late.”
    The cop makes a note. “Well, okay.
We just want to make sure they weren’t targeting any of the
celebrities.”
    DiMaggio makes a show of patting
himself down. “I’m not missing a thing. But hey”— he nods toward me
—“make sure that kid gets a ride wherever he wants to
go.”
    “ He lost?”
    DiMaggio looks at me, then back at
the cop. “I don’t think so. Just misplaced.”
    Boy, I’ll say!
    “ Okay, Mr. DiMaggio,” the cop says.
“Happy holidays.”
    “ You, too.” DiMaggio looks at me.
“And you, too, kid.”
    I tap my Seals cap. “Thanks for the
autograph.”
    He starts walking away, then pauses
in the shadows. “Thanks for not asking for it.”
    I look at my cap a moment. Then I
take a little wad of