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Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: this is a work of non-profit fiction, partly inspired by the Writing.com story "A Visit To The Shrinking Place" and the Giantess City series "League of Astounding Homunculi." Any actual resemblance to H-shaped hotels, located in the Bahamas, is purely coincidental.
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THE GULLIVER SUITE,
HOTEL LILLIPUT,
MILES STONE'S P.O.V.

Through the special glasses being worn by Gladys, I got my first good look at Juliet Merlinova in the flesh (metaphorically speaking). She was, indeed, a long-haired carrot-top. Yet, at the moment, she wasn't wearing her customary semi-tuxedo. Rather, she was dressed in a pink bathrobe that showed off a tantalizing bit of her left leg. What caught more of Gladys' attention, however, was what Ms. Merlinova was doing while wearing it.

She was manipulating some kind of marionette with those nearly invisible wires used in the Dancing Cane (a.k.a "Levi-stick") illusion. A marionette that resembled nothing less than a minotaur with white-and-red kabuki face paint!

"Take that, Issun-boshi," she said (in obvious caricature of a deep masculine voice): "Take that...and that...and THAT!"

The marionette's club (imagine a baseball bat with raisin-like wrinkles) was trying-but-failing to hit what I had initially thought was a microelectronic animatron fashioned to look like a medieval Japanese samurai. There were two things, however, that quickly made me realize it wasn't. Its resemblance to the missing Okada Takeo.

And, the beads of nervous sweat on "its" forehead.

If it was him, though, I had to give him credit. For a shrinkie, he sure was feisty! He kept trying and trying to get close enough to that marionette to leap up and sever those strings. But, of course, his opponent's "magic mallet" wouldn't let him.

Finally, however, the Russian magicienne had had enough. She simply laughed, and put the "minotaur" away in a wooden chest lined with red velvet. Then, she turned back to "Issun-boshi," and pointed at him with her right index finger.

Faster than you can say "Peter Parker," a string of rainbow-colored handkerchiefs shot across the room; lassoed the little dude like a prize steer; and, then, reeled him in like a fish on a hook!

Any other normie might have been duly impressed. But, Gladys had been well-trained by M.A.C.H.O. She kept her lower jaw down just long enough to make her astonishment look real. Reinforcing "the sell" with a quick shake of her head.

"You sent for me, Ms. Merlinova?"

"Oh! Da!"

The shapely Russian carrot-top put "Issun-boshi" in a glass mayonnaise jar (with a multiply-punctured lid) before bringing her semi-tuxedo over to Gladys.

"I wish to have this dry-cleaned before my opening night performance, tonight."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Gladys (with a curtsy): "I'll bring it straight to the cleaners with just that instruction."

I was contacting Meriwether even as we left the suite.

* * * * *

LAX HILTON HOTEL,
MAY 19, 2009
5:00 P.M.(PST)

NED FOGARTY'S P.O.V.

Melissa ordered supper for both of us. A bacon cheeseburger (with the cheese made from skim milk), hash browns, and orange juice for her. And, a demitasse of decaffeinated coffee for me.

While we waited for room service to arrive, Mel used the TV remote control to turn on the local channel menu. She then settled back on the bed nearest the door. Her head resting on the left-hand pillow, while I sat on the one to the right. I didn't remain sitting for long, though.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Mel! Turn that one on. Please-please-please-please-PLEASE??????"

Mel laughed at my boyish enthusiasm, and switched on "Invasion of the Baton Twirlers From Outer Space." A 1979 cult-classic of science fiction, as it marked the one-time only collaboration of Roger Corman and Ray Harryhausen!

Forty-five minutes later, just as I was beginning to get aroused by the sight of gorgeous girls (in gold lame' bikinis) using majorette batons to shrink a bunch of heavily armed soldiers, there came a knock on our hotel room door.

"Room service!" came the somewhat muffled announcement.

"Be right there," she called out. Then, she turned to me...and smirked (only half-sympathetically)

"Sorry, Ned," she whispered: "It's in between the pillows for you."

I grumbled under my breath. And, I only stopped grumbling when Mel--who had opened the door only half way, by this point--got shoved to the floor by someone kicking it in the rest of the way!

The kicker wearing a nylon-stocking mask. Just like the two accomplices flanking him.

tbc
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