Ace In The Hole

1:00 P.M.

"You weenie." There was a furious glare from Tachyon's violet eyes as he stalked by, medical bag in hand. Behind him, reporters were clustered three deep around Barnett, who had of course passed the blood test without registering the taint of any black rain from Satan.

"Oh, shut up," mumbled Jack, from deep in the heart of another Bloody Mary.

Tachyon spun on his heel, marched back, stood in front of Jack, his pointed chin thrust out. "You may have just given the nomination to Barnett! You realize that?"

"I thought that was you." Jack's formless anger centered on Tachyon. "I thought that was you, off banging Fleur and switching to Jackson when things got tough."

Tachyon colored. "The only thing you can do now is try to move California to Jackson."

Jack sneered at him. "Fuck you, asshole. At least I'm doing something."

Tachyon stared at him, swallowed a retort or two, then flounced away.

Jack, standing by himself at the back of the press room, realized he was going to be mobbed by reporters as soon as Barnett finished his speech. He headed back to the bar set up in the back of the room, found a 500-milliliter flask of 151-proof rum, and put it in his pocket.

He figured he'd probably be safest on the convention floor, where he could hide behind the rest of his delegation.