Deuces Down

WALKING THE FLOOR OVER YOU by Walton Simons

The club was crowded, but a little less boisterous than usual. Audience members whispered to each other or played with their drinks, but they weren’t giving the girl at the microphone the kind of attention she needed.

A lot of the customers were smoking, but Carlotta’s routine was doing the opposite. It wasn’t the material, and her delivery was spot on. Well, as good as it ever was, anyway.

She was gorgeous, though. Carlotta had creamy skin, delicate features, and a body that, as the joke went “would make a bishop kick out a stained-glass window.” Her honey-blonde hair was cut in a Louise Brooks pageboy, framing her face to ideal effect. Bob leaned back into the polished bar rail and sighed. If he didn’t have a personal interest in her, it would be easy enough to fire her. Not much chance of that, though

In every crowd there was somebody who looked like they didn’t belong. Tonight it was a pair of guys sitting together to the left of the stage, just away from the light’s edge. They were young and looked like FBI agents dressed in particularly loud disco garb. One had a face with a hound-like quality and his companion was taller and thinner. Mentally, Bob dubbed them Mutt and Jeff. Neither man was laughing or even smiling at Carlotta’s material, although they were certainly keeping their eyes on her. Bob decided to pay them a visit.

He navigated the floor over to their table. “Enjoying the show, gentleman?”

The tall thin man looked up at him, expressionless. “Great,” he said.

Bob cleared his throat. “It’s traditional to laugh at the jokes.”

“My friend has a medical condition that keeps him from laughing.” The thin man smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “So I don’t either, just to keep him from feeling bad.”

“That explains why you’re patronizing a comedy club.” Bob wasn’t sure what he wanted from these two, but knew he wasn’t going to get it if they had their way. “Pay attention.” He gestured to Carlotta. “You might just enjoy yourselves.”

“I’m sure most of you can tell I’m not from around here.” Carlotta looked down ashamedly from her mike. “The truth is, I’m from America ’s heartland, the great state of Iowa.”

“That would explain why you smell like pigs.” A deep male voice, slightly slurred, came from the back of the audience. Bob walked in the general direction of the heckler. He’d done this plenty of times and would have the creep pinpointed quickly.

Carlotta tried to work the interruption to her advantage. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since being in the Big Apple, it’s that no one can survive very long with a well developed sense of smell.” Small laugh. “Getting back to Iowa. This is the truth, I swear to god. They held a contest in my home state for a new tourism slogan and asked Iowans to help them out.”

“You suck, you corn-fed bitch.” The heckler was even louder this time around. Bob picked out a large sandy-haired man in a tank top and faux leather pants sitting by himself a couple of tables away on the left. Bob pulled a small flashlight from his jacket pocket and moved in.

“Really,” Carlotta continued, ignoring him this time around, “you’d be amazed at the cruelty of responses from the folks in Iowa. These are people with a real sense of humor. One was ‘ Iowa, gateway to Wisconsin.’” She sold the joke with a broad sweep of her arm, but didn’t get much for the effort.

“Go the fuck back where you came from,” yelled the heckler. Bob was standing directly behind him and briefly turned on the flashlight over the troublemaker’s head. Carlotta was looking in his direction and nodded.

“My favorite slogan by far, though, was ‘Iowa, it makes you want Dubuque.’” This got a pretty good response from the audience but the heckler started to laugh uproariously. He knocked his drink over, spilling ice and alcohol onto the floor, and grabbed onto the edge of his table, laughing convulsively. He looked up at Bob, with something close to panic in his widening eyes. Bob grabbed the man under his sweaty armpits and hauled him into a standing position, then guided him toward the exit. The heckler got his legs under himself quickly and Bob was afraid he might try to resist being ushered out the door. Luckily the man seemed relieved as Bob pushed him outside into the heat.

“I wouldn’t come back,” Bob said, as a parting shot, and gave the man a practiced stare for good measure. The heckler said nothing, but walked slowly away down the pavement.

Carlotta was leaving the stage to scattered applause when Bob made it back to the interior of the club. Mutt and Jeff had disappeared, which was okay with Bob. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the audience. “She’s here Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Tell your friends.”

Bob met her backstage with a half-smile. “Not your best, but not awful, given the circumstances.” He’d guessed Carlotta’s wild card ability and had bluffed the truth out of her a few weeks earlier. She couldn’t do any real harm with it; make a crowd giggle, a few people laugh out loud, or-if she focused it on one person-completely incapacitate them.

“Right.” Carlotta wiped her forehead and combed back her damp hair. “Thanks for the help, but I had him spotted. Jerks seem to grow on trees in this burg.”

“That’s a fact, my dear. After six months here, I’d think you’d come to expect it. New York ’s reputation didn’t manifest itself out of thin air.”

Carlotta headed for her tiny dressing room. Bob followed. “God help me if I ever get used to rude assholes,” she said without looking back at him. “The dirt, yes. The noise, yes. Even the lack of anything green outside of Central Park or the A &P. But jerk-off morons are always going to piss this girl off.” She turned around at the doorway of her tiny dressing room. “I haven’t got time to talk. I’m meeting someone.”

“You’re certainly not a very traditional girl.” Bob fingered his watch and waited for a reply, but received only a roll of the eyes. “Most people suck up to their boss a bit, unless they’re very, very good at their job. You certainly don’t have more than one ‘very’ and possibly none at all.”

“You’re not going to get rid of me just yet, Mr. Cortland,” she said, and closed the door with finality.

Too true, Bob thought to himself. He wandered back over to the bar and poured himself a half-shot of scotch, wondering what it would be like to win a round with her. She certainly wasn’t smarter than he was. Well probably not. But he couldn’t match her obstinacy. “To good humor,” he said quietly. “Mine. And patience.”

He saw her flash out the rear exit in a short blue dress and almost-matching heels, blonde hair bouncing, and decided, with the help of the scotch, to try another approach on her. He had until he caught up with her to figure out just what that might be.

Once outside, the July heat swallowed him like a chip of ice in a cup of steaming coffee. Even in the early morning hours, the still, furnace-like air sucked the life out of everyone and everything. Carlotta was disappearing down the alleyway, but stopped short on the far side of a dumpster. Two men emerged from the darkness and stepped into her path. Bob couldn’t see them well and slipped into the shadows on the dark side of the alley, carefully removed a small revolver from his right jacket pocket. It felt bigger in his hand that it really was. He was hoping the same psychological phenomenon applied to the men he was going to try to stop.

“You’re coming with us. Any trouble, I hurt you.” The taller of the two men grabbed Carlotta by the arm. She tried to wrench away, but was pinned by his grip.

Bob moved out from behind the dumpster and trained his weapon on the man holding Carlotta, recognizing the pair as Mutt and Jeff. “Let her go,” he said, in as even a tone as he could manage. “I’ll shoot you both if I have to.”

Mutt stared at him, unblinking. “Now why don’t I believe that?”

Taking a deep breath, Bob pointed the end of the revolver slightly to one side of the man and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked uncomfortably in his sweaty hand and the bullet ricocheted off the brick alley wall and into a pile of crates, spraying chips of wood. “Because you’re stupid,” he suggested.

The pair turned and bolted toward the street. Bob aimed the gun toward the Mutt’s receding back, realized he wasn’t up to that, put the safety back on, and slipped the weapon back into his pocket.

Carlotta still stood unmoving, fists clenched. Bob quickly put his arm around her and got her moving back toward the club door. “You never have any shortage of admirers. Ever seen them before?”

She let out a deep breath. “No. Not until tonight. Show business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Carlotta looked into his eyes for a second, then turned her head. “Thanks.”

“You want to tell me anything?” Bob tried to make eye contact with her, but she looked away and walked slowly back into the club. “Somehow, I didn’t think so.”

He was in his favorite seat at the club, lazily rubbing his thumb over a cigarette burn on the table’s hard wood finish. Bob was tired and it was only late afternoon. The excitement of the previous night had kept him from sleeping. Not that insomnia was unusual for him. It even helped if you ran a late-night business. Even though he’d put on fresh clothes, he felt rumpled.

Carlotta had seemed more scared than he would have expected if Mutt and Jeff were just muggers, and she didn’t spook easily as far as he could see. Not to mention the fact that comedy clubs like his didn’t really pay very well and any thief with half a brain would know that. Something was up, he was sure of that, but he didn’t have a clue what it might be. Maybe Carlotta just made him stupid. He took a sip of lukewarm coffee. It was his fourth cup of the day. If he had to be tired, at least he would be alert.

Wes the bartender walked over with a half-empty pot of coffee and gave Bob a warmup, then headed back to his work cleaning glasses behind the bar. A native New Yorker, Wes was physically large, but not particularly good-looking, loved to laugh, and only poured heavy for regulars and attractive women. He was the first person Bob had hired when he opened the Village Idiot and the only original employee the place still had.

“Wes, am I an idiot?” Bob asked, without looking for inspiration in the steam swirling in his cup.

“No, boss. No one who has the good sense to hire me could possibly be an idiot.”

Bob knew Wes could have made a comment about Carlotta. The bartender had a good pair of eyes and a quick mind. “Thanks, Wes.”

“How about a raise?”

“Don’t hurt me, Wes. You know how things are.”

Bob heard a key turn in the front door and Carlotta stepped in. Even in the dim light, he could see she was paler than usual. She was wearing a royal blue halter-top that was sweat-soaked to the skin and her hair was plastered to the sides of her face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bob asked. “You look like, well, like last night.”

“Funny about that.” Carlotta clutched a chair back and took a deep breath. “Because that’s how I feel.”

“Okay. Sit down and tell me about it.” He motioned to Wes. “You want anything to drink?”

“A shot of brandy would be nice.”

“Coming up.” Wes grabbed a glass and a bottle. “Anything for you, Mr. Cortland?”

“Not just yet, Wes.” He put a finger under Carlotta’s chin and raised her head. “Let’s hear it.”

Carlotta took the glass of brandy Wes had hurried over and had a sip. “Okay. I’m shopping on Eighth Street. Checking out some clothes and whatnot, and I wind up in a bookstore. This guy comes up to me and starts talking. Gorgeous guy. Tall. Blonde. You’d hate him.”

“I do,” Bob said. “I’ll take that brandy after all, Wes.”

“Right. Well we really hit it off and he asks if I want to get a cup of coffee. I figure he’s looking to get laid, which isn’t exactly objectionable in my mind, so I’ll just entertain the possibility and see how it goes.”

“Playing hard to get again.”

“Forget that, okay.” Carlotta shot him an agitated glance. “I don’t need you to ride me right now. In any case, we’re having coffee and it turns out he likes the same things as me. Russian composers, and Monet, and Woody Allen, and iced coffee.” She ticked off the coincidences on her fingers as she named them. “And I realized that this was beyond Kismet and into something really creepy. This guy came after me, same as those goons last night. Only he was using sugar instead of trying to strong-arm me.” She paused and took a deep breath, then another swallow of brandy.

“So where is he now?”

“Damned if I know,” Carlotta said. “I crawled out the window of the ladies room at the coffee shop to get away from him and came straight here.”

“All right,” Bob said, nodding. “Do you think there’s any chance you’re being paranoid or overreacting because of last night?”

“No way.”

Bob picked up his brandy and drained the small glass. “Then lets’ go. We’ve got somebody to see.”

Carlotta hadn’t been excited about a trip to Jokertown, but the fact that she hadn’t protested either indicated to Bob that she was genuinely scared. Not that Jokertown was that bad these days. In fact, it was one of the few areas of the city that didn’t live in fear of the ’44 Caliber Killer known as the Son of Sam. There were a few nut-balls suggesting a joker was the murderer, but most people weren’t buying it, particularly in Jokertown.

“Pull over next to the newsstand,” Bob told the cab driver. The cabbie whipped the car over, his tires squealing slightly as the rubber met the concrete curb. Bob handed him a twenty, too much really for such a short ride, and helped Carlotta out onto the sidewalk.

No place on earth, at least that Bob had seen, was like Jokertown. The streets and building looked and smelled a little different, and the residents ranged from almost passably normal to grotesque, but that wasn’t what struck him every time he came here. It was that the rules were somehow not quite the same inside Jokertown, and outsiders never knew where the lines of acceptable behavior lay.

One of the few people he did know and trust down here ran this newsstand. Bob walked over with Carlotta in tow. The proprietor was wearing one of his trademark Hawaiian print shirts. Even in the gathering shadows of dusk, the colors looked electric. “Jube,” Bob said, extending his hand. “Got a minute?”

Jube, who resembled nothing more than an upright, badly dressed, walrus, extended a blubbery gray hand. “Well, if it isn’t the owner of the Jokertown Idiot.”

The walrus always gave Bob grief over the fact that the Village Idiot was technically closer to Jokertown than Greenwich Village, even after Bob explained that a club named the Jokertown Idiot not only wasn’t clever sounding but would fold in less than a month.

“Thanks. I need your help. Actually,” he indicated Carlotta, “she does.”

Jube’s lips tightened appreciatively across his tusks and into a smile. “Whatcha need?”

Carlotta looked Jube up and down and lightly shook her head. “You didn’t tell me he was a redhead.” She pointed to the crimson tufts on Jube’s head. “Could be more trouble.”

Jube gave a deep, rumbling chuckle. “She’s a live wire, Bob. One of yours?”

Bob nodded. He was relieved Carlotta hadn’t shed her sense of humor. “Yes, but only as an employee.”

There was a rapid skittering noise behind them. A coin flew up over the lip of the newsstands wooden front and landed in Jube’s open palm. Something thin and semi-transparent whisked away a copy of the Jokertown Cry. A short, indistinguishable form folded the paper and shot across the street into the shadows.

“Thanks, Speedy,” Jube said, tossing the quarter into the register. He turned back to Carlotta. “Now, where were we?”

“We,” Bob said, emphasizing the word, “need someone for a protection job. Someone very good.”

“Mmmm.” Jube leaned forward. “And cost?”

“Is a consideration, but not a deterrent to hiring the best.” Bob had an Uncle Scrooge vision in his mind of dollar bills flying away on angel wings.

“I’ll pay you back, don’t worry.” Carlotta smoothed her hair back with both hands. “Just tell us who to see.”

Jube pulled out a beat-up notepad and wrote a name and address on it. “He’s the best I know of. Doesn’t ask too many questions and gets results.”

“I sense a qualifying ‘but’ coming here,” Bob said.

“No, not really. He’s a… changeable guy, but reliable. Just pay him what he asks and tell him what he needs to know to do the job and you’ll be fine.” Jube tore the paper from the pad and handed it over.

Bob turned the paper around and peered at it, unable to make out the letters. “What’s his name? Starts with a ‘C’? Can’t quite read it.”

“Croyd, just Croyd. I’ll call ahead and let him know you’re coming” Jube said. “Hey, you know how many jokers it takes to screw in a lightbulb?”

“I don’t have time to find out. Thanks, Jube.”

Whoever Croyd was, he didn’t have a standard address. Bob walked carefully down the alleyway with Carlotta a couple of steps behind. Dumpsters, baked by the incessant heat, clogged the alley with the actively unpleasant smell of accelerated decay. Bob checked Jube’s instructions with his flashlight and kept moving forward, looking for a door.

“Are we there yet?” Carlotta was trying to maintain her sense of humor, but Bob wasn’t laughing, or even smiling.

“Just about, I think,” he replied.

“I’d turn back if I were you,” the voice came from behind a stack of half-empty boxes. There was an old, bearded man sitting there, nursing a bottle of something. His threadbare clothes were soiled with what looked like a decade’s worth of stains. He looked them up and down and then turned back to his bottle.

“I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do, I do, I do believe in spooks.” Carlotta’s voice had a bit of the spunky tone Bob associated with her, which was okay because his courage and confidence were beginning to head south. He came to a door and rapped hesitantly on it.

“Entre vous,” came a deep, raspy, voice from the other side.

Bob opened the door and stepped into a small, high-ceiling room. There was a low-light lamp in one corner next to a large mattress and the opposite corner was screened off. Something was sitting in against the wall opposite the door, covered in a massive gray-brown tarpaulin. There was an odd smell, but no Croyd was visible.

“We did hear somebody, right?” Carlotta was right on his heels.

“Yes, you did,” came the same deep voice. What Bob had thought was a tarpaulin began to slowly unfold into two massive, leathery wings, spreading until they almost touched either wall. Between them was a humanoid-type creature with a horned head, slitted, yellow eyes, and a fanged mouth. One of the yellow eyes winked and the mouth curled into something of a smile. Except for a small, belted garment at the waist, the creature was naked, not that it mattered. “You must be Jube’s friends.”

“Yes,” Carlotta said, “Well, he is anyway.” She pointed to Bob, who was trying to get his mouth to shut.

Croyd stood up on feet that, although sporting four clawed toes each, were more or less human. “He said you need protection. Afraid the Son-of-Sam is after you?”

“No,” Bob said, finally able to speak. “He doesn’t work Manhattan anyway. I thought Jube would have explained, Mr… Croyd.” Bob then covered the story of the heckler in the alley for the second time that night.

“Do you have any enemies that you know of?” Croyd turned his horned head lazily toward Carlotta.

“No. I’m from Iowa.”

“Well, you seem to now. Nothing I can’t handle, though.” He gently placed a taloned finger under her chin. “I aims to please.” He emphasized the word “aims,” obviously aware that it was a town in Iowa.

Everybody’s a comedian, thought Bob. “And your fee for protecting Miss DeSoto will be?” He was trying to get Croyd’s attention. The last thing he needed was someone else trying to horn in on Carlotta, literally or figuratively. That line was already long enough.

“She’s not a DeSoto.” Croyd gave Carlotta the slow once over, which she didn’t seem to mind at all. “With curves like that, she’s more like a Mustang.” Croyd cleared his throat. It was an unpleasant noise. “You can have me for five hundred a day, one day’s pay in advance and the rest when the job is over.” He walked in an ungainly fashion to the partitioned area of the room. Bob heard the sound of a bottle-cap coming off and being replaced, a drawer opening. Then Croyd emerged with a small amber bottle held between a massive thumb and forefinger. He carefully opened and dabbed some of the liquid contents on one his fingers, then scooped Carlotta’s blonde hair back and applied it gingerly behind her ears. “Et, voila.”

“What’s that for?” she asked, sniffing. “It’s definitely not Chanel.”

Croyd handed her the bottle. “No, but if someone does get their mitts on you, the scent will help me track you, so take good care of the stuff.”

Bob was equal parts tired, suspicious, and annoyed. If Jube hadn’t vouched for Croyd, there was no way he’d deal with him at all. Not because he was a hideous joker, but because in spite of that fact, he was still charming.

“I don’t have that amount of cash with me,” Bob said. “But once Miss DeSoto is safely home, you can follow me to my business. I’ll pay you there.”

“And just what is your business?” Croyd leaned his head toward Bob’s face.

Bob held his ground, in spite of Croyd’s unusually hot breath on his face. “I own a comedy club in the Village, the Village Idiot. I’ll meet you in back of my place, show you what happened and where, and give you your retainer.”

“You know,” Croyd said, “I find the fact that the name of your club is the Village Idiot to be completely believable.”

“I work there,” Carlotta said, stifling a yawn. “So show some respect. By the way, you do fly don’t you? Those wings aren’t just for show?”

Croyd laughed. It was a deep, booming sound, and in spite of the source, Bob liked it. “I fly like a bat-out-of-hell, just wait and see. And if you spot something on a building that looks like a misplaced gargoyle, don’t worry. It means I’m on the job.”

“You can’t cover her 24 hours a day,” Bob said, hoping the comment didn’t reveal his paranoia. “When you’re asleep, I’ll take over.”

“I won’t be sleeping on this job,” Croyd said. “Later. I’ll sleep later.” There was a hint of something in Croyd’s demon voice that to Bob almost sounded sad. With that thought in his head, he smiled.

They hadn’t seen Croyd since hiring him, although Carlotta said she thought maybe she’d spied him a time or two, a dark, still shadow on the rooftop of the building opposite her apartment. Bob was fine with the situation. Out of sight, out of mind, as far as he was concerned. A grand every other day was a steep price, but sooner or later the Mutt and Jeff, or maybe the pickup artist who spooked Carlotta, would try again. If Croyd did his job as advertised, that would be their mistake.

He’d offered to buy her dinner at a steak house off Central Park West, knowing she’d have a hard time saying no. Bob knew what she took home in pay, and it didn’t allow room for passing up a free meal. She also had to overcome the fact that it was the 13th of the month and she was deathly superstitious.

They got to the restaurant early enough to beat the crowd, and darkness was settling in over Manhattan when their food arrived. Bob had ordered a t-bone smothered in onions, while Carlotta had gone for the filet mignon. It was 10 ounces and he hoped she’d let him poach off her plate if she wasn’t up to finishing it.

“This is one thing my people could never get right, cooking meat,” he said after downing a particularly tasty bite.

“Your people?”

“The English.” He dabbed a spot of juice from his chin. “I’m a Brit, you know that.”

“You’re a New Yorker in denial, you mean.” She shook her head. “You spent what, two years in England after you were born and have been here the rest of your life. You’re just a New Yorker with a slightly different pedigree. Live with it.” Carlotta pointed to her filet with the fork. “This is great, by the way. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, and I’m English, thank you very much. My parents lived there for ten years before we moved to NYC, and raised me to be a repressed, cultured snob.”

“Bet your mom would smack you if she heard you say that. You’d deserve it, too.” She gave him a lascivious smile that promised only torment. “At least you’re right about the repressed part.”

“Oh, that’s great, coming from the Ado Annie of Iowa. You wouldn’t know repressed if it bit you on the ass, and it’s probably the only thing that hasn’t.”

“No,” she said, smiling. “That would be you.”

Bob wagged a finger in her direction. “No dessert for you.” The lights inside the restaurant flickered and went out, tried to come back on for a second, and then went completely dark.

“Looks like they’ve blown a fuse,” Carlotta said.

Bob turned and looked out the windows toward the street. There was light, but it was fainter than it should be. “I think the whole area has a power outage. The street lights are gone, too.”

The waiters were moving from table to table, lighting candles. One particularly lanky fellow made it over to where Bob and Carlotta were seated to furnish the couple with their meager source of light.

“Any idea what’s going on?” Bob asked.

“No,” the waiter replied, shaking his head, “and wouldn’t you know the manager would be off today. Like he didn’t know it was the 13th. Someone’s on the phone though, checking into it. We’ll pass on any word we get.” He hurried off to another table.

“A man after your own heart,” Bob said, smiling. Carlotta’s face, lit by the flickering candle, had an almost sinister cast. Her round features, lit from beneath, reminded him of the face in the mirror from Disney’s Snow White.

“If you want to make jokes, you should get up on stage and try it sometime.” She took another bite of steak. Bob’s hope of leftovers was quickly disappearing. “You don’t have any superstitions?”

“No. Only fact-based fears.” One of them, that Carlotta would completely finish her steak, had already been realized. He raised his arm and waved it in an exaggerated fashion, trying to flag the waiter, who noticed after a few moments and wove his way expertly through the mostly empty tables toward them.

“No word yet, sir, but I believe it’s city-wide.”

“Thanks. Could we have the check?”

“Certainly, sir,” he said, and quickly disappeared in the direction of the register.

Bob fingered his shirt’s topmost button uncomfortably. “It’s getting pretty warm in here without the a/c. Want to stop by the park and see if we can get some ice-cream?”

“Sure. My relatives in Wisconsin would tar-and-feather me if they found out I passed up a dairy product. I wonder what it’s going to be like on the streets?” Carlotta pulled a compact out of her purse and checked her face briefly. “Like anyone will be able to see me.”

Their waiter returned and set the tray with their bill in front of Bob. “Our credit card machine is down, sir. I hope cash won’t be inconvenient.”

“Not a problem,” Bob said, pulling out his wallet. “Thank you.” He carefully stacked several twenties onto the tab and helped Carlotta out of her seat. “Let’s have a look outside.”

The street was unreal in the dim moonlight. People stood in small groups talking quietly, and a family, probably out-of-towners, waved in vain for an available cab. The traffic was crawling at best, but drivers were still jockeying from lane to lane, trying to find an opening. Bob looked up and saw the stars. Normally, the city lights washed them out completely, but now they were clear and distinct. In contrast, Central Park loomed darkly across the crowded, hot asphalt.

“It’s going to be murderous getting you home,” Bob said. “Even the subways are going to be useless. Maybe we should reconsider our plan.”

“We’re not going anywhere until the power comes back on.” She headed across Central Park West, moving around the cars that were momentarily at a standstill. “Might as well kill the time as best we can.”

“Alright,” Bob said, “wait for me.”

After half an hour wandering along the edge of Central Park looking for an ice-cream vendor, Bob was ready to give up. He’d also noticed a group of kids following them at a distance. Even if they were just wandering in the same direction, it made him uneasy. He was glad to still be carrying the revolver.

A sharp snapping noise, followed quickly by another, stopped them in their tracks. Screams began to drift through the still, hot air from nearby.

“What the hell is going on?” Carlotta asked, looking quickly from side to side. “It’s just a blackout.”

A dark shape appeared at the tree line and grew in size. More snapping. Bob realized it was the sound of branches being split. Several people were sprinting directly at them. One of them screamed “The ape! It’s loose.”

Bob knew in an instant how much trouble they were in. The giant ape had been a mainstay at the Central Park Zoo for over a decade. Every now and then it broke loose and started looking for a young, blonde woman to clutch to its massive chest. After abducting its Fay Wray stand-in, the beast invariably headed in scripted fashion for the top of the Empire State Building. His mind registered that the monster ape had first appeared during the blackout in 1965, but there was no time to dwell on coincidence. He grabbed Carlotta by the wrist and bolted for the street. She had no trouble keeping up, matching him stride for stride in the race to reach the hoped-for safety of a building interior.

A kid running full-tilt crashed into a garbage container and sent it rolling in a tight semi-circle right into their path. Bob felt a pain in his knee and sprawled headlong, Carlotta’s hand wrenched from his grasp. There was an animal roar that rattled his fillings and he scrambled to his feet.

The ape knuckle-walked toward them, its eyes fixed on Carlotta and her blonde hair. She struggled to stand and backed slowly away from the monster. Then stopped. “Knock-knock,” she yelled. The ape bared its teeth and snorted. “Who’s there?” Carlotta answered to her own question, at the top of her voice.

Bob pulled the revolver and pointed it between the ape’s luminous, yellow eyes. She’d panicked and was trying to use her power on it. “You can’t make a gorilla laugh,” he yelled. “Run.”

The giant ape regarded him for a second, then returned his attention to Carlotta, taking another giant step in her direction. “Banana, banana, banana, banana,” she continued, ignoring Bob’s advice.

He tightened his finger on the trigger, and the ape lunged for Carlotta, scooping her up with a giant, hairy paw. She screamed and then went limp. The ape gingerly propped up her head with a single finger and made what might have been soothing vocalizations in ape language. The monster turned suddenly and saw Bob. It snarled and bared its teeth.

Bob suddenly felt very alone, the useless gun heavy in his hand. He’d be a dead man in a few seconds and the punch line to a bad joke for years to come if he didn’t do something. So he got flat.

He didn’t lie flat; that would have been no help at all. As a particularly shy teen-ager, Bob had been forced by a zealous drama teacher to take a role in a Moliere comedy. During a dress rehearsal, he felt sick with stage fright and, right before his entrance, literally flowed puddle-like to the floor. The sensation of giving up his physical form was even more frightening than performing on stage. His vision and hearing became almost non-existent. Worse, he couldn’t move any more than a beached jellyfish. After a few long moments, he’d reconstituted, naked, as he’d puddled right out of his clothes. A few of his fellow students saw what happened, or thought they did, but the school kept it quiet. He was dismissed from the play and told his parents it was because he called Moliere an over-praised, humorless Frog. Over the years he’d worked with his ability in secret, and had even mastered a sort of pseudopodal movement. Bob assumed part of his attraction to Carlotta was the fact that they’d both been touched by the wild card, albeit a glancing blow.

Bob had a feeling that, flat or not, if the giant ape stepped on him, he’d be crushed to death. He felt the thunderous footsteps move toward, and then past, him. He waited until the vibrations seemed a safe distance away and pulled himself back together. The few people who hadn’t left the area were looking at the ape, which was about a hundred yards distant. Bob hurriedly donned his clothing and put the gun back into his pocket. The ape was making good time. Bob knew he’d never catch it on foot, and with traffic snarled because of the blackout, a car was out of the question, too.

He heard a horse neigh and turned to see an empty carriage not far away. Abandoned by its driver, the horse, coal black with a white patch on its forehead, regarded Bob warily as he approached. He moved slowly toward the spot on the ground where the reins lay. The horse snorted as he gathered the slim, leather leads into his hands.

“Good boy,” Bob said, clambering up into the carriage. Once seated, he tried to plot a course in the direction the ape and Carlotta had taken and then shook the reins.

The horse didn’t so much as twitch. Apparently, he didn’t have the voice of authority. “Yaah!” he yelled, and tossed the reins violently. Nothing.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” Bob said, pulling the pistol from his pocket. He fired off a round into the air and the horse immediately bounded away at full tilt, hooves pounding the earth. Bob’s back was slammed into the driver’s seat by the carriage’s abrupt start and he fought to pull himself back into a position to drive, not that he had any idea what he was doing. The hot summer air whistled in Bob’s ears and he noticed they were veering a bit to the left of his best guess at the ape’s path, so he pulled on the right-hand rein but got no response from his charging steed.

“Damn,” he said, and pulled harder, but the horse galloped hell-bent onward. Bob saw what looked like a curbed pathway directly ahead and reached for the side of the carriage to brace himself for the impact, but his reaction was a second too slow. The carriage’s front wheels slammed into the curb and the front of the vehicle vaulted into the air, tossing Bob out of the carriage and down onto the grass on the far side of the sidewalk. He rolled to a stop and sat up. The now riderless carriage was disappearing into the darkness. Bob let out a deep breath and there was a rush of air around him that raised a cloud of heavy dust.

Croyd landed next to him, chuckling. “Can’t even keep a girl safe at dinner, eh?”

Bob bit back on his anger at Croyd’s nonchalance. He needed help to save Carlotta and Croyd was it. “If you were watching, why didn’t you do something?”

“I’m tough, but no match for a giant gorilla. Keep your shirt on, though. As many times as this has happened, not once has the ape’s captive blonde been hurt, unless you count soiled clothing.” Croyd helped Bob to his feet, a glint in his yellow eyes. “There’s a bit more to you than I thought.”

Bob felt sick. He’d guarded his secret for years and Croyd was one of the last people he would have picked to share it. “That’s not important now. Let’s get going.”

“You da boss.” Croyd slipped his taloned hands under Bob’s armpits and began beating his wings. The pair rose slowly from Central Park.

Bob felt more than saw the world falling away. The noise level faded as they headed into the sky. Car headlights lit the streets and avenues at ground level but everything else was inky black, except for the occasional dim window he assumed meant someone inside had lit a candle or two. To his relief the air cooled a bit as Croyd carried him upward. Combined with the rush of Croyd’s wings, the sensation was almost refreshing.

“You’re not going to throw up are you?” Croyd’s breath was warm on the top of Bob’s head.

“No. I’m okay.” Which was true as long as he didn’t think or look down. “Where are we going?”

“ Empire State, Mr. Village Idiot. The ape always climbs it, if he gets that far. And we can pick up some reinforcements there. Like I said, I can’t handle him alone.”

“Aces High?” Like everyone else, Bob had heard of the famous restaurant atop the Empire State building and knew that as often as not there was an ace or two having dinner there.

“Give the boy a cigar.” Croyd’s breath was becoming a bit raspy. “You’re not exactly a lightweight. This whole thing is going to cost you extra, by the way. Not exactly what I signed on for. Might cut you a deal for a couple of rounds with your girlfriend, though.”

“Have you even got genitalia?” Bob snapped.

Croyd let go of Bob with one hand and lowered him level with the demon’s crotch. “Care to check?”

Bob grabbed hold of Croyd’s sinewy arm with both his hands and clutched it tightly. “Okay, okay. You made your point.”

Croyd made a sibilant noise that sounded like a giggle. “An attitude and altitude adjustment. Good thing. You’d feel like one stupid shithead during the time it took you to fall. Here we are.”

The observation deck of the Empire State Building stood out in faint shades of gray and silver. They landed softly on the concrete and Croyd took a deep breath. Bob was both happy and sorry to have his feet on something solid again. Nothing else he’d experienced was quite like the flight he’d just had.

“Here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to shadow the ape and grab Carlotta on the off chance he makes a mistake. How fucking likely that is I don’t know, but we can’t count on it. You go inside and tell Hiram that I sent you. See what help you can round up and have it waiting when our hairy friend shows up.” Croyd grabbed Bob by the shoulders and spun him around, then gave him a shove toward the door. “Do it.” Then he was gone again.

Bob opened the door and groped his way down the stairs as quickly as he could, and when he reached the first landing felt around for a doorknob. He couldn’t turn it and started pounding on it as hard as he could. “Open up. I need help.” He was silent a moment to try to hear any sound from inside but there was only silence. He was groping for the handrail when he heard a door open not far below him.

“Who’s there?” The voice was deep, male, and irritated.

“A friend of Croyd’s,” Bob said, his hand finding the metal of the railing. He was halfway down the flight of stairs when a flash-light came on, blinding him momentarily.

“A friend of Croyd’s who isn’t a woman? That’s a novelty.” The voice took on a somewhat more amiable tenor. “Come inside.”

The man holding the door open for him had to be Hiram Worcester. Bob had seen pictures of him in the papers and magazines. Hiram was tall and broadly built with a distinctive spade-shaped beard. Even in the candlelight spilling from the restaurant Bob could tell every aspect of Hiram was perfectly groomed, right down to the crisp lines of his white tuxedo.

“Thanks.” Bob stepped into Aces High and was taken aback by its elegance. The tables, punctuated here and there by exotic-looking plants or objects d’art, were ideally situated to provide patrons with a view of the entire establishment while still maintaining a degree of privacy for conversation. Aces High was illuminated with the flickering light of least a hundred candles, reflecting polished crystal and silverware, giving the restaurant a romantic, ethereal glow.

“Have a seat,” Hiram said, gesturing to an empty table. “And tell me what’s going on.”

Bob sat down and took a deep breath. “You heard the ape is loose?”

Hiram shook his head. “No. I told Emil to listen to the radio and let me know what’s going on, but he clearly hasn’t done it. Would you like a brandy, by the way?”

“That would be great.”

Hiram caught a waiter’s eye and raised two thick fingers. The man nodded and disappeared. “So what do you have to do with Croyd and the giant ape?”

“The ape has my girlfriend.” Bob was surprised to hear himself refer to Carlotta that way, particularly since it was far from true. “And Croyd is, well, in my employ. He flew me here and then took off to see if he could get Carlotta away from the ape. Most likely it’s climbing the building by now. Are there any other aces, beside yourself, who might be able to help? Croyd said there might be.” Each of Bob’s phrases came out quicker than the one before. He hoped he didn’t sound hysterical.

The brandies arrived and Hiram took a sip of his. Bob drained half of the liquid in his snifter and the bracing quality of the liquor made him feel instantly calmer. “You can see we’re a bit less crowded tonight than usual, but there’s someone here who might be helpful.” Hiram gestured toward a young woman sitting alone at a table.

Except for her magnificent, curled wings, or maybe because of them, she was the most beautiful girl Bob had ever seen. He’d seen her on the Tonight Show and in Playboy, repeatedly. His mind groped for her name. “Ptarmigan,” he said, realizing the name was wrong the instant it passed his lips.

Hiram smiled and took another sip of brandy. “Peregrine, actually. I’ll introduce you, but let me do the talking.”

They walked over to Peregrine, who Bob was shocked to see alone, given her looks and notoriety. “Peri, we’ve got a bit of a situation,” Hiram said. “A giant ape is headed here with a captive blonde, this gentleman’s girlfriend.” He indicated Bob. “We’re going up to the observation deck to rescue her. Would you mind helping?”

“Sounds like fun.” Peregrine stood and kicked off her heels, then studied her gown, which was a shimmering aqua and tighter than a Scotsman with his last nickel. She fingered a slit in the dress that rose to mid-calf one side and tore it open by another fifteen inches. “That should help.” She carefully removed a pair of metal talons from her purse and slipped them over her wrist. “Let’s go.”

Hiram led the way up the stairs with his flashlight and helped open the door to the observation deck for Peregrine and Bob to step outside.

“Peri, why don’t you see what you can see,” Hiram suggested, but at that moment a giant paw appeared over the railing in front of them. Peregrine shot into the air and Hiram hustled Bob around the corner. Bob heard the metal railing buckle behind them, and breathing so heavy only a fifty-foot ape that had just climbed a hundred story building could have made it.

The ape scaled the building’s domed apex and roared. Bob picked out a pair of flying shapes darting around above them, but Croyd and Peregrine, either together or singly, didn’t seem to Bob like much of a threat to the monster.

Hiram agreed out loud. “They’ll never be able to get her away from it. I wish the Turtle were here. This would be no trouble for him.”

Bob and Hiram craned their necks to follow the flying figures darting by the ape. It kept the beast looking up instead down at the deck where they were. Although it was too dark to really be able to tell, Bob thought Croyd was paying as much attention to Peregrine as he was to the ape, who stood unmoving except for the swiveling of his head to keep its enemies in sight.

The ape looked like it was going to set Carlotta down. She was conscious again, but not struggling very much. Croyd swept in and the ape thrust out a giant arm out to fend off the perceived attack, catching Croyd with the back of his hand and sending him spinning down toward the street. Peregrine instantly disappeared after him.

Hiram sighed. “I suppose that leaves me.” He turned to Bob. “Unless you do something.”

“I stay out of the way pretty well,” Bob replied, “but I’m willing to try anything you’ve got in mind.”

Hiram looked up and slowly made a fist. The gorilla’s broad shoulders slumped and its arms dropped to its sides. “A bit heavier,” Hiram said, more to himself than Bob. The top of the building began to creak under the strain of the extra weight Hiram was adding. “Now,” he said and the ape leapt upwards, almost appearing to hover in the air momentarily. It dropped Carlotta and grabbed at the top of the building with both paws, its momentum carrying it to the other side of the dome. “And heavy again,” Hiram mused. The ape slammed into the top of the dome, sending fragments of stone and metal onto Bob and Hiram.

“Up the ladder and get her,” Hiram said. “I’ll keep our guest where he is.”

Bob did as he was told. He gathered Carlotta into his arms and tried not to look down and he guided her to the ladder. They were joined on the observation deck by Peregrine. Bob pulled the winged beauty to one side. “How is Croyd?” he whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

“Not too bad,” Peregrine said. “He landed on one of the set-backs about ten floors down but must have got his wings going right before he hit. He can’t fly, though, so I’m going to take him home.”

“Thanks.” Bob reached to pat her shoulder, then stopped, realizing her wings prevented it. “I really do appreciate it.”

“My pleasure. See you soon, Hiram.” Peregrine fluttered into the air and then down into the darkness at the building’s edge.

Bob returned to Carlotta’s side. “We need to get you home.”

“The sooner the better.” Carlotta said, sniffing her hands. “God, I smell like that thing.” She extended her hand to Hiram. “Whoever you are, thank you.”

“Hiram Worchester.” He gave Carlotta’s hand a shake and looked back up at the ape, who’s breathing was again labored. “Will you stay for dinner, once this is fully taken care of?”

“Some other time,” Carlotta said, turning to the doorway. “I don’t think I could really appreciate it right now.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Hiram said, smiling.

Bob turned off the transistor radio and set it down on the coffee table. “Anything new?” Carlotta poked her head out of the kitchen area. In spite of the heat, she’d insisted on cooking as much food as possible to keep it from spoiling.

“Not really. The ape is back at Central Park Zoo. They’re keeping him sedated until the cage is repaired.”

“I hope Croyd is okay. It’s good for a girl’s health, not to mention her ego, to have a protector like that.” There was a momentary pause. Bob figured she was expecting a jealous comment and kept his mouth shut. “Anything else?”

“Major fires in Jokertown and the Bronx. Looting. Rioting. Just your average day in New York.” Bob walked over to the open, third-story window and looked out onto the street. It was late afternoon and the power had been out over 20 hours, but residents and visitors in the Village were treating it like a holiday. People were milling about, sharing stories over warm beer, or clustering around a radio for news. “Doesn’t seem bad at all around here.”

“Good,” she said, stepping into the living room. “We’ve got plenty to eat for dinner this evening, but I never got my ice cream last night and I’m feeling sugar-deprived.”

“I’m not sure there’s any unmelted ice cream left in this town, but I could use the exercise.” Bob looked at her. Even in sweat stained clothes she was an attractive woman.

“First things first. I’m taking a shower.” She started unbuttoning her blouse. “Want to join me?”

Bob delighted in what he was looking at, but his back still hurt from the hours he’d spent trying to sleep on her couch the previous night. “You’re just taunting me.”

Carlotta took her top off and fingered the snap on her bra. Her lovely curved flesh lowered Bob’s I.Q. 20 points or so. “You’re right, I am. Would it kill you to play along?” She disappeared into the bedroom and there was the delicious sound of running water.

“You never can tell,” he said, suddenly aware of just how nice it would feel to get clean, even without Carlotta’s company. He walked into her bedroom, which had several candles burning, as much to take a look at it as for proximity to the bathroom. It was tidy, with a couple of tasteful but inexpensive art prints on the wall, probably from the MoMA. Other than the garments she’d just stripped off to shower, all her other clothes were put away. There were several framed pictures of the folks back home on her dresser and bedside table. Nothing that looked like a boyfriend, although she’d had plenty of those since coming to New York. “I’m next,” he said loudly.

“Okay by me,” she yelled back.

Bob sighed.

The heat was as bad as it had been all week, with temperatures in the low hundreds. The concrete and asphalt gave it nowhere to go but into the air and the living things on the island of Manhattan. Carlotta had made a point of putting on the scent Croyd gave her. Bob still wasn’t sure whether or not to tell her Croyd was out of action indefinitely.

“Have you wondered why I had sex with so many other men, but not you?” Carlotta flashed him a challenging smile.

“Why no, that hadn’t even occurred to me. Of course, I’m not sure why you’re fixated on ice-cream, either.” Bob raised a single eyebrow, a trick he’d learned watching Vincent Price movies as a kid.

“For that I should keep you in the dark, but I figure you deserve to know.” She crossed the street to avoid a cascade of water from an opened fire hydrant. Bob followed. “Number one, you’re a smartass. Number two, you’re the boss.” She paused, maybe to give him a chance to object to number one. He didn’t. “And number three, you’ve got possibilities.”

Bob’s eyebrow shot up again, this time of its own accord. “What do you mean, possibilities?”

“Long term possibilities.”

Her comment hung in the air like a float at Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“Wait a minute,” Bob said, and was on the verge on launching into a tirade when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

“No, you wait a minute, tough guy.” The hand had an accompanying voice, and, unfortunately, he recognized it as Jeff the bad guy.

Bob turned his head slightly and saw that Carlotta had company, too. Mutt had her by the elbow. She was casting her eyes upward, looking for help Bob knew wouldn’t be coming. He felt something press firmly into his back. A brand new limo pulled up beside them and its rearmost door on their side opened up.

“Get inside.”

He and Carlotta slid onto the leather seat between their captors. The tinted windows were less than comforting and the truly humorless men surrounding them were even less so.

Jeff slid Bob’s revolver from his pocket, holding it firmly by the barrel-end. “Know what happens next?”

“You all commit suicide,” Carlotta said, and there were several giggles.

“Not now,” Bob thought, and then consciousness fled his body through a portal of blinding pain as the gun smacked into the side of his head.

He was lying down when he came to. Bob opened his eyes with deliberate slowness. He was lying on a couch and Carlotta was sitting opposite him in a straight-backed wooden chair, a concerned look on her face. “Where are we?” he said quietly, his head throbbing.

“In a house.” She reached over and pushed Bob’s hair out of his eyes.

“A little more information would be appreciated, if you’ve got it.” He eased himself into a sitting position.

“Okay, a big house. An estate. Big walls, wrought-iron gate, you know the type. I think we’re on Long Island.”

“That’s not good.” Bob realized that if they hadn’t bothered to keep Carlotta from describing where they’d been taken, they weren’t expecting her, or either of them, to be able to talk to the police later. He looked around the room for exits. There were two windows, both barred, and one door. “Who are these people, and what do they want with you?”

“Like they’d tell me that,” Carlotta said. “But that one guy, the tall one, he really doesn’t like you.”

“I have no trouble believing that.” The pain in Bob’s skull was spreading into his jaw and neck. “We have to come up with a plan to get out of here. Clearly, making them laugh in the limo didn’t work.”

“No. They gagged me with a stupid little plastic ball thing. My power doesn’t work at all if I can’t talk. I don’t know how they knew that.” Carlotta stood and walked over to the window, staring into the darkness.

The door opened and three men stepped in. Bob recognized Mutt and Jeff. The third man was a head shorter than Bob, and was casually dressed in a pricey, dapper manner. He was balding on either temple, and there was a quickness about his movements that was almost birdlike.

“Hello, Jane.” He sat down in the chair Carlotta had been occupying.

“Jane?” Bob said, mystified. “Look friend. I don’t know what your game is, but her name is Carlotta Desoto. So your goons obviously bundled the wrong people out here. Let us go and maybe we won’t press charges.”

“I should have known it was you.” Carlotta’s eyes were livid with anger. “My name was legally changed, and I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Carlotta.”

Bob felt like whatever play he was in had just dropped a scene. “What in blazes is going on here?”

“My name is Breton Earle. Carlotta,” he said the name as derisively as possible, “is my wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Carlotta corrected, folding her arms. “That part was legal, too. Your money doesn’t change the fact that you’re a loser and a jerk.”

Bob couldn’t believe that all they’d been through the past few days was because of a jealous ex-husband. “Sounds like her mind is made up, Mr. Earle, so why don’t you just let us go. Like I said, we’ll leave the police out of it.”

Earle turned to Jeff. “Mr. Mueller, who is this?”

“Robert Cortland. He owns the club she worked at.”

Earle nodded. “You and Mr. Layden will have to take care of him on your own dime.”

“No problem.”

“What do you mean, no problem?” Carlotta walked behind her captors. The suited men kept a careful eye on her. “You kidnapped me. That’s a federal crime.”

Earle laughed, but it wasn’t Carlotta’s doing. “You’re welcome to address your grievances to the police if you’re ever in a position to do so, but I don’t think you will be.”

“Why did you bring Bob?” Carlotta shook her head. “He doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“He does to me,” said Mueller. “I don’t like anyone taking a shot at me.”

“Why do you want her back?” Bob was stalling for time, trying to come up with some plan of action. If there was one thing smug egomaniacs like Earle shared with entertainers, it was the need for an audience.

“I’m glad you asked me that question. I could say she makes me laugh, or that the sex was incredible.” Earle feigned a yawn. “But that’s not it. The truth is, she made me look ridiculous. A man with my position in life can’t have one of his acquisitions leave him of its own accord. That’s all she was to me, an attractive acquisition. So, in return for her disloyalty I want to make her miserable and I want the pleasure of seeing her miserable every day of her wretched life. May it be a long one.”

“You’re a fool,” Carlotta said. “It’s a damned shame money can’t buy sense. Maybe then you’d understand.”

Breton Earle folded. “With my money, I’m hardly restrained by your idea of what’s sensible, Miss Desoto.”

“Don’t have to go begging to daddy anymore?” Carlotta gave Earle a nasty smile.

Earle eyes took on a hard quality. “My father died 19 months ago. After the estate was fully executed I gave some of my best men the job of finding you, which they did. I bought this house to work from. It’s a more expensive prison than you deserve, but who knows where I’ll ultimately keep you.”

“Asshole,” Carlotta said.

“It’s a shame you didn’t fall for our blond Adonis. He was very disappointed when you disappeared from the coffee shop.” Earle shook his head. “You’re such a slut. You’d have enjoyed that.”

Carlotta raised her chin. “The last person in the world to know what I’d enjoy is you, Breton.”

“What exactly are you going to do to her?” Bob planned on keeping the questions coming as long as Earle was in an answering mood.

“Whatever it suits me to do at any given time. I’m sure whatever it is, it will be better than what happens to you.” He headed for the door. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

Mueller bent down and whispered in Bob’s ear. “I’m betting we’ve got an oil drum in your size. If not, I’ll just have to break some of your bones to get you in.” He grinned and followed Earle and Layden out of the room. The door clicked shut and Bob heard a lock being set.

“Okay,” he said, removing his shirt and shoes. “Put these away. They’ll be back in a minute.”

“What?”

He tossed her his pants. “Hide them.”

She picked up his clothing and gave him a long look. “So, you’re going to die and I’m facing a fate worse than death and you want to score with me as a dying request?”

Bob dropped his underwear at her feet. “No.”

Carlotta stared at his crotch and Bob realized that the adrenaline had gotten to him in an unexpected way. “Those who are about to die salute you,” she said. “No wonder you’re the boss.”

It was good she was still cracking jokes, however lame, but now was not the time. “I’m going to show you something, and I don’t want you to freak out. Okay, my dear?”

“You’ve already showed me something, but okay.”

Bob puddled, waited a few seconds, and reconstituted.

“Holy shit. You’re one too.” Her mouth closed and eyes narrowed. “You never told me, even after you knew about me, you never told me.” She slapped him.

Bob raised a cautionary finger. “My head really hurts, so don’t do that again. I was going to tell you, after we had sex the first time.”

“Oh, that’s cute. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me something that important.” Carlotta sat down. “So where does this get us?”

“Out, with any luck.” Bob padded over to the door and pressed his ear to it. He heard footfalls approaching at a brisk pace and ran to the far corner where there was a large, heavy rug with a Middle Eastern design. “Don’t tell them a thing, and try to keep them from stepping on me.” The door began to open. He centered the rug on the top of his head and got flat.

The vibrations were heavy, frantic and all around him. He prayed not to get trod on, fearing one of his vital organs might be turned to paste. Bob would have held his breath, but he was doing the equivalent anyway. His flat body was incapable of respiration and the oxygen to his tissues was quickly depleting.

After what seemed to him like the eternity of a bad comedy routine, Bob resumed his normal form. He was alone in the darkened room. He heard voices outside the door, but they were growing fainter. He had two options for escape, the door and the window. After groping his way to the door, he tested the knob, but it was still locked. Judging by the crack of light under the frame, he might be able to slide under, but it would be quite a squeeze and he might wind up in the lap of Earle’s goons. He fumbled under the couch where Carlotta had tucked his clothes and pulled them out, then moved to the window and slowly opened the blinds. It would be no problem for him to get under the bars, but that would still leave him on the outside looking in. Doubtless, they were searching the grounds for him right now, possibly with dogs, although he was relieved not to hear the sound of any barking.

He unlatched the window, lifted it silently up a foot or so, and pushed his clothes out under the bars. Decision made. Bob thrust his arms under the bars and began to slide out. By the time he was completely flat, enough of his body extended past the windowsill that he was dragged down the wall and onto the ground. The impact didn’t bother him and Bob pulled himself together and hurriedly put on his clothes. The tiny flashlight was still in his pocket, but along with his car keys, those were his only tools.

He circled the perimeter of the house, amazed and disgusted at the size of the place. Although only one story, Earle’s mansion had to be five or six thousand square feet of house, minimum. Most of the rooms were dark and he quickly passed them by. He came to a well-lit corridor that was, for the moment anyway, deserted. The window was unlocked and unbarred. Taking a deep breath, he opened the window and went in. There was a door on either side of the hallway, but Bob decided to move further into the interior of the house, maybe catch the sound of voices and overhear something about Carlotta. More likely, he’d get caught or shot, but he wasn’t going to run for it. He wouldn’t ever be able to live with that. About 20 feet in was a large living area, lit by a single lamp. The ceiling arched upward from all sides to an oval skylight.

He heard a noise behind him, then to his left was a sound better than anything he could have expected, laughter, rising into hysteria and nearly convulsive choking. Bob ran to where he heard the noise and opened the door, ready to get flat if he had to.

Carlotta was kneeling on the floor, chewing at the duct tape on her wrists. She looked up at him, clearly surprised. “Close the door, and get me out of this.”

Layden was curled up drooling on the floor, his eyes red, his barrel chest heaving. Bob rolled him over and put a knee into the man’s back. He reached behind and fumbled to get the Layden’s shoelaces off, contorting himself uncomfortably to do so, then used them to bind his captive’s hands behind him.

“Me now.” Carlotta held out her hands. Bob used the edge of one of his keys to saw through the tape. It was tough work and took the better part of a minute.

He got up and closed the door. “Why didn’t they gag you?”

“Well, they did.” She indicated a rubber ball and a handkerchief on the floor.

Bob wrinkled his brow. “How did you get him to take it off?”

“You don’t want to know.” She pulled the remains of the tape off her wrists and snatched up the red ball, then pushed it firmly in the bound man’s mouth.

Bob picked the silk handkerchief up off the floor and tossed it to Carlotta. “Of that, I’m sure. Tie this around his mouth, just to make sure he doesn’t start yelling.” He moved to her side and checked the man’s pockets, retrieving a revolver from his inside coat pocket. “Come to daddy,” he said, recognizing it as his own weapon. He took a deep breath and stood, and helped Carlotta to her feet.

“Time to get out of here,” she said. “Let me go first, just in case someone’s waiting.”

“What’s the point of that?” Bob asked, but she was already out the door.

“Don’t move, bitch.” Mueller’s voice was clear, steady, and close. “If you so much as open your mouth, I’ll put a bullet in it.”

Bob pulled out his gun and readied it, then stepped into the hall. His large nemesis had drawn down on Carlotta, but shifted his weapon’s aim to Bob when he saw him. Mueller was standing on the far side of a couch in the living area. Bob’s finger tightened on the trigger. He wondered if he could squeeze off a round and get flat before the return shot nailed him. “Drop it,” Bob said, knowing it was overly optimistic.

“No chance. I’m better at this than you.” Mueller lowered his head a bit so that he could sight down the gun’s barrel.

“Don’t bet the farm,” Carlotta said.

Mueller snarled. “One more word and you’re dead, lady. End of story.”

Darkness swallowed them as the lights went out. Bob dragged Carlotta to the floor. “I don’t fucking believe it,” he said. “Not again.”

“What now?” Carlotta whispered.

Bob pondered for a moment and thought he caught a glint of something in the darkness. He kept his voice low. “Start telling a joke and follow my lead. Stay behind something or keep moving so you don’t get shot.”

“If I can’t see him, I can’t make him laugh,” Carlotta said.

“Just do it.”

“What do you call a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?” Carlotta’s voice didn’t sound strong, but that might be because she was behind something. Bob started laughing.

“A good start.”

Bob increased the pitch and tenor of his laughter, moving in the general direction of the glint he had seen.

“Layden, is that you?”

Bob could hear the confusion in Mueller’s voice, which was exactly what he was hoping for. He intentionally gave his laughter a raspy, desperate quality.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

There was a shot in Carlotta’s general direction. Bob popped off two rounds of his own, but the muzzle flash from Mueller’s gun put stars in his eyes and spoiled his aim. One of the slugs hit something breakable, a lamp maybe, and Mueller started screaming. “My eye. Get over here, Layden. I’m hit in the eye.”

Bob reached out and caught Mueller’s wrist, steadied it, and before the man knew who he was dealing with, Bob swung and nailed him on the temple with his revolver. “Lights out. Are you okay?” he asked loudly of Carlotta.

Before she could answer the skylight shattered and something fell through. It looked to Bob like it might be a person, but in the semi-darkness he couldn’t be sure. Someone groaned and Bob heard glass crunching. He pulled out the flashlight, but didn’t turn it on. It would make him an easy target.

“A monster,” came a nearly hysterical voice. Bob recognized it as Earle’s. “Someone save me.”

“Monster?” Bob didn’t need another problem at this point.

“That would be me,” came a voice from above. A winged shape dropped down through the shattered skylight into a crouching position. “Fie-fi-fo-fum. I smell a good looking woman, yummm.”

“Croyd,” Carlotta said, like his name was the answer to a prayer.

“A couple of minutes ago would have been timelier.” Bob was happy to hear the sound of Croyd’s voice just the same.

“Complaining about my timing will cost you extra,” Croyd said, folding his wings against his scaly back.

Earle was whimpering on the floor, but pulled himself together sufficiently to start crawling away. Unfortunately it was in the direction of Bob, who trained the beam of his flashlight on Earle’s tear-stained face.

“Stop right there, Mr. Earle,” Bob said. “Or we’ll feed you to our demon.”

“Your demon?” Croyd snorted and fluttered across the room to where Bob, Carlotta, and Earle were faced off. “I am mighty hungry, though.”

“No.” Earle covered his eyes with his fists. “It’s not fair.”

Croyd picked up Carlotta in his massive arms and sniffed delicately behind her ears. “If there’s one thing that gets me hot, it’s a woman who actually does what she’s told.” He turned to Bob. “Can you handle him for a minute?” He jerked his head at Earle.

“No problem, but where are you…” Croyd shot up through the hole in the roof with Carlotta. “… going?” Bob trailed off.

There was a moan from across the room. Mueller was coming to, which Bob did not want to allow. “Time for your second helping.” He brought the pistol butt on forcefully down onto Mueller’s head with a stinging whack. Bob looked down at Earle. Rich boy’s eyes were still shot through with fear.

Croyd swooped back into the room and clapped his hand over Breton Earle’s mouth. “Don’t bite, or I’ll bite you back.” Croyd bared his sizable yellow fangs. The message got though. Earle didn’t even whimper as he was carried out into the open air.

Bob waited an uncomfortably long time. Mueller was beginning to make a lot of noise and there must be other people searching through the darkness of the home. Croyd dropped back into the room just as Bob’s paranoia was beginning to bloom.

“You cut the power.” Bob said.

Croyd grabbed him under the armpits. “Leave it to Mr. Village Idiot to state the obvious.” Bob felt a rush of air as they rocketed into the warm night. The sense of being airborne was magical and slightly scary, given Croyd’s unusual nature.

They landed far from the house, by Carlotta and Earle, whose hands were bound behind his back with Carlotta’s bra. Bob gave her an accusatory look.

“We had to use something,” she explained. “Or he might have run off.”

“When I took it off, I couldn’t really see that much, but we may have to rectify that later, as part of my payment.” Croyd kissed his fingertips.

“Please leave me alone. I’ll give you money.” Earle was enough of himself to try to strike a bargain.

Croyd laughed. “I’ve got business with Mr. Earle. So we’ll have to figure out a way to get you two back to the city. I’ll bet neither one of you can hot-wire a car.”

“Figures.” He flew over to a nearby sedan and opened its driver’s side door. A few moments later the engine turned over and the headlights came on. Bob grabbed Earle by the collar and led him over to the car. Carlotta was ahead of him. She was from Iowa, so she actually knew how to drive.

“What are you going to do with him?” Bob handed Earle over to Croyd.

“Please. You can’t just kill me.” Earle looked from face to face. “I didn’t hurt anybody.”

“Rich boy and I have a date with the Atlantic Ocean.” Croyd slapped Earle hard on the back. “He’s going to do some motivational swimming.”

“No, I don’t swim well at all,” Earle protested.

“I’ll meet you at your club later, and you can pay me then. What I did tonight falls under the bonus clause, just in case you didn’t know.” Croyd flew up with Earle and was quickly lost in the darkness. The screams of protest from Earle faded quickly. Bob got into the passenger side of the vehicle and shut the door.

“You know how to get us home?”

“Watch me,” Carlotta said. Bob turned on the radio when they hit the main highway. The version of “Night on Bald Mountain ” from Saturday Night Fever was playing. He drifted off to thoughts of a white-suited Croyd dancing with Carlotta.

The comfort of seeing the New York skyline lighting the horizon vanished when they finally made it back to the club. They’d ditched the car just north of Jokertown, taken the subway up, and been greeted with a burned-out building surrounded by yellow police tape. Bob walked to the center of what once had been his club, still-warm ashes crunching under his feet. Carlotta walked quietly behind him for a few moments, then gave him a hug.

“What to you think Mickey and Judy would do?”

“You’d have to hit me with your deuce to make me laugh now.” Bob crouched and picked up a handful of burned rubble.

They stood there silently for a few minutes, ignoring the people on the street, the cars, and the other sounds of the city. With a rush of leathery wings, Croyd dropped down next to them.

“No riots around here. Maybe a parting shot from Earle’s goons.” Croyd shook his horned head sympathetically.

“I won’t be able to pay you until tomorrow,” Bob said. “I can go to the bank and get the money.”

“Good. If not, I’ll have to kill you.” Croyd tangled his fingers in Carlotta’s hair. “Or take it out in trade.”

Carlotta laughed.

“I know that laugh,” Bob said. “You’re out of luck where she’s concerned.”

“Tomorrow,” Croyd said, and he was gone.

Bob had paid Croyd off handsomely, and Croyd had suggested the he and Carlotta get out of New York and adopt new identities. Croyd had plenty of useful tips on creating another persona that would be undetectable by the authorities or people like Earle. Croyd didn’t much care for Earle and remarked that the millionaire peed better than he swam.

After settling with the insurance company, Bob and Carlotta hit the road, with her at the wheel, of course. Driving was one thing he’d promised he was going to learn how to do. He didn’t know where they were going to end up, but he wanted to get away from New York for good. They stopped off to visit his parents on the way out and were now headed to Iowa to see hers. He wondered if he could tolerate that much homespun Americana. After Carlotta had demonstrated to him the benefits of “long-term possibilities” he was ready to try.

The sun was coming up across the plains when they entered her home state.

“How many New Yorkers does it take to screw in a light bulb,” she asked.

“Only one, if the right person asks.”

Carlotta smiled at that. “Want to hear some new ‘knock-knock’ jokes?”

To Bob’s surprise, he actually did.