Jokers Wild

Chapter Seventeen

10:00 p.m.

The Rolls was only a couple of blocks from Aces High when the phone started ringing. Fortunato looked at Peregrine, who shrugged and picked it up. "It's for you," she said.

"This is Altobelli," the voice on the phone said. "I made Hiram cough up your number, there. It's about Kafka."

"Fucking hell," Fortunato said, closing his eyes. "He's dead."

"No," Altobelli said. "Still alive. But it was close."

"Tell me."

"About fifteen minutes ago some weirdo in a white robe just appeared in the middle of the holding cell. But I believed you and I had a SWAT team there, and when he went for Kafka they opened up with everything they had."

"And?"

"They didn't hurt him. But the bullets kept knocking him down and each time he was a little slower getting up. Then he just disappeared again."

"You were lucky. He's weak right now, or nothing you threw at him would have stopped him." Fortunato didn't say anything about how weak he felt himself.

"This guy, whoever he was, had more than luck on his side."

"What do you mean?"

"Not over the phone. You remember that place we met last month? Don't say the name, just say yes or no."

"Yes."

"Can you meet me there? Like right away?"

"Altobelli…"

"I think we're talking life or death here. Mine."

"I'm on my way," Fortunato said.

When he hung up the phone Peregrine said, "The Astronomer."

Fortunato nodded. "I'll take a cab. You go back to Aces High, where you'll be safe."

"That's ridiculous. I'm safer with you. And there's no point in taking a cab when you can go in style in a chauffeured Rolls Royce." She raised one eyebrow. "Right?"

After shooing out the few remaining regular customers, the Gambiones had moved their meeting into the main dining room and scooted several tables together. Guns and wariness were much in evidence. Rosemary stood at one side, watching the men argue. Bagabond saw an undecipherable smile on her face. The bag lady sat with Jack at a banquette along a side wall.

"I want to start looking for Cordelia. It's been hours-much more time than I promised Rosemary." Jack glared across the room at the assistant district attorney.

"Until this is finished, she can't make the calls." Bagabond glanced sympathetically at Jack, who was tugging at the stained sleeve of his too-small white waiter's jacket. "Now eat."

Squeezing the lime over his soup, Jack shook his head and picked up the chopsticks. He pulled a mass of rice noodles and shrimp out of the bowl in front of him. "What's she going to do without the books?" He jabbed the chopsticks toward Rosemary.

"Don't know. She's made her choice now. She'll manage." Leaning her head back against the booth, Bagabond closed her eyes. "I'm going to find out if anyone has seen Cordelia. Quiet."

Jack eavesdropped on the Mafia maneuverings as he ate and refilled his bowl.

Two men were the faction leaders. The older man, black hair slicked back and dressed in a charcoal-gray doublebreasted suit, stressed the sublime importance of continuing Don Frederico's plans in the interest of stability. A younger man, his dark brown hair expensively trimmed in what Jack would have described as a modified punk cut with a rat tail, pointed out that the Butcher had not been particularly effective in ending encroachments on their territory. The other men listened without comment.

"Not one of the other Families has ever challenged our authority." The older man leaned back in evident satisfaction. "Christ, Ricardo. Of course, they haven't." The new-wave Mafioso rolled his eyes toward heaven. "They've all been busy with the real threats. The Vietnamese. The Colombians. The jokers. Jesus, can't you see that Jokertown's turning into a nickel-plated disaster area, man?"

"Respect, Christopher, please." Ricardo inclined his head sympathetically toward Rosemary.

"Thank you, Ricardo Domenici." Rosemary stepped toward the tables.

"She's heard worse, Ricardo. Even in the DA's office, I'm sure she's heard much worse." Christopher Mazzuchelli shook his head exasperatedly. "The point is that we must have as a leader someone who can face the new threats. You know, evolve."

"Mazzuchelli's right." The stares of all the Gambione capos pivoted toward Rosemary. "We must have new blood to lead us, or the Family will be destroyed. It's that plain."

The older man sounded placating. "Signorina Gambione, this is a serious issue. It is for us to decide. It would be better perhaps-"

"Yes, Ricardo, I am a Gambione. The last." Rosemary caught each mans eyes in turn. "This is my Family. I have a right to speak."

"Maybe she wants her father's job." Christopher Mazzuchelli grinned until her gaze returned to him. "Maybe I do." Rosemary smiled a thin and enigmatic smile. "Donatello is dead, and likewise Michaelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo. Four dons. You understand what we face, but not what to do. Ricardo sees only the past."

"Wait a minute." Mazzuchelli's mouth hung slightly open in surprise.

"Who better?"

"You're a fucking district attorney!"

"Yes." Rosemary smiled as she appeared to consider the possibilities. "I couldn't protect us completely, but I could make a difference. And the information would be invaluable."

"My identity as a Gambione would have to be protected. No one outside this room must know. Omerta."

"You can hardly command the Family in secrecy." Ricardo Domenici was obviously offended by the entire idea. "Even if we would consider such a thing."

"True enough. Someone else would have to be my… mouthpiece." She examined each of the capos in turn. "Mazzuchelli."

The capos began to babble as Christopher Mazzuchelli grinned insolently back at her.

"Gentlemen, have you any objections? Ricardo?"

"He is too young, too inexperienced. His very appearance…" Ricardo threw. apart his arms at the obvious absurdity of it. "The other Families would laugh at us."

"This is insane. A woman, a boy…" A jowly man with a five o'clock shadow, wearing a traditional black coat, shoved back his chair and stood. " I will return when you are ready to choose a new don."

Mazzuchelli blocked his way but, at a gesture from Rosemary, moved aside. The dissenter walked across the room in the sudden silence and threw open the door.

Rosemary called out sharply, "Morelli!"

The man who had just exited backed into the room again, eyes fixed on the muzzle of the Uzi that Morelli pointed at his chest. "Yes, Signorina?" said Morelli. "A problem?"

"I think the problem has been solved. Do you agree, DiCenzi?" Rosemary watched the man across the room closely. Under the gun, DiCenzi nodded. "Si, Signorina. There is… no problem."

"Good." Rosemary scanned the seated, staring men. "Does anyone else have a problem?"

Ricardo glanced quickly at the men to either side of him. They were ostentatiously ignoring him. "No, there is no problem, Dona Gambione."

"Signorina will do nicely, I think." She smiled a predatory smile at the capos. "Sit down, DiCenzi. Thank you, Morelli. Please have a seat."

Mazzuchelli was eyeing Morelli as he would a bad piece of steak.

"Christopher," Rosemary said, "you are too ambitious. I recognize it. Do not make any rash mistakes."

Mazzuchelli returned her look with a smile as lupine as her own. "You're the boss."

Rosemary nodded and gazed around the restaurant. "Has anyone seen the manager?"

"You want something to eat?" Ricardo was incredulous. "I suspect Signorina would like to find out how that bastard who stole the books got in here." Mazzuchelli stared down at Ricardo. "Don't you think that would be an interesting question?"

Morelli stood and began walking toward the kitchen. "Signorina, he's yours."

While Morelli prepared the terrified Vietnamese for Rosemary's questions, the new head of the Gambiones called her contacts at the precincts and made inquiries about Cordelia.

On the East Side, a patrolman remembered spotting someone looking a lot like the missing young woman walking downtown along one of the alphabet avenues. It hadn't been long before.

Bagabond wanted to enter the area on foot before she began an animal-by-animal search for the girl. Jack was ready to leave instantly, but Rosemary took the pair aside for a moment.

"Listen, thanks for your help, both of you. This wasn't exactly what I'd planned, but it wouldn't have happened without you." Her smile looked political.

"Wasn't it?" Bagabond stared straight at Rosemary. "Suzanne, I had no idea…"

"Yeah. I'll be in touch." Bagabond started to turn away. Jack was already moving toward the door.

"Suzanne, I'll call you later. Let me know what happens with Jack's niece."

Bagabond glanced at Morelli in the corner with the Vietnamese manager. In this light, the blood looked black. She shook her head slightly.

Rosemary colored and drew herself up. "I can do some good here, you know. Exert some controls."

Bagabond kept moving.

"Suzanne, I want to talk to you later about some ideas I had about the animals."

All the muscles of Bagabond's shoulders and upper back tensed as she followed Jack out through the door. She tried not to listen, but thought she heard whimpered cries from behind them.

Business was still hopping at the Donut Hole across the street from the Jokertown station. The sidewalks were filled right out to the gutters and every few minutes another blackand-white would drop off the latest load of drunk-and-disorderlies on the precinct steps.

The Rolls had let Fortunato -off a block away and crawled away through the traffic in search of a place to double-park. Fortunato elbowed his way to a back table and found Altobelli wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers cap and a jogging suit. "I practically had to kill to save you that chair. Wanna doughnut?" Fortunato shook his head. "Talk to me, Altobelli. I don't have much time."

"You do look a bit peaked. Okay, okay. It's Black, John F X. Black, captain of the Jokertown precinct."

"I know the name."

"We leave Kafka here this afternoon. About an hour later I get a call from one of my guys. Black has ordered them off the Kafka watch. I drive over here to find out why and catch Black trying to take Kafka out in a squad car. He gives me a song and dance about a prisoner transfer. I say show me the paperwork. More songs, more dances. So I take Kafka away from him and bring him back uptown myself."

"You're telling me Black's dirty."

"You haven't heard dirty yet. Right after that guy in the robe and glasses tries for Kafka I get a call from my snitch at the Jokertown precinct. He wants to tell me he saw this weird guy in a robe and glasses in Captain Black's office not five minutes before."

Fortunato stood up. "Where is he?"

Altobiellii hooked a thumb at the station. "Every cop in Manhattan is working double shifts tonight. I'm supposed to be back up on Riverside myself."

"Get on up there. And let yourself he seen."

Altobelli had to stop for a second and think about it. Finally he nodded. "Okay."

"Anybody else know about Black?"

"Just you and me. Fortunato?"

"Yeah? "

"Nothing, I guess. This ain't… it ain't the way I'm used to doin' things. I'm used to standing up for my own."

"He's not one of your own anymore. He's the Astronomer's. And now he's mine."

The address was on Central Park West. They took a cab; Hiram had no wish to involve Anthony or the Bentley in whatever unpleasantness might ensue.

Inside the heavy glass-and-iron doors of the apartment building, a doorman sat at an antique desk. Behind him was a bank of security monitors. He was built like a linebacker, and there was an obvious silent alarm built into the top of his desk, an inch or so from his hand. He could hardly have expected any trouble from a fat man in a tuxedo and a nondescript fellow in a cheap brown suit. "Yes?" he asked them through the intercom when they approached the door.

Jay Ackroyd made a gun out of his right hand, pointed at the doorman through the glass, and said, "Here's looking at you, kid." The man disappeared with a pop of in-rushing air.

Hiram rocked lightly on the balls of his feet, glanced around nervously. "Where did you-" he began.

"The main stacks of the New York Public Library" Jay said. "He looked like he needed to get caught up on his reading." He took out his wallet, removed a credit card, and opened the door in the blink of an eye. "Never leave home without it," he told Hiram as he slipped the card back into his wallet. They went into the lobby.

Latham lived in the penthouse, just as Hiram had expected. Jay pressed the button fbr the roof.

The embossed bronze plate above the doorbell said ST. JOHN LATHAM. Jay pressed it, and they waited in nervous silence by the elevator. He wasn't home, Hiram thought, of course he wasn't home, he was out somewhere, he was-then the door gave a soft buzz and swung open slowly.

They walked into a small foyer, empty but for a bentwood hat rack and an umbrella stand. The kitchen was to the right, a closet to the left. Ahead was a huge living room with a sunken conversation pit, a wet bar, and a solid wall of floor-to-ceiling glass that opened on a roof garden, a magnificent view of Central Park and the city and stars beyond. A lavish bedroom suite and den both opened off the living room, their doors standing wide. Voices were coming from the den. Hiram walked lightly, small quiet steps, but Jay's heels clicked loudly on the gleaming parquet floor as they crossed the room.

"That's fine. Yes. Yes, at all costs. Phone in when you have news." The man touched a button; the speakerphone disconnected. The only light in the room came from a brass banker's lamp with a green glass shade. Latham sat with a stack of maps under his left hand, his right hand working the keyboard of an IBM PC. He wore the vest and trousers of a gray chalk-stripe Armani suit, a perfect white shirt with the top button undone, and a dark foulard tie, the knot pulled down and to one side. He did not look up when they entered. "Do I know you?"

"My name is Worchester," Hiram said. "Hiram Worchester. My associate is Jay Ackroyd, a licensed private investigator-"

"Who earlier today illegally detained a client of Latham, Strauss, violating his constitutional rights and causing him untold psychological distress, not to mention disorientation, damage to his good name, and fear for his life and safety," Latham said. He still did not look up from the keypad. The screen displayed a grid of some sort. "An error in judgment that is going to cost Mr. Ackroyd a considerable sum of money, and probably his license." He finished his entry, stored it, and wiped the grid off the screen. Only then did he deign to swivel his high-backed chair to look at them. "If you're here to propose a settlement, I'm certainly willing to listen."

"A settlement?" Hiram was aghast. "You're suggesting we pay money to that unspeakable thug who-"

"I'd caution you aginst slander, Mr. Worchester. You're in sufficient trouble already." The phone rang. Latham didn't bother to pick it up. He reached out, touched the speaker phone button, and announced, "Not now, I have company. Call back in ten minutes." The caller hung up without identifying himself. "Now, Mr. Worchester, what were you about to say?"

"Your client is scum," Hiram said clearly. "Frankly, I'm shocked that a distinguished man like yourself would even consider representing him."

"I'm a little curious about that myself," Jay Ackroyd said. He slouched against the doorway, hands in his pockets. "Usually you've got a little more class than that."

"I seldom involve myself in criminal matters," Latham said, "and I am not, in fact, the attorney of record in this case. But I make it a point to familiarize myself with all our pending litigation, even the most trivial, and Mr. Tulley briefed me on this matter only this afternoon."

"Who are you really working for?" Hiram demanded. Jay Ackroyd groaned. Hiram gave him a dirty look and then went on. "This is extortion, you know it and I know it. I want to know who's behind it, and I want to know now." He crossed the room, leaned over the desk, and stared in the lawyer's face. "I warn you, I'm an ace, and not an inconsiderable one, and I've had a very bad day."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Worchester?" Latham asked in terms of polite interest.

"I don't feel so well," Ackroyd whined from the doorway. Hiram looked back in annoyance. Ackroyd was clutching his stomach, and his features did have a slight greenish tinge, but maybe that was just the light. "I wouldn't have eaten so much if I'd known I was going to get tear-gassed." He belched. "Where's the john?" he asked with some urgency.

"Through the master bedroom, to the right," Latham told him. Ackroyd bolted for sanctuary, and a moment later they heard the sound of retching. "Charming," Latham said.

Hiram turned back on him. "Never mind about him. Your client and his friends sent a decent, honest man to the hospital today. They broke his arm and two of his ribs, knocked out several of his teeth, and gave him a slight concussion. They also burned his delivery truck and vandalized his place of business. They poisoned my lobsters with gasoline, Mr. Latham."

"Did you see our client commit any of these alleged crimes? No? I thought not. Did Mr.. Ackroyd?"

"Damn it, Latham. I was there this morning, I saw what they were trying to do-"

"Who? "

"Them," Hiram said. "His men. Three of them, they were called, ah, Eye and Cheech and, well, I don't recall the other one's name. Eye was the joker"

" I have no idea who you're referring to," Latham said. "In any case, Mr. Seivers is not a part of any gang."

"Mr. Seivers?" Hiram was momentarily confused.

"I believe he's sometimes known as the Bludgeon. If you're going to persecute the man on account of his appearance, you might at least trouble yourself to learn his real name, which as it happens is Robert Seivers."

Both of them heard the toilet flush. Latham leaned back in his chair. "Your friend is finished. Unless you care to propose a settlement, I believe our business is finished too. As you can see, I'm quite busy."

Jay Ackroyd reentered the room, looking a bit pale, dabbing at his lips with a handkerchief:

"Get out," Latham suggested coolly. "Both of you."

"You can't just-" Hiram began.

"Would you prefer I call the police?"

As they waited by the elevator, Hiram glared at Jay in indignation. " A fat lot of good you were," he said.

"You've got a great touch for interrogation, Hiram," Ackroyd said. "I didn't want to spoil your rhythm."

The doors opened and they got inside the elevator. "That got us exactly nowhere," Hiram said, pressing the button for the lobby with rather more gusto than required.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Ackroyd replied. He looked at his watch. "If Loophole's as smart as I think, he's searching his bathroom by now."

Hiram was lost. "Searching his bathroom?"

"Bedroom too. I didn't really expect him to buy my little tummyache," Jay said. "He's got to figure I ran to the john to plant some kind of bug."

"Ah," Hiram said, "so he wastes time searching…"

"I hope not. Hell, I didn't hide it very well. It's on the phone by his bed, how obvious could I get?"

Hiram gaped at him. "You planted a bug, but you want it to be discovered. Why?"

"Gives him something to find," Ackroyd said. "Once he has it, he ought to be satisfied. He thinks we're chumps anyway, and he's got other things on his mind tonight."

"Where did you get a bug?" They'd reached the lobby. The doors opened, and they stepped out of the elevator. Ackroyd shrugged. "Oh, I carry a few around. They're good for making people nervous. I get them real cheap at this place in Jokertown, this guy sells me all his broken ones, six for a dollar. Unless Loophole knows a lot more about microcircuitry than I figure, he'll never know the difference." Ackroyd glanced at his watch again. "By now he should have found it, locked it up somewhere, and gone back to business, but let's give him a few more minutes just to play it safe. Did you notice the computer?"

"Eh? Yes, certainly, what of it?" Hiram opened the door and they walked outside.

"Manhattan streets," Jay said. "Times Square area. There were maps on his desk. Some kind of search is in progress, and our friend Loophole is coordinating it, I'd bet. Staving right by his phone, keeping everyone in touch with everybody else, charting the players on the computer. Real interesting."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hiram said. "Remember our little tete-a-tete at Tachyon's place? Tall-green-and-scaly was looking for some kind 4 book, and he didn't strike me as a real heavy reader. I think Loophole's looking for the same thing."

"I don't care a fig about stolen books," Hiram said. "I want something done about Bludgeon."

"Maybe the same guy owns them both," Jay said. He shrugged. "Or maybe not. Let's find out." He ambled back over by the building and began poking around in the shrubbery.

Hiram crossed his arms and scowled. "What are you doing?"

Popinjay looked back. "I'm going to hide in these bushes. I'm real good at hiding in bushes. Its the first thing they teach you in detective school."

"How are you going to find out anything that way?"

"I'm not," Ackroyd said. He shaped his right hand into a gun and pointed a loaded finger. "You are," he finished. Hiram never heard the pop.

Fortunato's black tie and long coat were a little out of place in the Jokertown station house. It was like a human garbage dump. The dominant smell was a blend of cheap wine and vomit and stale sweat. The main hall was standing room only, with a special section for hookers. The sight of their streaked makeup and stained, gaudy clothes was more than Fortunato could stand.

It took him ten minutes to find Black's office. The door was open and Black was on the phone. Black was good looking in a five-o'clock-shadow, rolled-sleeve, cheap-haircut sort of way. Fortunato waited in the hall until Black hung up. Then he stepped in and closed the door.

"The name didn't mean much," Fortunato said. "But I recognize you now. It was seven years ago. I spent the night in a cell here while a woman I cared a lot about got her brain fried. You had a Sergeant Matthias and a guy named Roman interrogate me. They decided they weren't interested and turned me loose. You probably don't remember."

"Remember? I've never seen you before, or this bimbo you're talking about." Black was scared and not hiding it well. Fortunato liked that.

"You're going to tell me everything you know. I'm not going to fuck around, because I'm in a hurry. So you're just going to tell me, right now."

It was easy. Black wasn't an ace, just an ordinary guy. Fortunato was weak, but would never be ordinary again. Black leaned back in his swivel chair, tense but unresisting.

"What do you want to know?" Black said tonelessly. "The Astronomer. He's escaping tonight. He's got a ship, some kind of spaceship. I need to know where it is."

"Spaceship? Like aliens from space? Like Dr. Tachyon and that kind of shit? You must be crazy."

Fortunato gave him another little jolt of power. He was starting to feel dizzy. "He must have been planning to take you with him. Otherwise he would have killed you."

Black looked puzzled. "Yeah, he was… but he decided to keep me here, keep me alive for 'contingencies.'"

"Like pulling the guards off Kafka?"

"Yeah. Like that."

"And where is it he's going?"

"It's funny. I really can't remember."

"Funny," Fortunato said. He let himself come loose from his physical body and went into Black's mind. The man wasn't lying. The memory of the ship, where the Astronomer got it, where it was hidden, where he was taking it, was gone. Neatly cut away. Just the way the Astronomer had cut up Eileens brain.

Fortunato turned to go.

"You're just… going to leave me here?"

"You're no use to me."

"But… aren't you afraid I'd try to get back at you?"

"Yeah," Fortunato said. "I suppose you're right." With the last of his strength he reached into Black's chest and stopped his heart. Black made a noise like a cough and slumped sideways in his chair.

"Her name was Eileen," Fortunato said, and walked away.

Hiram's right foot was soaked up to the ankle; he'd appeared half-standing in the toilet, and it was sheer good fortune that an ongoing phone conversation had covered up the splash he made when extricating himself. As it was, he got nervous every time he took a step, fearful that the squishing sound would give him away. So he tried not to move much. He crouched in the bedroom, near the door to the spacious living room. It was open, as was the door to the adjacent room. He couldn't see a thing but the empty living room, but he could hear everything, and that was what mattered. He'd been there twenty-odd minutes now, and he'd heard more than enough.

Ring. "Latham? This is Hobart. Subway's secure. The Egrets are down on the platforms, no way anybody gets on any trains without us knowing. I've got men hanging around every turnstile. You sure she's heading this way'?"

"Our friend from justice seem to think so. I spoke to Billy Ray a few minutes ago, he says that she's heading up Broadway and he's not far behind her. Wyrm has been informed, and he confirms. He's on his way."

St. John Latham of Latham, Strauss, obviously gave his clients a good deal more than legal representation.

Ring. "Cholly, man. We're at the Port Authority. I'm in a phone booth, we got guys at all the doors. Lots of pimps and ho's, man, but no sign of a white chick in a bikini."

"Keep watching."

The ringing of the phone was constant, as was the soft sound of Latham's practiced fingers on the IBM keypad. Hiram edged closer to the door.

He felt sorry for the prey, whoever it was. Latham and his people were closing a net around the whole Times Square area. Each phone call pulled the weave a little tighter, and the phone kept ringing.

Ring. "Sinjin? This is Fadeout."

"Where are you?"

"In front of Nathan's. No sign of her. It's not quite as bad as New Year's Eve, but it's not far off either."

"You visible?"

"For the moment. Otherwise I'd have nat assholes bumping into me every other second. Besides, I may need the energy if she shows."

"She'll show. Wyrm is certain of it."

"Where the hell is he?"

"In his limo, fighting traffic. Where are the rest of our people?"

"Egrets and Werewolves all over the place. Our jokers are all wearing Dr. Tachyon masks, so we know who they are. The Whisperer's up by the Cohan statue, Bludgeon is hanging around outside the Wet Pussycat, Chickenhawk's perched on top of the tower. He's supposed to be watching, but he's probably eating a goddamned pigeon. We've got a few guys in cabs too, in case she tries to hail a taxi, maybe she'll get one of ours."

Hiram tensed at the mention of Bludgeon's name. When the next call rang through, and he heard a familiar razor-cruel voice come out of the speakerphone, he edged forward until he was in the doorjamb. "Loophole, you fucker," the voice said. "It's me."

"Yes," Latham replied in polite, icy tones.

"I just spotted the gash. I'm watching her tight little butt right now. You ought to see her, nothing on but a fuckin' bikini, her titties just hangin' out there. Should I kill her?"

"No," Lathan said crisply. "Follow her."

"Shit, I could twist her fuckin' head off before she knew I was there." He laughed. "Fuckin' shame to waste the rest of her, though."

"She is not to be killed, not until we have the book. Obviously she's not carrying it. Keep her in sight, but don't touch her. Wyrm is on his way."

"Fuck," Bludgeon said. "Can I have a little fun with her, after we get the shit back?"

"Follow her, Seivers," Loophole said. He hung up. The penthouse was strangely quiet for a moment.

Then Hiram heard the creak of Latham's swivel chair, followed by the soft sound of the lawyer's footsteps. The bathroom, he thought in sudden panic.

The footsteps moved closer.

Spector pushed another plastic garbage bag to one side. A rat the size of a dachshund launched itself toward him. The animal scrambled up his arm toward his throat. He grabbed it by the tail with one hand and banged its head into the edge of the metal barge. The rat squealed and twitched convulsively. He let it drop.

The sparkler was burning low, singeing his fingers. Tiny flakes of burning metal were irritating the back of Spectors hand. He tossed the sparkler over the side of the barge. There was a faint hiss when it hit the water.

"God, I wish it was daylight. We might have a shot at finding them," Spector said.

"If it was daylight, you'd have to fight the gulls. They swarm around these barges like bees to honey. Pick you to pieces if you're not careful. Don't give up yet," said Ralph. He pulled another sparkler out of the box and lit it off the one he was holding, then handed it to Spector. "Those notebooks are on this barge somewhere, and we're going to find them."

Spector was feeling stronger as time passed. His foot didn't hurt nearly as much as before. The stump was getting longer and separating at the end, like toes were trying to reform. The smell on the barge was so strong that even Spector was bothered by it. He wished for a breeze and started digging through the garbage again.

"That's it. Don't give up." Ralph sorted through the trash quickly but carefully. But he'd had a lot of practice.

Spector liked Ralph, but he wasn't happy about it. He couldn't remember the last time somebody went out of their way to help him. He'd feel pretty rotten if he had to kill the guy, but it was probably the smart thing to do. He couldn't have somebody running around who could connect him with the stolen notebooks.

"Say, friend. You never told me your name."

"Allen," Spector said. "Tommy Allen." He didn't know why he'd bothered to lie; he was going to snuff Ralph anyway. "Nice to meet you, Tommy." Ralph extended a garbagesmeared hand. Spector hesitated, then grasped it and shook once. "What's your line of work?"

"I'm, uh, an exterminator." Spector took a few steps away from Ralph and dug into some fresh garbage. He tossed a couple of paper sacks aside and unearthed a broken-clown couch. The cushions were gone and the beige paisley fabric stained, but it looked okay otherwise.

"See what I mean?" Ralph was still right behind him. "Perfectly good stuff. I could clean it up with my Steamatic and it'd be almost as good as new"

Spector slumped onto the couch. The chance of finding the notebooks was getting worse and worse. Just his luck, to get hold of something like that and lose it right away. He could have nailed the Astronomer and set himself up for life.

Ralph sat down beside him and looked at Spector 's clothes. The stains from the garbage helped to disguise the blood. "Boy, those guys worked you over good. That's one thing about living in a garbage dump, crime rate's mighty low" Spector was silent. He stared directly at the sparkler, letting the magnesium brightness burn itself onto his retina. He wondered what the Astronomer was going to do to him. Things were probably going to get even worse than they were now, impossible as that seemed. Dying again was the simplest solution, but it wasn't what he had in mind.

Ralph stuck the handle of his sparkler into the edge of the couch, then leaned over and shoved his arms back into the trash up to his elbows. He turned to look at Spector and furrowed his brow, then pulled out a plastic-covered package. "Look familiar?"

Spector grabbed the package and wiped it off on his pants leg. He was seeing spots from looking at the sparkler, but knew it was the notebooks. He hurled his sparkler as far out into the river as he could. "Goddamn. Maybe my luck's changing."

Ralph nodded and smiled. "Told you we'd find them. Garbage can't hide anything from me for long."

"Well, you were right." Spector shoved the notebooks back into his pants. He wasn't taking them out again until he handed them over to Latham.

"Writ here." Ralph got up off the couch and began wading away through the garbage. "This calls for a real celebration." Spector looked at his watch. It was 10:55. He had to get moving soon. There was no telling when the Astronomer would come looking for him, and he wanted plenty of tough company around by then. The Astronomer was saving Fortunato for last, so jumping Jack Flash and Peregrine were probably next on the list. Or maybe Tachyon. Taking them on was bound to push him to the limit, even with Imp and Insulin around to help out. Spector sighed. He might as well kill Ralph now and get it over with.

He saw Ralph light something at the other end of the barge, then move to another to touch it off. Two small flames slowly grew into cascades of colored light, fountaining twenty or thirty feet into the air. Ralph was standing well away from them, his back to Spector. He appeared to be keeping an eye on the fountains to make sure the barge didn't catch on fire. Couldn't have his ride home going up in flames.

Spector made his way to the shore end of the barge and stepped off The fireworks would attract attention and that was the last thing he wanted. There was no time to kill Mr. Garbage right now He'd do it later. If he survived the night.

He hobbled to the chain-link fence and climbed it slowly, trying to use his bad foot as little as possible. He hauled his body over the top and lowered himself down the other side. His foot still hurt if he tried to put his entire weight on it. He could see it now It was pink and there were toes taking shape. He might be fully healed by this time tomorrow. If he was still alive by then.

Spector had to contact Latham first. He dug into his coat pocket for the card with the lawyer's phone number. Getting a taxi was going to be hell. He could always kill somebody and take their car, but he wanted to keep things as uncomplicated as possible.

He limped away down the street looking for a pay phone.

It took Jennifer nearly two nightmarish hours to make her way to the ground floor of the Empire State Building. She was afraid to use the elevators or the main staircases and had to continually ghost through ceilings, walls, and locked doors. Before long she had to rest between each phase of insubstantiality, balancing her weariness against the continual need to move on in case the federal agent was still tracking her. Kien, she realized, must have friends in very high places indeed. She wondered, not for the first time, what Yeoman's-Brennan's-connection with him was.

She finally made it, unobserved she thought, down to the street, where she merged with the pedestrian traffic and headed toward the corner of 43rd and Seventh, carefully keeping to the darkness and ignoring the occasional invitations to come party. The streets became more densely jammed with drinking, dope-smoking revelers as she approached Times Square, which was almost as crowded as it is on New Year's Eve. The people milling about the streets were determined, damned determined it seemed, not to let anything get in the way of a good time. Their desperate attitude tainted the atmosphere with a taste of depression, as well as something of menace.

Maybe, Jennifer thought, it was all in her head. Maybe the hulking man in dirty leathers and plastic Dr. Tachyon mask who seemed to be following her was just an innocent fellow out to have a little fun. Maybe, but she started walking faster when she realized he was following her, and her fear increased when she saw that he kept pace behind her.

She was never so happy to see someone as when she saw Brennan waiting for her on the designated corner. She broke into a ragged run toward him, dodging immovable knots of partiers. He turned as she approached, and Jennifer faltered. She could see his anger by the taut way he held his body,. by his hard-clenched jaw and the thin line of his lips. Some of his tenseness drained away when he saw her, and was replaced by uncertainty. Some, but not all.

"I wasn't sure you'd show up," he said curtly.

"Why?" They spoke in low voices, even though none of the people milling around seemed to be paying them any attention.

"The Tachyon statue was smashed, scattered around the gallery. The books were gone," he said in clipped tones. "Gone?" The astonishment in her voice and on her face softened his expression. He sighed, rubbed his chin wearily. "Kien must have gotten to them… somehow

… someway." He shook his head. "He's a tricky bastard. His reach extends farther and into more places than you'd ever dream of."

"It's not possible." Jennifer frowned and glanced sharply at Brennan, suddenly suspicious that he might have the books and was holding out on his promise to return the stamps to her.

But his shoulders were slumped, and weariness and defeat was on his face. He can't be that good of an actor, Jennifer thought. But what possibly could have happened?

Brennan seemed to rouse himself. He straightened his shoulders, composed his features, and looked again at Jennifer. "Come on," he said gruffly. "It looks like I have to find you some more clothes." He frowned. "How'd you lose the ones you were wearing?"

"I'll tell you everything," she said, "but first let's get some food somewhere. I'm still starved. I only had half a cracker with some chopped liver at Aces High. Why don't we go for a late dinner somewhere? I'll buy. I'll tell you what went on at Aces High and you can tell me why you're after Kien's diary."

Jennifer told herself she made the offer out of simple curiosity, but part of her whispered that she was rationalizing. In reality, she didn't want Brennan to walk away from her.

He looked at her with a tight smile.

"I don't think that'd be wise," he began, then he lost his smile, grimaced, and swung his bowcase at Jennifer. "Duck!"

She ghosted.

A stocky man wearing a dark-blue satin jacket with a beautifully embroidered white bird on the back-a crane? Jennifer wondered-passed through her. He stumbled forward, his arms windmilling as he tried to regain his balance. Brennan's case caught him flush in the face and he went down. sighed "Egret," Brennan snapped. "Let's get out of here."

He grabbed for Jennifer's hand, started to run, stopped, sighed half to himself, and waited for her to solidify.

"Sometimes you're difficult to cope with," he complained. Jennifer smiled and offered him her hand. It looked like this affair wasn't over yet. What, she wondered, is an Egret?

He took her hand and they ran.

It was impossible to make straight-line progress through the crowd. They left a trail of partiers in their wake cursing them or whistling catcalls at the sight of Jennifer's bikini-clad form, or both.

"We're never going to shake them at this rate," Brennan grumbled. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw a pack of men wearing dark jackets-more Egrets, Jennifer realized-pushing through the crowd after them. They were less subtle than Brennan and Jennifer and simply shoved past anyone who blocked their way. Few cared to lecture them about their boorishness. "Eight of them." Brennan said, and his grip on Jennifer's hand was broken as she suddenly stopped in her tracks.

"Oh no," she said, staring.

"What is it?"

"Him."

A man wearing a skintight white suit was coming toward them.

"Who's that?" Brennan asked.

Jennifer shook her head. "He tried to arrest me at Aces High. Said he was a federal agent."

"Great." Brennan glanced around quickly. They were near a corner that was cluttered with a phone booth, mail repository, and several trash cans. "This way. Maybe he hasn't spotted you yet."

Jennifer and Brennan veered off to the side and the man in the battle suit called out, "Stop right there! You're under arrest!"

Jennifer groaned, jostled a man wearing a mask with an elephant's nose and ears-no, Jennifer realized, he wasn't wearing a mask after all-apologized, and stepped to the curb just as a limo pulled to a screeching halt. Its doors flew open and Wvrm and half a dozen thugs leapt out.

"Christ," Brennan swore. He let go of Jennifer's hand and everything happened at once.

A battered vellow taxi rear-ended the limo just as Wvrm screamed, "Get her! Get him!" The taxi bumped the limo forward and the open door on the passenger's side slammed into Wyrm. The reptilian joker went down as the Egrets burst through the onlookers surrounding the scene and tried to encircle Brennan and Jennifer. People trapped within the circle realized something heavy was about to come down and tried to get away. People outside the circle realized that something heavy was about to come down and pushed closer to watch. Billy Ray, now running toward them, screamed, "I'm a federal agent and you're under arrest!" and the huge man in dirty leathers and plastic Tachyon mask, who was also pushing through the crowd toward Jennifer and Brennan, whirled and clubbed him to the sidewalk with a single blow from his deformed, clublike right fist.

The Egrets looked at each other uncertainly and Brennan looked at Jennifer.

"What the hell?" he asked, and kicked the nearest Egret in the stomach. The Egret went down and two others leaped at Brennan and tried, unsuccessfully, to grapple him.

Billy Ray, to the astonishment of Jennifer, the onlookers, and most especially the huge joker who had struck him down, was already getting to his feet.

"Sucker," Ray said through clenched teeth. "I'm going to kick your ass."

The giant growled something inarticulate as Jennifer watched Brennan take out the two Egrets who had come at him. The hack leaped out of his taxi and screamed at the man who was driving the limo as one of the Egrets got by Brennan and grabbed at Jennifer. She smiled at him and ghosted and he tried over and over again to grapple her while she shimmered insubstantially on the sidewalk. Tiring of his attentions, Jennifer grabbed a lid from one of the garbage cans by the curb, solidified, and brought the lid down hard on his head. He stared at her with hurt indignation for a moment, then his legs went rubbery and he slipped, unconscious, to the sidewalk. Some of the onlookers applauded.

The giant spoke, his voice drawing Jennifer's attention back to him and Ray. "Fuck off, asshole." His voice was a monstrous rasping that sounded barely human. He was awesomely intimidating, but Ray smiled back at him. Jennifer thought he looked genuinely happy.

"You're under arrest for assaulting a federal agent."

The big joker growled and swung his deformed right fist, but Ray had already moved. He ducked under the punch and came up throwing one of his own that caught the giant in his hard, bulging gut. All the air whooshed out of his lungs and he stumbled and went down. But he wasn't out. He reached up as Ray tried to step by him, grabbed Ray's leg, and yanked. Ray went down again and the giant joker rolled over him like a tsunami, pinning him to the sidewalk. He struck before Ray could move, crushing Ray's jaw and mouth with his hammering right fist. Blood splattered everywhere. Jennifer, feeling faint, backed away, and felt herself bump into someone. Hands grabbed her waist and she whirled and found herself staring into a pair of pretty blue eyes. Eyes, and nothing else, except for tendrils that might have been nerve endings trailing off them. She suppressed an urge to scream and swung the garbage-can lid with all her strength. There was a satisfying loud thunk and the metal lid bent in her hands. The eyes disappeared, as if rolled up behind invisible eyelids; the invisible hands released her. After a moment a tall, lanky form blinked into sight, crumpled on the sidewalk. Jennifer dropped the bent garbage-can lid and backpedaled.

Three of the thugs who'd arrived in the limo with Wyrm started toward her while two others tried to help Wyrm to his feet and the other one rolled around on the street punching at and cursing out the driver of the cab that'd rear-ended them. Out of the corner of her eye Jennifer saw the joker draw back to strike Ray again, but somehow, while spitting blood and fragments of teeth, Ray reached up and caught the joker's arm with one hand while raking across his masked face with the other. The mask came off, exposing a face that looked like a bombed-out battlefield. The man's scar-encumbered mouth was wide open and sucking for air.

"You're one ugly son of a bitch," Ray mumbled through mashed lips and broken teeth. A merry light danced strangely in his eves. He twisted like an eel, jerked his leg upward, and caught the joker in the groin.

A stream of spittle ran down the joker's chin and he howled. Ray flipped him over, straddled his chest, and pummeled the joker's face until his fist was splashed with the joker's blood. The joker went limp, and Ray laughed lightly and stood up. His eyes, gleaming with an uncanny light, fastened on Jennifer. She glanced at Brennan, but he was busy with the Egrets. Ray started toward her, fastidiously wiping away the blood that dripped from his smashed jaw before it could fall on his uniform, as the three thugs from the limo approached from the other side.

"You're coming with me," Ray said. Jennifer could barely understand his mumbled words, but she let him take her arm. "Hey, bug off, man. The chick's ours," one of the thugs said, and Jennifer let him take her other arm.

" I can only accompany one of you," Jennifer said, then ghosted and stepped aside. Ray grinned fixedly and advanced on the thugs as Brennan beat down another Egret with a crushing backhanded blow. The two Egrets still on their feet exchanged glances, decided it wasn't worth it, and beat cheeks down the sidewalk and through the crowd. Brennan turned back toward Jennifer. He wasn't even breathing hard, although he did look baffled as he watched Ray punch out Wyrm's thugs. Jennifer glanced at the limousine sitting in the street before them, motor running and door open.

"Come on," she called to Brennan, and dove through the open door. He followed her into the car, pulled the door shut, and a huge birdlike form hurtled out of the sky and slammed against the windshield. It was a skinny winged joker with a crown of dirty white feathers like the crest of a scraggly cockatoo, ugly purple and red wattles hanging from his jaw. He shook his head, stunned by the impact like a sparrow that'd flown into a plate-glass window, croaked something unintelligible, and slipped off the hood into the street, tripping Ray who had just disposed of his final adversary and was leaping toward the limo. Brennan watched them fall to the pavement in a tangle of limbs. Jennifer gunned the motor as Wyrm stood up groggily. The limo sped off as the reptilian joker looked around in bewilderment.

"What happened?" he asked, but no one could really tell him.