Dead Mans Hand wc-7

by George R. R. Martin

  "The airline lost him," Jay said ruefully. The cat carrier hadn't been on the flight after his, or the flight after that one either. Delta said on the next plane for sure. "Never mind."

  Hiram looked confused. He drained half his Pimm's Cup in a series of long gulps. His hand was shaking when he put it back on the table. "You didn't say who you think… actually did the… the business… with Chrysalis, I mean."

  "Let's just say I'm going to be real interested to find out what Billy Ray was doing on Sunday night and Monday morning."

  "Billy Ray," Hiram said. "My God, that's absurd! He's a Justice Department operative! You can't think the whole federal government is involved in this, surely!"

  Jay shrugged. "Until somebody proves otherwise, I'm not trusting anyone I don't have to."

  Hiram finished his drink. He looked down at the empty I glass, but his eyes had turned inward. "So many people have worked so hard. We've all… done so much. You saw those pour souls in the street. Gregg's their only hope. What will they do if it's true?"

  "Vote Republican?" The quip was a halfhearted effort and the minute it was out, he regretted it. It was far too flip for the circumstances, for Hiram's genuine grief.

  But Hiram scarcely seemed to hear it. He pulled out a black silk handkerchief from his lapel and used it to mop his brow. The huge man looked confused and lost, too weak to carry all that flesh. "There's a reporter," he said slowly. "Sara Morgenstern, she's been telling everyone that Gregg is a killer ace. No one believed her. She's not a very stable person, you know. But last night, an attempt was made on her life. By an ace, I'm sad to say. Jack Braun saved her, and would have died himself if I hadn't taken a hand."

  "I saw the highlights on TV," Jay said. "The man Braun fought fits Digger's description of Mackie Messer."j "It sounds like the same man," Hiram said. "That doesn't prove he was actually working for Gregg, but I suppose… " He gave a long deep sigh of resignation, like a man being forced to accept something he could not stomach. "I suppose I must take this all seriously. Very well, then." For a moment he sounded like the old Hiram; decisive, full of resolve. "I'll take you to Dr. Tachyon. He can perform the necessary blood test, and if need be, he can go into Hartmann's mind and find the truth. Whatever that truth may be." On the table, his fingers opened and closed, opened and closed.

  Hiram stared down at them, grimaced, forced his hand to relax. "So much is at stake," he said. "Jay, if we're wrong, think of all the people we'll hurt."

  "And if we're right?" Jay asked quietly.

  Hiram seemed to shrink in on himself. "If we're right," Hiram said softly, "God help us all."

  "Ever see anything like this before?" Brennan asked Tripod, putting the mysterious note down on the bar, careful to avoid the wetness seeping out from around the joker's beer mug.

  Tripod bent down close to the bar to get a good look at it and shook his head. "Nope," he said.

  "Great."

  Squisher's Basement was still packed with the lunch crowd. Squisher himself was floating contentedly in his aquarium. He waved a long boneless arm at Brennan and whistled in a shrill, piping voice. "Hey, big guy, long time no see. Who's the babe?"

  Brennan glanced at Jennifer. "Friend of mine."

  "Hey," Squisher said, "we should all be so lucky." He winked his huge, staring eye and smiled leeringly. "Free drinks for my pals," he ordered the bartender.

  "Thanks," Brennan said. He remembered the quality of their whiskey. "I'll have a beer," he told the mouthless bartender who was staring at him and Jennifer fixedly.

  "White wine," Jennifer said, and the bartender continued to stare. "Uh, I'll have a beer, too."

  "Right," he rasped through the small hole cut at the base of his throat.

  "Find a table," Brennan told Jennifer and Tripod, "where we can talk things over."

  They pushed off into the crowd. He waited for their drinks, nodded thanks to the bartender, then took them over to a small, isolated corner table. He put the drinks down. Tripod took a long sip of beer through a straw.

  "So where'd you get that note, Mr. Y?" he asked. Brennan told him between sips of beer. Tripod shook his head after Brennan's story. "You got me baffled."

  "Me too," Brennan admitted. "It's obvious that we're being watched. But by who?"

  "Besides Lazy Dragon?" Tripod asked.

  Brennan nodded. "He certainly hasn't been leaving notes. He's been watching us for Fadeout."

  "Well," Tripod said. "I'll keep an eye out. Any other leads to follow?"

  "We've eliminated Bludgeon, Oddity, and Wyrm," Brennan said. "Doug Morkle and Quasiman seem unlikely. But there's still two inconsistencies. Two things that still don't add up."

  "Kant," Jennifer said. "He investigated Ezili Rouge and said that she was clean. That's not exactly what you told us."

  "That's right," Brennan said. "And Sascha. He's still missing. He must know more about the murder than he told me at his mother's."

  "And he's also connected with Ezili," Jennifer added. "Right," Brennan said.

  "Kant should be easy enough to find," Jennifer said. "I'll check with Fort Freak and see where he is." She came back from the phone in less than a minute and sat down, shaking her head. "He didn't report in this morning. No one at the station knows where he is."

  "Bingo," Tripod said.

  Brennan stood up, smiling grimly. "I hope we can get to him before he disappears, too."

  "Try Freakers," Tripod suggested. "That's his favorite hangout. I'll circulate. Someone will know where he is."

  "Right," Brennan said. He turned to Jennifer. "You wait at Freakers for him. Don't approach him if you spot him, just keep him under surveillance. I'm going to try Sascha's mother's place. She might know where her son is. If she doesn't open up, maybe I'll ask Father Squid to talk to her. He's not exactly Russian Orthodox, but he is a priest."

  They all headed for the door. Squisher rose out of his aquarium and stopped them with a shrill whistle. "Hey, pal," he said to Brennan, "you got something I could put on our celebrity wall?"

  He gestured toward a section of wall near the aquarium that Brennan hadn't noticed before. Tacked up on it was an amazing array of junk, from an autographed photo of a queasily smiling Tachyon standing next to Squisher's aquarium with one of the joker's boneless arms draped around his shoulders to a lacy handkerchief stained with green ichor, and a pair of crotchless panties with spaces for two crotches.

  Brennan reached into his pocket for an ace of spades. "Will this do?"

  "Sure," Squisher said. "Say, can you make it out to `My good pal, Squisher'?"

  3:00 P.M.

  Jay could hear the voices through the door, shouting. "Maybe we ought to come back later," Hiram said weakly. "I don't think this is a good time."

  "There's no good time for shit like this," Jay told him. He knocked loudly. Silence fell inside. A moment later the door to the suite was flung open. Dr. Tachyon gave them both a look like they were the last two people in the world he wanted to see right now. The little alien was ragged and weary. lie had scratch marks on his face and a puffy split lip. Wordless, he looked at them for a long moment, then stepped back to let them enter.

  Hiram moved heavily across the room, brushed aside the drapes, stared blindly out into the Atlanta heat. A teenage boy with painfully bright red hair was looking at Jay curiously. Ackroyd sat on the couch, the garment bag across his lap. No one seemed to want to speak, so Jay had to do it. "Lose the kid," he told Tachyon.

  The boy protested. "Heyl"

  "Blaise, go," said Tachyon, in a tone that brooked no arguments.

  "I thought I'd forfeited the right."

  "Go, damn youl"

  "Shit, just when things were gettin' interesting." Blaise held up his hands, palms out. "Hey, no problem. I'm gone." When the door banged shut, the quiet fell again. Tachyon made an exasperated gesture. "Hiram, what the devil is this?"

  Jay answered. "You gotta run a blood test, doc. Right now"

  Tachyon looked about. "What? Here
?"

  "Don't be dense, and don't be cute," Jay told him. "I'm too fucking tired and I hurt too much to deal with it." He unzipped the garment bag, dragged out the rag that so much blood had been shed on, for, and over. "This is Senator Hartmann's jacket from Syria."

  Tachyon looked at the bloodstain as if it might leap off the jacket and devour him. "How did you come to possess this?" he asked, in a voice thickened by fear.

  Jay sighed. "That's a long story, and none of us have the time. Let's just say I got it from Chrysalis. It was, well… sort of a legacy."

  Nervously clearing his throat, Tach asked, "And just what do you think I am going to find?"

  "The presence of Xenovirus Talds-A," Jay said.

  The alien stumbled across the room like a zombie and made himself a drink. Jay could have used one, too, but none were being offered. "I see a jacket," Tachyon said when he was well fortified. "Anyone could buy a jacket, doctor it with virus-positive blood-"

  Hiram finally spoke up. "That's what I thought. But he's been through too much. The link from Syria to this hotel room is clear. It's the sen-it's Hartmann's jacket."

  Tachyon turned to look at Hiram. "Do you want me to do this thing?"

  "Do we have any choice?"

  "No," said Tachyon, with vast weariness. "I don 7t suppose we have."

  4:00 P.M.

  Mrs. Starfin was polite in a cold, gracious way. She offered Brennan tea, but no new information on her missing son. Just as Brennan was about to leave the apartment, the phone rang. Mrs. Starfin answered it and gestured at Brennan. "It's for you," she said.

  He took it, more than a little surprised. It had to be either Jennifer or Tripod, because they were the only two who knew that he was here.

  It was Tripod.

  "Yeoman," he said, "I've got something for you."

  "What is it?" Tripod's voice was rougher than usual.

  "I can't talk over the phone. Meet me at the marina off Beaumont on the south shore of Sheepshead Bay."

  "All right," Brennan said. "See you there."

  Brennan hung up and bade good-bye to Mrs. Starfin, who was not sorry to see him go. He couldn't get Tripod's tone of voice out of his mind. It sounded as if he'd discovered something bad. Perhaps, Brennan thought, Sascha's body? That would explain his reluctance to discuss his discovery in detail over the phone.

  The Beaumont Marina was new and rather high-class. The ships tied in at the various slips were all rich-man crafts, not the skiffs of the casual, weekend sailor.

  Brennan prowled among the slips for several minutes before he noticed Tripod standing alone at the end of a dock, looking out over the bay. Brennan hustled over to him. "What's up?" he asked.

  Tripod turned to him. His face was battered and bruised. "Sorry, Mr. Y," he said, "they made me make the call." He nodded down at the boat tied into the dock's last slip. It was a sleek twin-engine yacht with the name Asian Princess stenciled on the side. Wyrm was standing there with a grin on his reptilian face, showing lots of teeth. He was accompanied by two Immaculate Egrets and a huge joker. The joker had normal if thick legs, but from the waist up had two torsos, two pairs of shoulders and arms, and two heads.

  He seemed vaguely familiar; Brennan realized he'd seen him among the crowd at Squisher's. He must have squealed to Wyrm about Tripod.

  "There he is," one of the heads said with satisfaction. "I told you he'd come."

  "You were right, Rick," Wyrm said, still smiling.

  "I'm Mick," the head said. He jerked a thumb at his other head. "That's Rick. He didn't want to do this."

  "I did, too," the other head answered. "No you didn't. You were scared."

  "Was not.."

  "Was too."

  "Was-"

  "All right," Wyrm said loudly, interrupting the squabbling heads. "Here." He proffered a roll of bills, which a hand belonging to Mick snatched before Rick could.

  "That's mine!" Rick protested.

  "Mine tool" Mick said. "I helped beat up the armless geekl"

  "Enough!" Wyrm said. His good humor quickly turned to exasperation. He said to Brennan, "You embarrassssed me in front of Sssui Ma," he said. "Now it'ssss payback time. join us on deck, won't you? You too," he said to Tripod.

  The Egrets had their guns out, so Brennan wasn't about to argue with Wyrm. He steadied Tripod as the joker stepped onto the gently rocking boat, then followed him onto the deck.

  "What do you want?" Brennan asked his old foe. Wyrm's eyes gleamed with returned good humor. "Just a swimming contest. We're going to see if you can swim Ssssheepssshead Bay weighed down by thossse." He pointed at a pair of chains with lead weights attached, then turned to the Egrets. "Tie them up."

  The Egrets did so quickly and efficiently while Wyrm covered them and Rick and Mick chatted inanely. When they were trussed up to Wyrm's satisfaction, he ordered the Egrets to take them down into the cabin for safekeeping while Wyrm went to the control console to pilot the ship into deep water. Rick and Mick went to cast off the line.

  "Sorry," Tripod said again as they shuffled into the cabin. Brennan's hands and legs, and Tripod's legs, had been bound with rope, but the weighted chains hadn't been added yet.

  Brennan shrugged. "There wasn't anything you could do."

  The cabin was plush and expensive looking, complete with luxurious sofa, deep pile carpeting, and a wet bar. "How about a drink?" Brennan suggested after Wyrm started the engines and the Princess pulled away from its slip. One of the Egrets laughed. "You don't want to drink before going into the water," he said. "Stomach cramps. I ain't going to be swimming this afternoon, though." Brennan turned to Tripod. "He's probably right," he said. "You can't be too careful when it comes to boats." He swung his bound hands at the closest Egret and caught him square in the throat, crushing his windpipe. As he went down choking, the other Egret whirled, reaching for the gun he'd put down while he was pouring a shot of scotch.

  Brennan shuffled forward, crashing into him shoulder first, and they both fell to the floor. The Egret opened his mouth to yell, and Tripod fell on his head, muffling his screams.

  Brennan picked up the Egret's gun clumsily with both hands and rammed it against his chest. He pulled the trigger and the Egret jerked once and was still.

  The other was crawling about the cabin, making mewling sounds as he gasped for breath. Brennan caught up with him and clubbed him down with the barrel of the pistol, not wanting to risk alerting the others on deck with another shot. Tripod took a deep breath. "I knew you'd get us out of this," he said in a relieved voice.

  "We're not out of it yet," Brennan said.

  Tripod rolled over to where Brennan was sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabin's plush sofa. "We will be in a minute." His dexterous third foot was free. He quickly untied Brennan, who returned the favor.

  "What do we do now?" Tripod asked. "How about trying our hands at piracy?"

  They crept onto the deck. Wyrm was at the wheel. Rick and Mick were arguing. Wyrm said exasperatedly, "Well, if Rick thought he heard something below, you should go check it out."

  "No need," Brennan said.

  Startled, they turned to see Brennan standing there pointing a gun at them. Wyrm hissed in hate and frustration. Rick and Mick looked at each other.

  " I told you we shouldn't get involved," Mick said. For once, Rick said nothing.

  Brennan glanced at the boat's position. They were nearing the middle of the bay, and there were no other boats in the vicinity.

  "Time for the swimming contest," he said.

  He gestured Wyrm away from the wheel with his gun. For a moment the joker hesitated, but then he moved. "You're lucky," Brennan said in a hard voice, "that I decided to dispense with the chains. Over you go."

  Wyrm looked like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it and swallowed his exit line. He went over the edge without a word.

  Brennan turned to Rick and Mick.

  "Hey," Mick said. "I didn't want to have anything to do with this."

&
nbsp; "You're just a victim of the company you keep," Brennan suggested.

  "That's right. Rick's a bad influence."

  "Jump or die," Brennan said. "It makes no difference to me."

  Rick and Mick looked at each other, nodded, and leaped over the side of the ship. They made a big splash when they hit the water.

  Tripod let out a deep sigh of relief. "You know, Mr. Y, I think I need some time off."

  "A vacation would probably be in order," Brennan said as he took the wheel. "Know anybody who buys boats?" Tripod brightened. "There's this guy in Jersey…"

  6:00 P.M.

  It was a hundred times more complex than a snowflake, delicate as the finest lace, like a flower made of ice. Jay stared at the image on the screen of the electron microscope for a long time. "Jesus," he said, releasing the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, "it's beautiful."

  Tachyon pushed back his long red hair. "Yes, I suppose it is. Trust us Takisians to create a virus to match our aesthetic ideal." He pivoted on the lab stool and suddenly yelled out, "Ackroyd!"

  Jay turned just as Hiram started to go down in a faint. He grabbed one arm, Tach the other. Hiram's weight brought them all down with a thump. On the floor, the huge ace ran a hand across his face and said, "Sorry, must have blacked out for an instant."

  Tach gave him a hit from a pocket flask, and Hiram sucked it down greedily. Jay suddenly realized how thirsty he was. "Hey, can I have a sip of that? It's been a hell of a week." Tach handed it to him wordlessly, and Jay tried a swallow. Brandy. Well, it was better than nothing.

  "There can be no doubt?" Hiram was asking. "None."

  "But just because he's an ace… well, that proves nothing. He'd have been mad to admit to the virus. He might be a latent."

  Tachyon stared up at the ceiling. He looked lost. Jay broke the silence. "So what do we do now?"

  "A very good question," Tachyon said. "You mean you don't know?"

  "Contrary to popular belief, I do not have the solution to every problem."