Jokers Wild wc-3

by George R. R. Martin

  "Well?"

  "Howler is dead."

  "Excellent, my lovely dear. Excellent." He turned, and contemptuously pushed aside his wheelchair. Its wheels creaked mournfully as it rolled into a corner. "But tell me all. Every subtle nuance, every agonized grimace…"

  "It wasn't very subtle," she said flatly, and pushed back her braided hair to reveal the bruise. "And I still can't hear very well out of my right ear."

  He laughed, a deep-throated bass rumble that left her shaking with fury.

  "I could have died! Doesn't that matter to you?"

  "Not tremendously." His eyes were on her, and she writhed, unable to meet his gaze.

  "You could have at least warned me," she cried, trying to find a safe place to rest her eyes, but everywhere she looked there was madness.

  "I'm not your daddy. I assumed you had enough intelligence to do your own research."

  "I'm not a professional killer. I don't research."

  Even Kafka emitted a whispering, panting chuckle that sounded like dry, dead hands being rubbed together, and the Astronomer threw back his head and roared, the tendons in his skinny neck standing out like twigs.

  "Oh, my precious dear. Is that how you hide from your soul? You little fool. You should embrace the hate, lick it, eat it, revel in it. I am offering you a unique opportunity to find vengeance. To repay loss with pain. And after it's all over I'll give you the freedom you crave. You should thank me."

  "I'm becoming a monster," Roulette murmured.

  "is this doubt I'm hearing? Then please quash it. Guilt is a most debilitating emotion. It makes you weak. You see, doubt can lead to betrayal, and you know how I deal with those who betray me. I'm giving you Tachyon, though I really want to kill him myself, so don't come bleating about how close you came to death, and how awful I am for making you kill. And don't even think about backing out. I haven't time to deal with the good doctor myself-I've even had to delegate Turtle to Imp and Insulin-so I would be very upset with you if I had to add Tachyon back into my agenda. The pleasure wouldn't outweigh the aggravation, believe me."

  "I don't think you were motivated by generosity. I think you're afraid of him. That's why you're sending me to face him."

  The words were gone, and she was a fool for uttering them for he was upon her, fingers closing like a vise about her jaw. "Calling me a coward, my sweet pussy killer?" His face was set in a devil's grimace.

  "No." She forced out the barely audible whisper.

  "Good. I wouldn't want to think that you didn't respect me. Now! Tell me about Howler."

  "No, I don't… I can't live it… again." She towered over him so she was gazing down on the top of his balding cranium covered only with a few straggling wisps of hair and patches of scabrous skin.

  "Then live this!" And the rush of memory returned. The hideous misshapen thing that had lain between her legs. The net result of so many hours of painful labor. A monster so grotesque that even the nurses had hated to touch it.

  "All right, all right! He was in… great pain."

  "His face, what of his face? He must have been looking at you."

  "He looked sad. Like a bewildered child who couldn't understand why he was being hurt." Sobs lay like jagged glass in the back of her throat.

  "And did you enjoy it?" His free hand closed about her left shoulder, and he forced her to her knees before him. She could feel the blood soaking through the hem of her skirt, sticking on the bare skin of her knees.

  His eyes were on her again. There was no hope of lying.

  "No." The tears spilled over, running in hot lines over her cheeks. "I didn't really know him. Just one night. But he was kind to me. And now he's dead and I'm afraid."

  "Of what?"

  "Of what I'm becoming. I'm afraid to go on…"

  "My dear, you had best be afraid of what will happen if you don't go on. I own you, Roulette, and I will exact a terrible punishment if you fail me."

  A shrill scream tore at her throat as she watched his hand go sliding into her chest, and felt the heavy pressure as he cupped her heart in his palm.

  "One squeeze, Roulette, and you die." His hand drifted down, massaging her ovaries, sending waves of agony through her belly. "Don't make me kill you, Roulette. It would be such a waste." He removed his hand, and caressed her bruised cheek. "But I don't want to frighten you, my darling. I want to help you. To save and free your soul. You will go mad, Roulette, just as you fear, unless you achieve your final vengeance and purge your soul. Without that cleansing, my memory wipe will do you no good. Now go, find Tachyon, kill him, and you will be free."

  "Free," she sighed. The Astronomer suddenly released his hold on her chin, and she fell forward, catching herself on her hands. She whimpered a bit as the now-congealing blood oozed between her fingers. Even free from you, she thought with an emotion that was neither love nor hate, but partook of both.

  "Yes, my little love. Even from me." She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow or other punishment that had to follow. Moments passed and nothing happened. Cautiously she opened her eyes.

  "And when will you…"

  "Remove your past? When you report back to me, and tell me in painful detail"-his lips quirked at the little pun"every moment of Tachyon's death."

  "Yes… all right… I will."

  Roulette pushed herself to her feet. With a jerk of the head the Astronomer indicated to Kafka to leave. The hideous little cockroach joker scurried to the door, and offered Roulette one of the remaining clean towels. She accepted gratefully. "Will I find you here?"

  "That depends on the time. My schedule's rather full today." He smirked, then stared consideringly at her. "You have served me well. Oh, why not? I've decided to take my more faithful followers with me when I leave." He wrapped a length of flexible tubing about his upper arm, and rubbed at the bulging vein.

  "Leave?"

  "Yes, I'm leaving this world which betrayed and cheated me. "

  "But how?"

  "On Tachyon's ship."

  "But you don't know how to fly a spaceship. Do you?" she added, suddenly doubtful. The range of his powers was awesome, maybe he could.

  "This ship will fly, for it's an intelligent creature with a mind, and what has a mind I can control. We are set to rendezvous at three-thirty tomorrow morning. Be there and you can come. Provided of course you've killed Tachyon, and if your little recitation pleases me. Now, what do you say to that? I couldn't be any fairer," he added in a thoughtful tone as he considered his own magnanimity.

  The little smile that pursed his mouth died, and his face twisted in a hideous grimace. "Now go!" he screamed, and spittle foamed in tiny white specks on his lips, and spattered on her face.

  She went, running back down the damp tunnel, towel pressed to her lips. Kafka was still shuffling down the tunnel, and as she passed him, Roulette wondered how much he had overheard, if he constituted one of the "faithful," and what the _ Astronomer would do to him if he weren't and if he learned of Kafka's eavesdropping. For an instant their eyes met, and Roulette saw mirrored in the joker's the same fear and confusion and hopelessness and hate that she knew lay reflected in hers.

  She touched him gently on the carapace. "Thank you for the towel, Kafka."

  "You're welcome," he said with an odd formality that made his bizarre condition all the more ludicrous and heartbreaking. "Roulette," he added as she walked away. "Be careful. I would like to think that one of us came out of this with some semblance of normalcy and humanity intact."

  "Well, it won't be me, but thanks for the concern."

  Chapter Four

  9:00 a.m.

  Jennifer picked up the phone on her desk and dialed a number she'd used only half a dozen times in the past year, but had committed to memory. It rang three times before it was picked up and a rich, cultured voice with a Brooklyn accent still lurking in it said, "The Happy Hockey."

  "Hello, Gruber."

  The voice took on a new tone, deepening and becoming unctuous w
ith unwanted solicitousness. "My dear Wraith." He called her by the nom de guerre Jennifer had adopted. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

  "Fine." Jennifer kept her answers to a minimum. She didn't like Leon Gruber, though he continually let her know his all-too-evident feelings toward her. He was a pudgy, pasty faced cokehead with a master's in fine arts from Columbia. He worked out of the pawnshop he'd inherited from his fatherunder, from what Jennifer had heard, rather suspicious circumstances. He was her fence. He never stopped hitting on her, despite the cold politeness with which she carried out all their transactions.

  "Do you have something for me?" he asked.

  He made the question sound salacious. Jennifer could almost see him licking his pouty lips.

  "Postage stamps," she replied briefly.

  "How much?" There was something of a sigh in his voice as he resigned himself to talking business.

  "Nearly two. million catalog."

  There was a long silence, and when Gruber finally spoke his voice had changed again. There was something behind his words that Jennifer had never heard before, something that made him sound even more cold and calculating than usual.

  "You do astonish me, my dear. Tell me, are these from a dealer's stock or a private party's collection?"

  "None of your business."

  "Well, we do like to keep our little secrets, don't we?"

  "My secrets are my own," Jennifer said firmly, more than a little irritated. "If you're not interested in the stamps I can always find someone who is."

  "Oh, I am interested. I am. I'm interested in everything about you, my dear Wraith." Jennifer grimaced at his words. She could almost imagine the scenes flickering through his coked-up brain. "You are a very, um, intriguing person. You appeared from out of nowhere and in less than a year became the city's finest thief. I feel very fortunate to be, um, associated with you and I'm very, very interested in the stamps. I have something on for this morning, though. I'm expecting some people. Can you come by elevenish? Perhaps we can do lunch after I take a look at the merchandise."

  "Perhaps." There was no sense in antagonizing him before he looked at the stamps. "Eleven. I'll be there."

  "I'll be waiting, dear."

  His last sentence echoed oilily in Jennifer's ear as she hung up. There was more avid anticipation in it than was usual. She decided that she had to find a new fence. She couldn't take Gruber's leering comments much longer. Maybe he was sliding too deeply into his cocaine habit. He does so much of the stuff; Jennifer thought, one of these days his heart'll explode.

  Fortunato checked his watch. He had to bring his arm up along his side and then across his chest to see it because of the crowds. It was a little after nine. When he looked up again the world was like a kaleidoscope. Shards of bright color surrounded him, shifting constantly into new patterns, unpredictable but not quite random.

  When Caroline had said it was Wild Card Day it had meant nothing to him. He should have known better. Now he was trapped in the crowds with Brennan, committed. Every couple of minutes he thought again about breaking his rule about public displays. It would be nothing for him to levitate himself out of the crowd and sail back to the peace of his apartment.

  Then he thought of the Astronomer, maybe just a few yards away, maybe on the verge of killing again and making himself that much stronger in the process.

  Just ahead of them Hester Street met the Bowery, square in the middle of Jokertown. Police barricades blocked off the side streets, though there were so many tourists a car couldn't have gotten through if it wanted to. They mostly seemed to be dressed for a track meet, in shorts and running shoes and hideous T-shirts, except they were overweight and slung with cameras and had billed caps with moronic slogans on them.

  "Look, there's one now," one of them said, pointing at Fortunato. The man's hat said EATING OUT IS FUN. Fortunato thought about turning the man's stomach inside out, leaving it hanging out of his mouth by the long tube of his esophagus, spilling his blood and drool and breakfast on the sidewalk. Easy, he told himself. Just take it easy.

  In typical joker fashion the parade had already gone to hell. The official floats were supposed to be lining up down at Canal, but the street was already full of unofficial entries, the most obvious of which was a twenty-foot-high latex phallus, pink and glistening, pointing up at about sixty degrees. It was mounted on a wooden platform, and three masked jokers were trying to push it through the crowds. The penis was forked and there was a sign hanging between the two heads that said FUCK THE NATS. A fourth joker stood on the platform, throwing what looked like used condoms into the crowd. Two knots of people were fighting their way toward the platform, one cops, the other outraged tourists.

  "There he is." Brennan had to shout in Fortunato's ear to make himself heard. Fortunato turned and saw Jube sitting on top of his news kiosk, short, fat, his tusks glistening in the morning sunlight.

  "Okay," Fortunato said. He used a little of his power to clear a space in front of the kiosk. He cupped his hands and called up to him. "Can you come down for a minute?"

  Jube shrugged and started to clamber down. Fortunato reached up and took hold of a black, rubbery ankle to steady him. At the moment of contact Fortunato felt a weird vibration go through him. Jube looked down and their eyes locked. Fortunato read his thoughts involuntarily.

  "Yes," Fortunato answered him. "Now I know" Jube was not human.

  "I've seen you at the Crystal Palace," Jube said. "But we've never been formally introduced." He held out a hand. "How are you at keeping secrets?"

  "I mostly mind my own business," Fortunato said. "Does Tachyon know about you?"

  "No. Nobody does but you. I guess I just have to hope you don't come up with a good reason to give me away."

  Jube's face went blank as Brennan walked up and said, "Chrysalis told me-"

  "I saw the Astronomer." Jube's head, greasy black and covered with tufts of reddish hair, moved up and down. "About five this morning. I was picking up the Enquirer. Every Monday, you know." Fortunato cleared his throat impatiently. "He was in the back of a limo, headed down Second Avenue."

  "How did you know it was him?" Fortunato asked. Jube hesitated and Fortunato made it an order. "Tell me the truth."

  "I… went to some of their meetings. The Egyptian Masons. I thought they had… something I wanted."

  A sudden crash made the alien jerk back in surprise. Fortunato turned around. JUst across Hester a plate-glass window had exploded out onto the street. Four Oriental kids in blue satin jackets swarmed out of the store. The last one out smashed the glass of the door with a billy club. "You remember, old man!" the kid shouted. "You don't fuck with the Egrets, man!" They charged into the crowd and disappeared.

  Brennan had the leather case open and the two halves of his bow together in a second and a half: Even so he had no chance for a shot. He put the bow away again and turned back to Fortunato. Fortunato hadn't moved.

  "You weren't kidding," Jube said. "You really do mind your own business."

  "I don't interfere where I don't know what's going on," Fortunato said. He was thinking about 1969, when his power had first appeared. For a few months there he'd been involved with a political underground movement, trying to stop the wholesale slaughter of jokers in Vietnam. Even then, with the issues as clear as they'd been, he'd felt uneasy about it. There had been a woman involved, and when she disappeared that had been the end of it for him. And since then he'd kept to himself. "If I wanted to be a cop, I'd be a cop."

  He turned back to Jube. "I think you and me need to sit down and have a long talk sometime. When there's not so much going on. For right now, just keep your eyes open. If you see the Astronomer again, or anybody that you know is working for him, call Tachyon. He can get hold of me. All right?" The alien nodded.

  "And for Christ's sake," Fortunato said, "try to cheer up."

  Spector walked slowly up the steps of the subway station, glancing in all directions. The Jack Daniel's hadn't helped. He'd s
een the Astronomer kill before; he'd even been in on it several times. The old man could tear him to pieces faster than he could regenerate. He shuddered and stumbled on. Gruber's pawnshop was only a couple of blocks away.

  Flatbush Avenue was quiet, almost deserted. A kid was playing on a stoop, holding a jet in one hand and a blimp in the other. He smashed the plane into the side of the blimp and yelled, "I can't die vet, I haven't seen The Jolson Story."

  Spector shook his head. He didn't understand why anyone considered Jetboy a hero. The little shit had tried to stop the virus from being released over New York, but he fucked up, failed. For that he got a statue and the adoration of millions.

  "Jetboy was a loser," he yelled at the kid.

  The boy stared at him, then picked up his toys and scrambled inside.

  Spector reached inside his gray suit and pulled out his death's-head mask. He slipped it on when he was across the street from the Happy Hocker.

  Spector crossed the street quickly and tried the door. It was locked. Spector banged loudly on it several times and waited. No sound. He tried again. This time there were heavy hurried footfalls. He heard the lock click and the door opened a crack.

  "I'm busy right now. Come back later," Gruber said. "You've got coke on your lapel," Spector said, pointing at the tailored tweed suit. He put his foot in the door. "It's Spector. I need to buy something."

  Gruber opened the door and closed it quickly when Spector was inside. "Buying? That's a bit unusual. Well, what do you need?"

  "An automatic pistol and a flak jacket." Spector looked around at the dimly lit clutter. The place smelled of disuse and Gruber's cologne. "How do you ever find anything in here?"

  "All the important business is transacted in back." Gruber opened the cage and walked into the back room. He was fat and soft. Spector could have hated him just for that. He followed the little man, bringing his pain into focus.

  Gruber opened a cabinet and pulled out a pistol. "Ingram Mac-11 with shoulder holster. I'd want eight hundred from a normal customer, but you can take it out in trade. You will have something soon for me, I hope."