“I’m a latent too,” said John, smiling the trying-to-make-conversation-with-the-nice-crazy-person smile.
Jim smiled back. “My sympathies.”
“Perhaps you might make your friend a bit shorter, dear?” Peregrine interrupted gently. “Say, six-three, six-four? A little more in the shoulders, a little less in the hips, the Fabio proportions?”
“Okay. . . .” Jim pressed a couple buttons, causing the static to arc, and Paul began to get shorter and slightly wider, at least across the shoulders, while Jim looked back to John. “Roger was a latent until a little while ago, but he was lucky enough to draw a joker-deuce, and he’s working on making it into an ace.”
“As should we all,” said Peregrine. “Being an ace is an attitude. Though a good fashion designer helps.” Sam realized then that she wasn’t got up as the Queen of Angels but the Queen of Pentacles, wearing what had to be a Bob Mackie original.
Jim began to look distraught, then showed the remote to Peregrine. “I checked all the buttons, but there isn’t a hip-narrowing function. . . .”
Peregrine smiled. “Oh yes there is. I was in more than enough beauty pageants when I was younger.” She furled her wings and moved closer, checking out Paul’s butt, now that he’d reached a more reasonable height. “Do you have any athletic tape?”
“No,” said Jim, then produced a silver roll from the pocket of his tux, “but I have duct tape.”
Paul’s eyes almost popped out of his head, literally. “You’re not going to duct tape my ass!”
Peregrine’s wings rustled softly as she laid a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder, her nails as gold as her lipstick. “Trust me, dear—there are no jokers, only aces with bad publicists and fashion designers.”
“Yeah, all Bloat needed was a muumuu. . . .”
Peregrine only smiled. “And a press kit. This is showbiz. We’re selling a fantasy.” She cast a glance around, then locked eyes with Topper standing next to Sam. “Melissa! My goodness, I didn’t even notice you! What are you doing here?” She smiled her most dazzling smile, an advertisement for the virtues of toothbonding and cosmetic dentistry. “I know you have athletic tape in that hat of yours. Could we trouble you for some?”
“Uh . . .” said Topper, and Sam realized that the world’s chattiest ace talk show hostess was the last person that Topper wanted to know that she’d lost her magic conjuring hat.
“Good luck,” said Alec. “She won’t even give me my cummerbund.”
“Which I just found,” said Cameo, appearing from behind Dirk. “It was behind the couch in the greenroom.”
“Cameo!” Peregrine exclaimed. “So lovely to see you.”
“Say it on camera and I’ll believe it, Peri,” she replied, taking a moment to adjust her hat. As she brushed by Peregrine, there was a sudden loud *ZOT* and a flash of electricity and ozone, and the only thing Sam could figure was that the beads on Cameo’s flapper dress had somehow acted as a conductor and allowed the static electricity from Jim’s remote control and Paulie’s braces to arc to Peregrine’s copious amounts of metal jewelry. Her hair went up like the Bride of Frankenstein and her wings spreadeagled on reflex, the feathers whacking the front edge on Alec’s Mohawk, and the spiraled ivory horn.
Alec screamed and the scream turned into a whinny as his face elongated, becoming more horselike, and his body became more staglike, and his legs became more goatlike, and his tuxedo split apart, revealing a lion’s tail, very much like the one Sam possessed, except in white, with an elaborate tassel at the tip, like the one possessed by a heraldic lion-or a unicorn, which was what Alec had become. Only his spiraled horn, Mohawked mane, long white goatee and mass remained constant between forms. He waved his cloven hooves, pawing the air as the remnants of the tuxedo fell to the stage, then he came down hard on them, looking at Peregrine with fire in his eye, an accusatory snort, and his horn pointed straight at her heart.
Lenore was squawking and screaming and trying to become airborne while the static in Peregrine’s hairdo collapsed, and she stood there, a wisp of smoke coming from the underwires of her support bra. “What happened?”
“You’re not a virgin!” Jim exclaimed.
“What?” said Peregrine, dazed. “Of course I’m not a virgin—I’m a mother! How many mothers are virgins?” She blinked, starting to focus on the unicorn in the top hat in front of her.
“Alec shifts if anyone who’s not a virgin touches the tip of his horn,” Jim explained. “He can only change back if he has a virgin ride him.”
“What sort of ‘ride’?” asked Topper.
“A short one. Five, ten minutes, tops.” Jim paused and bit his lip. “As for virgin mothers, there’s Sister Mary Immaculate over at Our Lady of Perpetual Misery. She’s given birth the last seven Christmases in a row, and she’s the one we get to ride Alec if there aren’t any other virgins handy.”
Velvet Brown put up her hand. “So any girl who’s never had sex with a man counts?”
“I think so,” said Jim. “Lesbians can still be virgins, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Velvet smiled her starlet smile, then threw her arms around Alec’s neck and announced, in the worst British accent Sam had ever heard, “Pie’s the best horse! I’m going to ride him in the Grand Nationals!” With this, she planted a kiss right at the base of Alec’s horn and swung herself up on his back, posing as if she were ready for her closeup.
Alicorn the unicorn’s eyes went wide and then he screamed, rearing up, champing the air, Velvet Brown clinging frantically to his mane as he shook his head till the ridiculous top hat flew free.
“I don’t think she’s a virgin,” Jim said. “Alec gets very upset if someone who’s not a virgin gets—” Jim broke off abruptly as Alicorn’s hoof lashed out and knocked the universal remote from his hand, sending it spinning and skittering across the stage, weird energy arcing in all directions, grounding itself into every bit of metal in sight, then some beyond it as the curtain began to rise, the ropes of the gaffing system beginning to pull it up via electronic pulley.
“What’s happening?” Peregrine demanded.
“My remote!” Jim screamed. “He smashed it! And I think he hit play!”
On cue, the bands’ instruments behind them, everything from Dirk’s drumsticks to Roger’s electric fiddle, rose up into position, borne aloft by strands of phantom energy, and started into the opening strains of Irving Berlin’s ‘Top Hat.’ Then a gap open in the curtain as the drapery swags parted and the unicorn made for it, still screaming, running out onto the runway spit accompanied by the screams of Velvet Brown mixed with those of countless other girls.
A camera operator ran in, wearing headphones and a mike. “Peri! The cameras are acting like they’re possessed, but that doesn’t matter-we’ve somehow got a live network feed! We’re live! We’re live!”
“It’s all audiovisual and entertainment. . . .” Jim said plaintively. “Did you say The Network?”
Peregrine and Roger exchanged looks, then, with the instincts of veteran showpeople, they turned to the wings and called, “Cue the Rockettes!”
Peregrine then took the cameraman’s headset and stepped forward, into the breech, announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, live from the new, and aptly named, Club Chaos, Mtv is proud to present a special Halloween show-New York’s new hometown favorite, The Jokertown Boys!”
Sam balked—Alec had become hoarse all right. Or horse. Or unicorn, as was the case, and he had the choice of joining the band as replacement singer or chasing after his friend. It was an easy choice, and not just because of the rattle of tap shoes behind him or the screams and wild applause as the unicorn ran the length of the runway, Topper running after him and Velvet Brown screaming, “Jerry, you idiot!” as they vaulted into the aisle. Sam followed, National Velvet Jerry or whoever she was still astride Alicorn’s back as the unicorn ran into the lobby, out the main doors, and up the street, vaulting cabs.
Somewhere in the lobby
, Sam realized that John Fortune was with them, in fact outpacing Topper, quidditch robes far better suited to running than stiletto heels, and they all caught up with Velvet Brown just as she was dumped on her ass in the middle of the roadway, Alicorn continuing up the street without her.
“That was wicked cool!” John exclaimed, while Topper and Sam couldn’t do much more than pant.
A moment later, Peregrine landed next to them. “John Fortune!” she exclaimed, using all her stage presence and the fury of mothers everywhere. “What on earth do you think you’re doing running off like that?”
John pointed to his date, who Sam suddenly realized was a dead ringer for long dead movie starlet, Elizabeth Taylor. “You said I was supposed to stick with my bodyguard, mom.”
“That is not your bodyguard,” Peregrine intoned with barely controlled rage. “That is someone who is so fired she’d think J.J. Flash had done it.”
The girl went pale. “And our Agency?”
Peregrine paused. “Has proven itself on other occasions,” she conceded, looking to Topper. “Melissa, are you free?”
“’Fraid not. I’m on another case.”
Peregrine looked sour at this, but didn’t bother to plead or argue, merely took her son by the shoulders and said, “Young man—I will, of course, be furious if the answer is no, but I need an honest answer to a simple question: Are you a virgin?”
John Fortune’s eyes went wide behind the Harry Potter glasses and he nodded. “Yes ma’am.”
“Good,” said Peregrine, “then you get to ride a unicorn. Assuming . . .” She looked askance to Sam and Topper.
Sam nodded. “Male virgins count.” He pointed up the street. “He went that way.”
“Good,” said Peregrine, gathering John Fortune into her arms and winging off down the block.
Jerry-Velvet-Elizabeth got up and dusted herself off, looking after the rapidly disappearing Peregrine, then simply shrugged and walked over to them. “Back to the club?”
“For us. You got fired, remember?” Topper took a couple steps in that direction then stopped, the girl still following. “Yes, Jerry?”
“What sort of case are you on?”
“Um . . .” Topper looked stricken, and Sam realized that, the same as Peregrine, Jerry was also someone who under no circumstances could know that Topper had lost her hat.
“Actually, she’s not on a case,” Sam said, taking Topper’s hand. “We’re on a date.”
“Yes, a date.” Topper hugged close to him, putting her head on his shoulder for a moment.
The fallen starlet looked at Topper, then Sam, then back. “I thought you said you didn’t go for younger men.”
“No,” said Topper, “that’s just something I told Pete. I don’t date guys who habitually insult people and smoke huge cigars as over-compensation. But I was trying to be polite.” She looked to the faux Elizabeth Taylor, then Sam, then pulled him into a kiss, full on French, no holds barred.
By the time it was over, Sam felt almost as dazed as Peregrine had been after the jolt. “See?” Topper said. “Date.” She led Sam a few step back towards the club. “And if you tell Pete about any of this, I’ll tell him about you and the dalmatians.”
“What dalmatians?”
“You know Pete,” Topper said. “I don’t need to tell him any more than that.” She paused. “Maybe a number. A hundred. A hundred and one. He already knows you have a thing for Glenn Close.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, Cruella.”
They continued back towards Club Chaos, Jerry-Velvet-Elizabeth tagging along like a kid sister. “Oh well,” the girl said, “even if you’re not on a case, there’s still one mystery left.” Topper looked askance at her until finally the girl let it out: “Do you think Cameo zapped Perry?”
“That’s your mystery?” Topper looked exasperated. “Cameo? We both saw the sparks from Gimcrack’s gizmo.”
“Yeah, but that would give her the perfect cover.”
Topper snorted. “But why? And with what?”
“Her ace,” said the starlet.
“Ace? Jerry, she’s a famous fraud.” Topper bit her lip. “Even if she isn’t, she’s what, a spirit medium? I didn’t see any seance tables. What could she do, zap Perry with ectoplasm?”
“No,” said Jerry, “with a dead ace’s ace.”
Topper balked, bringing her and Sam to a dead stop. “Come again?”
“I went on a mission with her once,” Jerry explained. “Secret government stuff. Very hush-hush. Billy Ray was there. You used to work with him. He tell you?”
“We’re talking Billy,” Topper said. “No.”
Jerry looked smug. “Cameo’s ace lets her channel the dead by touching something they had in life. Something important to them. Like your hat, Melissa. If you were dead, I mean. And if the dead person was an ace, she can channel their powers too.” Jerry looked at Topper’s topper. “Actually, that hat would be a real score for her. Cameo’s payment for the mission was going to be Black Eagle’s jacket, but if she had your hat, she could pull out that, Brain Trust’s pearls, Cyclone’s flight helmet—hell, whatever she wants.”
“If I were dead,” Topper amended.
“Yeah.”
“And this shocking ace?”
“Dunno,” Jerry said, “Cameo had all this junk in her backpack. Said she could summon a shocker with some hat. Never saw it, I . . . left the mission early.”
Topper squeezed Sam’s hand, and he squeezed back, and they walked a long while in silence before Topper said, “So you planning to out her? For putting her ace back up her sleeve, I mean, after Peri and everyone laughed at it?”
“Well, maybe Peri . . .”
“Would laugh at you too,” Topper finished. “Face it, Jerry-Cameo may have the perfect motive, but she’s also got a perfect alibi. And even if she confessed, Peri wouldn’t believe her.” She paused. “And in the scheme of ace pranks, zapping someone’s butt is pretty trivial. You’d out someone for that? You, of all people?”
“It was probably Jim’s remote anyway,” Sam said.
Jerry paused. ““This sort of thing happens?”
“Since we were kids. You should have seen it when he took drivers ed. The car was an automatic.”
“You know, Jerry,” Topper said, “you could still catch a movie. . . .”
“Hmm . . . the Metreon is showing all the Hammer Draculas. Including Brides.” The starlet looked pensive. “Those girls in the nightgowns are really hot. . . .”
“And they’re waiting for you,” Topper said. “Look, there’s a cab.”
Jerry looked, then ran for it, waving.
“She’s bisexual, right?” Sam asked. “’Cause regular lesbians don’t set Alec—”
“Jerry’s a special case,” Topper said, shutting him off, “and yes, our agency is a detective agency.”
“Isn’t she a bit young?”
“You’re not one to talk, young man.” Topper squeezed his hand. “But you should see Pete. Not that that matters right now since we know—”
There was a flutter of feathers and gold sequins as Peregrine alighted. “You’re needed on stage, Sam.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You’re the best thing to happen to jokers rights in ten years.” She scooped him up in both arms and Sam and his sketchbook were pressed against the famous cleavage as the flying ace took off, speaking into her headset, “Got him. Cue the Boys for our entrance.” They swept up into the air, then down, and Sam felt his stomach lurch as Peregrine folded her wings in a power dive, fanning them out as they entered the lobby, then folding them again as they plunged through the doors into the main theatre, swooping over the heads of audience. The crowd went wild, with cheers and screams, and Roger’s voice boomed, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MY BROTHER, SAM—OUR ACE COVER ARTIST, SWASH!”
Peregrine landed with him and Roger pressed a microphone into his hands. “Jokertown Blues, Sam. C.C.’s version—your lead.
”
Sam felt his mouth go dry, but Dirk pressed a bottle of water into his hand and Sam took a swig, realizing that the drummer’s presence meant that Jim’s mad ace was somehow still playing the instruments. He hoped it could take a cue: “And a One-Two-Three!
If you go down to Jokertown
Anyone you might see
Might be a little old lady
Name of Juju Marie
She might look like you
She might look like me
But there’s mighty mean momma
Name of Juju Marie
The radios had played that fourteen years ago, C.C. Ryder’s version of the old Mr. Rainbow song, when Sam and Roger’s parents had taken them to Jokertown for the day. And while they hadn’t met the old blues witch, they’d run into her counterpart, Typhoid Croyd, their parents dying, Sam and Roger going to the J-town orphanage.
If you go down to Jokertown
Better watch what you say
Or that little old lady’s
Gonna blow you away
“Toads and Diamonds,”
That’s what she sings,
“Jokers, and Aces,
And Black Queens and Kings”
Sam put his heart into that verse. ‘Kings’ was J-town slang for latents, shorthand for ‘suicide kings,’ the sword of Damocles of the wild card suspended over every latent’s head until it finally dropped, usually ending in death, sometimes maiming even worse than death.
He’d been a latent for eleven years and a deuce for only three. He knew what it felt like.
If you go down to Jokertown
You better pray hard
That a little old lady
Don’t deal you a card
You might start to weep
You might start to wail
You might feel an urge
To start a-shaking your tail!
Sam did so, flaunting the thing that set him apart from human, the joker that he could have but would never have removed. The audience went wild, girls screaming, snatching and grabbing for it as he danced out of the way.
Wild Cards XVI Deuces Down Page 32