Death Draws Five wc-17

by George R. R. Martin

  Only Barnett and Fortunato were inside. Barnett looked up sourly as Jerry knocked and entered. He was not, Jerry realized, in a good mood. He turned to Fortunato. “You were saying about the boy?”

  He must be really worried about something, Jerry thought. It’s actually showing on his face.

  Fortunato shook his head. “He finally fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake him.” Fortunato looked bleakly at Jerry. “He should be dead. I’m afraid that he didn’t draw an ace after all, but a Black Queen.”

  Jerry felt Fortunato’s words like a hammer blow to his guts. “That can’t be,” he said. “He was fine—”

  “Was fine,” Fortunato said with grim finality. “It seems that his Black Queen is an odd bitch. Slow acting, but progressing geometrically. His body temperature rose well over fifty degrees during the night. I can’t even begin to guess what it is now. I’m not a doctor, but I can recognize death when I see it coming. How high can his temperature go before his body just burns up?”

  “Maybe it’s part of his ace metabolism,” Jerry said hopefully. “Maybe his body won’t burn.”

  Barnett nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course. He is divine—”

  They looked at him and frowned. Fortunato spoke. “Maybe he is,” he said, though his tone indicated his dubiousness, “but his surroundings aren’t. How long until he’s a danger to everything around him?”

  “You can’t know for sure that he will be,” Barnett said. He looked like a man who was fighting hard to maintain an unlikely viewpoint.

  “He burned Billy Ray by just touching him,” Fortunato said in a leaden voice that lacked all hope. “He would have burned me if I hadn’t shielded myself. And the process seems to be speeding up. He’s getting hotter, faster. If it keeps going at this pace, by evening he’ll consume everything around him. He won’t be able to control it at all.”

  A depressed silence settled over Barnett’s office.

  “There’s one possibility left,” Jerry said. He and Fortunato looked at each other, and nodded. “The Trump,” they said together.

  Years ago, Dr. Tachyon had managed to concoct a cure for the wild card virus, but it was so dangerous in itself that it was only administered when a patient was facing inescapable death.

  Barnett frowned. “Isn’t the Trump pretty unsafe?”

  “Fifty percent fatality rate,” Fortunato said, looking at no one.

  “You can’t...” Barnett began, but his voice ran down to silence.

  “We must,” Jerry said, “if we’re sure the kid is going to die. Or pose a danger to his surroundings.” He looked at the ace sitting next to him. “Sorry, Fortunato.”

  “No,” Fortunato said heavily. “You’re right. But we have to be sure.”

  Jerry nodded. “The Jokertown Clinic has the only supply of the Trump.” He sighed deeply. “I’ll fly back to the city and get a dose. By the time I get back we should know for sure if we’ll have to use it. One way or the other.”

  It was hard for Jerry to volunteer to fetch the Trump. Very hard. Over the years John Fortune had become something like the son he’d never had. He’d seen him grow up to be a nice kid. He’d seen him apparently beat all the odds and become an ace. Now death was again panting over his shoulder. It would have been easier, Jerry thought, if he’d just drawn a Black Queen that day in Vegas. But the kid deserved better than that...

  “Hang on,” Jerry said, looking at Fortunato. “He almost beat the odds when the virus struck him. He has an even better chance with the Trump.”

  Fortunato nodded. He looked at Barnett. “If you believe in the power of prayer,” he told the ex-President, “get down on your knees for the sake of my boy.”

  To his vast surprise, Barnett came around his desk, sank down on his knees and bowed his head. “Let us pray,” Barnett said.

  Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

  “We don’t know exactly where the boy is,” Nighthawk told the Cardinal, “but we will soon.” He frowned. “There may be something wrong with him, though,” he said.

  The Cardinal interrupted angrily. “If we injured him somehow, all the better. The assault teams are in place. Start the attack.”

  Nighthawk nodded equitably. “As you say.”

  ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

  Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

  The Angel didn’t quite know where she was when she woke up. It was still morning by the bedside clock. She’d slept deeply, almost as if she’d been drugged. As she lay drowsing she realized suddenly that her bone-deep weariness was gone. She felt refreshed. Somehow replete. She turned and looked at the rumpled bed beside her, and Billy Ray was gone. She sat up, holding the sheets around her breasts, feeling the touch of the fabric everywhere on her naked skin. The room was quiet and empty. Billy Ray was gone.

  She felt so... ashamed. They did things last night she could scarcely imagine, let alone believe. And she had reveled in it all. She had lain in his arms panting with lust like an animal. She had kissed him, willingly. She had joined with him willingly. She had laughed with him between bouts of love-making. She...

  Wasn’t ashamed, actually. It surprised her to realize that. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done. It had been a wonderful night, wonderful and glorious in a way she’d never experienced before. She wanted to have other nights like that with him.

  But Billy Ray was gone.

  Maybe her mother had been right. Men used you to sate their lusts, then cast you aside, leaving you with the consequences of your actions. A swollen belly and a child to burden you for years. Well, the Angel thought, at least that last couldn’t happen to her.

  The song her mother had played obsessively said that love is touching souls. The Angel was sure that more than their bodies had touched last night. She was sure their souls had as well. At least hers had. That was the only way to explain the complete and utter ecstasy she’d found, coupled with a sense of peace and rightness that she’d never felt before in her life. She’d found that. But there was no telling about Ray.

  And now, he was gone.

  “Just like a man,” she said aloud, and suddenly the door opened and Billy Ray came into the room with an armful of packages.

  “Hi, babe,” he said, grappling with the packages and the door, finally managing to close it without dropping the boxes he carried. “You’re finally awake.” He paused. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  The Angel realized she was glaring at him. She sank down into the bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Nothing,” she said in a small voice.

  He spilled the packages on the bed and sat down next to her. “Okay. I had to get something to eat after last night’s workout.” He grinned wickedly at her, and put his hand on the sheet over her upper right thigh and squeezed. “I don’t sleep much anyway. You looked like you needed your rest, so I didn’t want to disturb you by ordering room service. Also, I knew you didn’t have any clothes so I picked up a few things for you. You can do a proper shopping later.”

  The Angel was almost over whelmed by his casual thoughtfulness. “I—I can’t accept these things from you—”

  “Why not?” Ray frowned. “Besides, I found Barnett’s charge card among the remains of your jumpsuit, and put everything on it. The jumpsuit was a total loss, so I tossed it. Hope you don’t mind.”

  The Angel shook her head, barely holding back her laughter. She had climbed again from the pits of despair to the very heights. “Of course you did,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. How’s your hand?”

  Ray frowned, and held it up. He looked at it as if it were an alien object someone had grafted to the end of his arm without him realizing it. He stripped the tape away and the bandage underneath. The skin covering his once-burnt flesh was smooth and pink as a baby’s bottom. He grinned and wriggled his fingers.

  “All right,” Ray said, as if surprised. “It healed pretty fast. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so hungry. Grab a shower and get dressed and let’s go ge
t something to eat. I’m hungry again and I’ll bet you’re famished.”

  He was right. She was ravenous. She started to slip out of the other side of the bed, the sheet still drawn around her, and Ray grabbed it and pulled it away. Her first reactions were to cover her breasts and loins with her hands, but that was ridiculous. She blushed, but leaned close to him.

  “I could drink a case of you,” she said, “and still be on my feet.”

  “What?” Ray said, frowning.

  “It’s our song,” she told him, and laughed at his befuddled look. She grabbed him and kissed him hard, then let him go and, still blushing, walked self-consciously to the bathroom, his eyes following her every step.

  ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

  Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

  The anteroom was even more crowded after they piled out of Barnett’s office when the meeting ended. Barnett stayed behind to continue his prayer vigil.

  Digger Downs had been chatting up Sally Lou and Mushroom Daddy was watching the kid Secret Service agent, Alejandro something or other, who was ostensibly on guard duty, make Sally Lou’s pens and pencils wriggle around on her desk as if they were snakes.

  “Very cool, man,” Daddy said. “Animation. That’s a power I could dig. Kind of like Mickey in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Ever watch that movie stoned, man? The dancing mushrooms are just hilarious.”

  Sascha was gone. Barnett had intercommed Sally Lou to get Jerry a reservation on the next available flight to New York. Sascha had gone ahead to the airport to make sure there weren’t any screw-ups. Downs looked intently at Jerry and Fortunato as they exited Barnett’s office, dropping his try at charming Sally Lou. “Something’s going on,” he said. “I can tell.”

  Fortunato grimaced. “I suppose I owe you the whole story. The boy’s down in our suite, still sleeping. Come along, and I’ll tell you.”

  They left the office together, and Sally Lou turned to the phone bank.

  “What’s up, man?” Mushroom Daddy asked Jerry, breaking off his conversation with the Secret Service kid, who looked somewhat relieved.

  “Heading back to New York,” Jerry said. “I’ve got to pick up something at the Jokertown Clinic.”

  He figured there was no sense in spreading the real story around. Mushroom Daddy nodded.

  “Might as well go with you, man,” Daddy said. He looked very sad. “I was planning on driving my van back, but it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen. It’s gone, man. I only had three hundred thousand miles on it.”

  Jerry felt sympathetic. To a point. “Shit happens, man,” he said.

  Mushroom Daddy nodded philosophically. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Sally Lou looked up from the phone she’d just answered, blank-eyed.

  “Uh,” she said, “Uh—”

  “What is it, man?” Daddy asked.

  “Armed men are attacking the Bower,” she said in an oddly-calm voice, as if stunned by the news. “They’re trying to reach the penthouse.”

  “Shit,” Jerry said. “The Allumbrados! Get Barnett on the horn.” She nodded rapidly.

  “Tell him what’s happening,” Jerry said. “Tell him to freeze the elevator banks. With any luck we can catch a bunch of those assholes between floors if they’re dumb enough to try to come on up on the lifts. Call Fortunato’s suite. Call Ray. Try to find Angel. Let them know what the Hell is happening. We’ll go downstairs and check things out.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Alejandro said.

  “Your duty’s with Barnett—” Jerry began.

  “My duty is to stop anyone coming after him. He’s safe here with the other agents guarding the corridor, at least for awhile. Besides, you’ll need me downstairs.”

  “All right,” Jerry said. “No sense wasting time arguing over who belongs where. Come on.”

  They went to the north stairwell at a run, stopping only briefly to tell the agents on duty in the corridor what was happening, and headed downstairs. They went down half a dozen flights, before Alejandro, leading the way, suddenly pulled up short.

  “What’s the matter?” Jerry asked. “You okay?”

  Alejandro nodded silently, and drew an automatic from his shoulder holster. “I am,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid that I can’t say the same for you two.”

  “Hey, man,” Mushroom Daddy said, “that’s so not-cool.”

  “I don’t want to do this,” Alejandro said, “but blood must sometimes be spilled in the service of the Lord.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jerry asked. “You’re a Secret Service agent!”

  Alejandro nodded. “I am. I am also a perfecti in the service of Our Lord, a somewhat higher master whom I am even more tightly bound to serve.”

  Shit, Jerry thought. What—

  Mushroom Daddy moved. He swiveled on one foot, lashing out with the other, catching the turncoat secret service agent on his gun hand. The agent lost his grip on the automatic, and it went clattering down the stairs. Alejandro went after it like a cat after a fleeing mouse.

  “Run!” Daddy said, and for once the hippie made sense.

  He and Jerry turned and fled back up the staircase. Jerry hit the steel fire door just as a bullet ricocheted off it near his head, reverberations from the gunshot pounding his eardrums like tiny hammers. He and Mushroom Daddy pushed through the door, then closed it behind them, leaning against it and breathing deeply.

  “Where’d you learn how to do that?” Jerry panted.

  “Bruce Lee movies, man,” Mushroom Daddy said. “He’s the king.”

  “Well, thanks,” Jerry said.

  “No problemo, man,” Daddy said. “Even a pacifist has to kick ass sometimes.” He paused to take a deep breath. “What do we do now?”

  Jerry shook his head. It was clear that the plan to go back to the city to get a dose of the Trump has no longer feasible. There was nothing much they could do, now, that seemed remotely helpful.

  ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

  Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

  Angel was still sufficiently self-conscious to dress in the bathroom.

  Pity, Ray thought. He loved watching beautiful women get into clothes. And out of them, for that matter. He was particularly interested in seeing her in the underwear he’d picked up. Though he was sufficiently realistic to get her a plain, boring sports bra to wear under her new jumpsuit, he’d also picked up a few rather more lacy numbers for casual wear. He stuck with thong panties all around, though. You couldn’t beat those for looks and all-around wearability.

  Angel came out of the bathroom, a concerned look on her face.

  “Don’t you think this is a little low cut?” she asked, gesturing at the front of the new outfit.

  Ray shook his head in admiration. “No,” he said. “I’d say that it’s just about right.”

  “And a little too bright?” she asked.

  He shook his head again. “Nope. It’s about time you got out of black, babe. It has its place in a wardrobe, but it can get depressing if you wear it all the time. Red suits you.”

  “If you say so,” Angel said uncertainly.

  Ray nodded enthusiastically. “I do. Now let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  She smiled. “Me too.”

  Ray’s room was on the first floor above the lobby and shop level. When possible he always took rooms on the first floor. He didn’t like to deal with elevators in either emergencies or on an everyday basis. They went down a flight of stairs that led from the room block to the hotel lobby, and Ray immediately knew that something was wrong. He could smell it even before he saw it. It was an odor he knew well, a mixture of blood and gunpowder residue.

  “What in the bleeding Hell?” he asked aloud.

  He and Angel stared at each other, then gazed around the lobby. It was deserted, except for a couple of bodies laying in pools of blood. Some were moving feebly or groaning, most were not.

  “We’ve got to help them,” Angel said.

  Ray grabbed he
r arm as she started forward. “First we have to find out what the Hell is happening,” he said. “Split up. Look around outside. I’ll check the lobby. Don’t go far, and if you see anything that might explain this, for Christ’s sake, come and get me.”

  Angel nodded. “Don’t blaspheme,” she told him.

  “Right.” He grabbed her by the upper arm. “And whatever you do, be careful.”

  She smiled briefly, dazzling him, and was gone. He turned and headed for the shops lining the lobby.

  The only person in the first one he went into was a gray-uniformed security guard who was bravely defending the deserted store from non-existent looters. The guard was a badly shaken youngster with badly shaking hands. Ray was glad he didn’t have a gun or else he would have shot someone, probably himself, out of fear-induced ineptitude. He flinched when Ray marched up to him and tried to duck under the counter by the cash register, but Ray hauled him up.

  “Get a grip, Howard,” he said, reading the kid’s name off his tag above the fancy badge pinned to his shirt pocket. He reached for his own identification wallet, flipped it open, and shoved it into the kid’s face. “My name is Billy Ray. I’m a federal agent. You got that Howard?”

  The kid stuttered a frightened, “Y-y-y--yes s-s-s-sir,” that Ray almost interrupted three or four times out of sheer impatience.

  “What’s going on out there, Howard?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” the kid said. “But there’s dead men out there in the lobby. Some of them are security guards.” He said that as if it were the most shocking thing imaginable, and started to cry. Ray shook him by the collar until his teeth rattled.

  “Snap out of it, goddamn it,” he said. The Allumbrados had come after them. Again. It had to be them. The persistent bastards. But no one would believe the story if he told it the way it really was. He let go of Howard’s collar, took out a pen and scribbled a name and a phone number on the back of a card he took out of his wallet. “I want you to call this number,” he said in clear and precise tones. “Tell them Billy Ray told you to report to Nephi Callendar. Tell him that a gang of aces are trying to assassinate ex-President Leo Barnett under the guise of robbing the hotel. Tell him to get help out here, pronto, or else the Secret Service will have a dead ex-President on their hands. You got all that Howard?”