Lowball

by George R. R. Martin

  But Ana had heard both sides of that story, and John had screwed up as well. He’d never trusted Kate. He kept assuming she would run off with someone else, someone with power—someone like DB. And he threw that in her face. She’d told him she loved him, and he never really believed her, so she walked. Now, Kate had her first real boyfriend in years. Ana wondered how John felt about that, if he even knew. He had to know—Kate was a celebrity, the pictures had been in the magazines.

  They’d all met in the first season of American Hero—Ana, Kate, and DB as contestants, John working as a PA for his mother Peregrine, producer of the show and arguably the most famous wild carder of all time. Those days seemed dream-like, surreal. Part of some fun-house carnival ride that ultimately meant nothing. So much had happened since then, but that was where it all started. The show was still going strong, riding high in the ratings; Ana didn’t pay attention.

  DB paced, pounding a double beat on his torso.

  “You in town for anything special?” John said to Kate, as if they were alone in the room.

  “Yeah, charity pitching derby at the All-Star Game.”

  “Oh yeah? Cool.”

  “You?”

  “I’ve been traveling, I guess. Here and there.”

  This was the most gratingly awkward conversation of all time. Ana wondered if she could fix it by feeding them more margaritas. She went to the kitchen to get started on that.

  “I figured you’d be staying with your mom,” Kate said.

  John rolled his eyes. “I’d have to spend all night hearing about how I should go back to work for her on American Hero.”

  “Oh, no,” Kate said, with genuine outrage.

  The drumming and pacing stopped. “Hey, maybe you can get the Winged Wench to explain this. Unless you know where it came from.”

  He held out a DVD case, which he’d retrieved from his coat pocket. Poor quality, low production values, with a photocopied cover shoved behind cheap clear plastic. The title: AMERICAN HERO UNCUT, VOL. I.

  John gave a long-suffering look at the ceiling. “My mother had nothing to do with that. I had nothing to do with that.”

  Kate yanked the DVD case out of DB’s hand and stared at it. “What the hell is this?”

  Ana drifted over to Kate’s side, to study the case over her shoulder. The image on the front featured DB, all his arms wrapped around the svelte figure of Jade Blossom, another of the first season American Hero contestants. Naked Jade Blossom, Ana noted. Her state of undress was obvious even through the shadowed, unfocused quality of the picture. Uncut, indeed—unauthorized footage from the reality show’s seemingly infinite number of cameras.

  Somehow, Ana couldn’t be entirely surprised that such a thing existed. What did surprise her was not stumbling on the footage online somewhere. Now that she knew it existed, she probably wouldn’t be able to avoid it.

  Kate gaped for a moment, then covered her mouth with her hands and spit laughter. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. But it is.” She might have been having some kind of fit, doubled over, holding her gut. “Karma’s a bitch!”

  “Look at the back,” DB said, making a turning motion with one of his hands. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  When Kate turned the case over to look at the back, Ana almost turned away. The back showed three more pictures: two more of DB, captured in the moment with two entirely different contestants of the show. And one of Kate, her back to the camera, towel sliding off her shoulders as she stepped into the shower. The picture was a tease, of course. How much did the video actually show?

  Ana couldn’t tell if the red in Kate’s cheeks was from alcohol or embarrassment. When Kate set her jaw and hefted the DVD case as if to throw it, all three of them reached for her, making halting noises. Glancing at them, Kate sighed, and merely tossed the DVD back to DB, without her ace power charging it. DB fumbled it out of a couple of hands before managing to catch it.

  Kate said, “At least I can say there aren’t any sex tapes of me. Unlike some people.”

  “You had your chance,” DB muttered.

  Kate glared. The TV played through the pause; two characters were making out in a hospital supply closet.

  “Volume I,” Ana said. “So how many of those are there?”

  “Who the fuck knows?” DB said. “The guy wanted me to sign it for him.”

  “Whoever’s doing these has to have access to the show’s raw footage.” She looked at John, inquiring.

  He said, “Could be anyone with access to the editing process. Mom and Josh have a pack of lawyers working on it—you can imagine what it’s doing to the American Hero brand. But there’s not much they can do about it once the videos hit the web.”

  Ana went to the kitchen and stuck a plate of burritos in the microwave. Food. Food would make everything better. And more margaritas. If she could just get everyone commiserating over the shared trauma rather than making accusations, maybe she could salvage the party.

  “I do not need this right now,” Kate said, and started pacing. “Oh my God, I should tell Tyler … but if he doesn’t know about it already maybe I shouldn’t tell him.…”

  “Who’s Tyler?” DB said.

  John smirked. “Haven’t you heard? It’s been all over Aces!. Kate’s new boyfriend—she’s dating nats now.”

  “John, don’t be an asshole,” Ana said. She’d had no intention of bringing this up while the love triangle from hell was in her five-hundred-square-foot apartment. She’d kill John for poking Kate like this.

  Kate plowed on. “I told you then, I didn’t break up with you because you lost your powers. I broke up with you because I couldn’t keep … propping up your self-esteem. You kept making the whole thing about you.”

  “Wait a minute, boyfriend? What boyfriend? Who is this guy?” DB said.

  Kate didn’t answer, and Ana sure wasn’t going to say anything.

  DB continued. “No, really—we can settle this. Tyler, huh? I don’t care if he’s a nat or the king of Persia, I want to meet him. You know, just to make sure he’s a nice guy.”

  “I can pick my own boyfriends, thank you very much,” Kate said.

  “Apparently not,” DB said, pointing three arms at John.

  Kate growled and cocked back her arm. Despite watching for it—hoping to minimize damage to the apartment—Ana hadn’t seen whatever projectile she picked up; but then, Kate always kept a few marbles in her pocket, for whenever she lost her temper.

  “Kate!” Ana yelled. “Cool it! No throwing in the house! Nobody uses any powers in the house! Got it?”

  The ace pitcher froze, a static charge dancing around her hand. For their parts, John and DB had both ducked, because she kept turning back and forth between them, unable to decide who to target first.

  Then her hand dropped. “You know what’s real rich? That neither one of you can figure out why I won’t go out with you.” She stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  The microwave dinged, and Ana said, with false brightness, “Anyone want burritos?”

  DB and John circled each other, but finally settled down, DB on the sofa and John on a chair in the kitchen. Ana shoved plates of food at them both, and miracle of miracles they ate. She decided against giving them any more margaritas, but took an extra-long drag on one herself before heading to the bathroom to knock on the door.

  “You okay?” she said to Kate, angling herself away from the rest of the apartment, hoping the boys weren’t listening even though she knew they were.

  The door wasn’t locked; Kate was sitting at the edge of the bathtub. Ana slipped in and closed the door. Leaned against it, just in case DB or John decided it was a good idea to try to sneak in.

  Kate didn’t look particularly angry or upset. She did look thoughtful, her brow furrowed and face scrunched up. Finally, she sighed. “It’s better knowing it’s out there than not knowing, right? I’m not really surprised, I guess. It’s just … annoying.”

  Ana quirked a
smile. “That’s the worst thing you can come up with? Not murderous rage?”

  “I’m too tired for murderous rage,” Kate said.

  “I’ll kick them out. Say the word and they’re gone,” Ana said.

  Kate sighed. “You can’t kick them out. They’re still friends. Let’s go get some food.”

  They hugged, and Ana liked to think some of the tension went out of Kate’s shoulders.

  When they emerged from the bathroom, John was there, holding a glass full of margarita, which he offered to Kate. Giving him a thin smile, she took it.

  DB was sitting contritely—as contritely as he could, anyway, slumping, his hands still in his lap—on the sofa. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you—I just thought you should know that these are out there.”

  “No, it’s okay. You’re right. Better to find out from a friend than in some random interview.”

  “Do I even need to ask if there’s any footage of me on those tapes?” Ana asked.

  DB winced. “They got everybody with that shower cam.”

  She thought for a minute. “Would it be wrong of me to be insulted if I didn’t show up on an American Hero bootleg sex tape?”

  “I think you need another drink,” John said. He’d produced a second glass from somewhere, and she was happy to take it.

  They couldn’t argue when they were eating. Ana was starting to be pleased with herself and her diplomatic skills. But, inevitably, conversation started again and circled back around. Wasn’t anything Ana could do to stop it.

  “So much for the hero part of the show,” DB grumbled around a bite of burrito. “Not like it’s been about anything but politics and sex scandals since the first season. Nobody’s trying to save the world.”

  “I’m trying,” Ana said softly. The margaritas were a warm flush through her system, making her talk more than she usually did. “Maybe it doesn’t look like much from the outside, when I spend most of my time in an office, but I’m trying.”

  Kate frowned. “Seventy-five K for children’s cancer research has to count for something.”

  “It does,” John said, maybe too eagerly. “At least I think it does.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile.

  DB said, “You guys hear what happened to Joe Twitch?”

  Joe Twitch, another first season veteran. Being on the show hadn’t helped him out at all, and he hadn’t saved anything in the end. After falling in with a very bad crowd, the ace had been gunned down in some messed-up police shoot-out.

  “Yeah,” Ana said, and the others nodded in grim agreement.

  Kate shook her head. “Let’s hear it for first season alumni. God, we’re a mess.”

  They weren’t, not really. Ana had her work, Kate had her charity fund-raising. After leaving the Committee, John had done volunteer work overseas, and DB donated a chunk of his concert earnings to the International Red Cross and other refugee aid organizations. He didn’t even publicize it. They were all trying, though it felt like spitting into the wind sometimes.

  “You know who probably knows something about those videos?” DB said. “Bugsy. He’s working for Aces! now, he knows everything. Right?” Bugsy, Jonathan Hive, another first season alumnus who now wrote for a tabloid. So maybe they weren’t all on the side of angels.

  “Not a bad idea,” John said. “So who wants to actually call him?”

  “We had a little talk awhile back,” Kate said, not looking particularly pleased. “He wouldn’t tell us even if he knew. But he’s got his own problems going on, we don’t need to bug him. Um. Sorry. No pun intended.”

  John smirked. “I’m sure you did talk to him, after that story he did on you and your new boyfriend.”

  “John!” Ana and Kate both declared, cutting off that track before it went further.

  More eating. Ana wished for continued silence. The episode on the TV had wound down, and she wondered if she should turn the DVD back on, for a distraction. DB said to his plate, carefully, “I don’t suppose you have that copy of the magazine with the story Bugsy did—”

  Kate raised her fork to throw it.

  “You really want to know where those bootleg DVDs are coming from?” Ana burst, interrupting. “Why not ask the guys selling them.”

  “And I suppose you know who that is?” DB said.

  “Sure—there’s one of those stalls on the Bowery, just a couple blocks from here. You know those creeps who sell bootlegs CDs and everything. I’m sure he’s got some of these. Ask him where they’re coming from.”

  DB shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

  Ana suddenly wished she hadn’t said anything, but everyone else embraced the plan. Plates and glasses went into the kitchen sink, leftovers went into the fridge, and DB shrugged on his overcoat.

  “Aren’t you hot in that?” Kate asked wonderingly.

  “I’m incognito,” he said, and Kate squeaked out a stifled, tipsy laugh.

  In a very brief moment they were all on the stairs heading down and outside.

  Ana shouldn’t have had that second margarita. Or was that third? Not that it mattered. This was a bad idea, drunk or sober. John caught her arm when she stumbled on the stairs, asked if she was okay. She was sure she was fine, really. Right?

  After leaving Fifth, they walked a couple of blocks onto the Bowery. The street was busy—not late enough to have cleared out yet. The sky was dark, but headlights and streetlights and storefronts glared brightly. Some people marched, clearly on missions, to or from work or home or miscellaneous errands. Clumps of people moved together, laughing at each other, out for a night of fun. Like Ana and the others should have been, if they knew what was good for them. The Guatemalan woman who ran the mobile taquería that Ana liked leaned out the window of her truck and shouted in Spanish, and Ana answered, bueno, everything was just fine.

  This close to Jokertown, no one looked twice at someone who had an extra limb or three or was covered with a layer of fur or scales. But people were looking at DB.

  “That coat isn’t doing anything to disguise you,” Kate observed.

  DB scowled.

  Really, people were staring at all of them. And when people were staring at you in Jokertown, you knew you were in trouble.

  She almost walked right past the row of storefronts and streetside booths, selling everything from knockoff handbags to cheap souvenirs. It was almost a carnival along this stretch. A guy playing guitar and singing on the corner of Bond had his hat out. Another block or two along the Bowery and you’d be in Jokertown’s red light district. But this was where she’d seen the guy with the DVDs. Stopping to take stock, she glanced up the row, then pointed. “There it is.”

  The guy had wooden racks set up on folding tables, filled with CD and DVD cases that weren’t fooling anyone. The covers showed the right images for all the latest hit movies, but they were obviously fourth-generation photocopies. The plastic was cheap, warped, already coming apart. The DVDs inside wouldn’t be any more slick or reliable. Buyer beware.

  The guy didn’t do much business that Ana had ever seen. Downloading had replaced much of the pirate CD and DVD market, she imagined. But guys like this selling crap like this would probably never go away. Not everyone had a fancy computer.

  The four of them lined up in front of the stall. The stall owner, or proprietor, or clerk, or whatever, blinked back at them with round, dark eyes. A joker, he had a bony fan of flesh sprouting from his shoulder blades, through a modified slit cut into his T-shirt. Leathery and wrinkled, they didn’t look functional as wings, but who could tell.

  “Hey, hey. Ana, right? Wha-what can I do for you? Que pasa?” His accent might have been Puerto Rican. His smile was strained.

  She opened her mouth to say something, then completely forgot what it was she’d been about to say. Some accusation. Swearing, probably. This man was a criminal, she stood for truth and justice, she ought to do something about it. Shouldn’t she?

  “Where are they?” DB said, looming. The guy cringed, stammered, an
d DB grabbed the collar of his jacket and hauled him up. “I know you’re selling them, where are they?”

  “Michael, calm the hell down,” Kate muttered, hanging off one of DB’s arms.

  Ana spotted a Joker Plague CD that might have been used or might have been a bootleg; she decided not to tell the drummer about it. Stepping in front of DB, subtly edging him away from the stall, Ana reminded herself that she was an international agent for good and found her voice again. “He’s asking about special stuff that isn’t in the racks, that you sell under the table. Right?”

  The guy shrugged. A line of sweat dripped from his hairline. “Yeah, I got a lot of stuff. I mean, there’s, you know, the triple X stuff—”

  She shook her head. “No. Well, sort of. Outtakes from American Hero, bootleg behind-the-scenes stuff. I guess some of it’s rated X.…” She winced.

  His eyes widened, and Ana swore if he said something about her being too nice a girl for that sort of thing … “You sure you want to look at that stuff?” he asked instead. “All’a you. I mean you seem like nice kids, and I haven’t watched any of it myself—I’d never do that, you know—but I hear it gets kind of rough.”

  DB grumbled, “Don’t tell me about it—I was there for most of it, Bat Boy.”

  The joker cringed.

  Ana made soothing gestures toward them both. “We want to find out where the videos are coming from—who’s distributing them, who’s making them. Who might have access to the footage, you know?”

  “I don’t know any of that—I just get the boxes of ’em from the wholesaler. I don’t even look, you know?”

  “You have to look—you already said you had some. Can we see what you’ve got?” Maybe some of the other DVD cases would have identifying information on them, unlike DB’s copy.

  The joker wore a skeptical frown, but he crouched to pull a cardboard box from under the table and started pawing through it. “I’m telling you, most of what I got’s just porn, not from the show. You interested in any of that? I got a bunch of stuff here, ace on ace, ace on joker—”