Wild Cards [07] Dead Man's Hand (33 page)

"Like what?" Blaise wanted to know.

"Well," said Jay, "like you really should make sure a guy is unarmed before you piss him off." He made a gun of his hand, aimed it at Blaise, winked broadly.

The boy was not impressed. "You're unarmed," he said. Jay smiled sweetly.

Blaise made a nice crisp popping sound when he vanished. He didn't even have time to look surprised.

Jay was standing there with his finger pointing at empty air when the door to the suite opened and a haggard-looking Dr. Tachyon walked in, saw him, and frowned. "Doc," Jay said, trying to sound innocent, "I swear, I didn't know it was loaded."

9:00 A.M.

Brennan entered the church and watched Quasiman for a few minutes as he washed the stained-glass window that depicted the passion of Jesus Christ, Joker.

"Hello." The joker greeted Brennan cordially as Brennan approached, setting the butt of his long-handled squeegee on the floor and leaning on it as if it were a spear.

"I have to see Father Squid," Brennan said.

Quasiman dropped the squeegee as the hand holding it suddenly vanished. He calmly looked down to where it had been, as if this were something he was used to. After a moment Brennan felt a blast of cold air and caught a whiff of an unbearable stench and Quasiman's hand was back. He leaned over and picked up the squeegee.

"He's meditating in the chancellery," Quasiman said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Brennan nodded. "I know the way." He moved to go by, but the joker laid a hand on his forearm. It was still as cold as ice, but Quasiman either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Do you know who did it yet?" he asked. Brennan shook his head.

"Then you still may need me?"

"Quite possibly."

Quasiman let go of Brennan's arm. "I'll be ready," he said, then added, "I hope."

I hope so, too, Brennan thought, but only nodded and went past.

In the chancellery Father Squid was in his favorite meditative posture.

"Hello, Sergeant."

The priest started. His eyes snapped open and he looked up at Brennan. He smiled slightly, quivering the tendrils that hung down over his mouth.

"I could never have snuck up on you like that in the old days," Brennan said, sitting down across the desk from the priest.

Father Squid nodded from the comfortable chair where he'd been dozing. "I'm older than I was in the old days. I also sleep a lot better."

Brennan smiled, though there was little humor in his expression. "I did, too, for a while."

"Why don't you give it up and try to find the peace I have?"

"I tried," Brennan said. "I even joined a monastery for a while. A Zen monastery" He smiled at the look of astonishment on the priest's face. "But I was never one of the better students. Violence follows me like an unwelcome shadow. I rarely seek it out, Father, but it finds me wherever I hide."

"So we're back to `Father,' are we?"

Brennan shrugged. "Whatever you prefer. How many times did you make sergeant, anyway?"

Father Squid smiled. "Four times."

"And you were busted back to private each time."

"Well, I wasn't one for following the rules back then."

"Sometimes you had cause not to," Brennan said. "The Joker Brigade was just an excuse to kill off as many of you as possible."

"Maybe. But there were some good soldiers in it." Father Squid smiled at Brennan. "And some of the units we served with weren't so bad. You never cared if a man had feathers, fur, or hair, or whether he had tentacles on his face and rows of suckers on his hands."

"We were brothers-in-arms," Brennan said softly. "That was all that mattered."

They looked at each other for a long moment, reliving memories of fifteen years gone by.

"What did you do after the war?" Brennan finally asked. "Not much that I'm proud of. I sold my services for a while. But everywhere I went, as bad as it was in the joker Brigade, as bad as Jokertown was back home, I found that jokers were generally treated worse outside America." He shrugged massive shoulders. "I tried to do something about it for a while, but I fear I actually did more harm than good."

"I heard once," Brennan said, "that a man called Squidface ran with the Black Dog. I wondered if it was you."

"It was," the priest said heavily. "And much do I regret those days. Never will I be able to do enough penance to cleanse my soul of the horror of the things I did in the name of
my
people."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Brennan said quietly. "The bad forget them. The good try to make up for them."

"Well," the priest said, his nictitating membranes working quickly, "I'm the one who should be offering spiritual comfort, my son."

Brennan smiled. "Unlike you, I'm afraid that I may be beyond redemption. I could use your help with something else, though."

"The murder."

Brennan nodded. "I've hit a dead end. I've run out of clues and have no one to turn to. I realized last night that you were Chrysalis's confidant, maybe even her confessor. I remembered the bequest she'd left you, and some whispers I'd heard about her secret files."

Father Squid shook his head. "Her bequest was merely a suitcase full of money that she'd stashed away if she ever had to flee the city on short notice. It will do much to aid the poor of my parish, but little, I fear, to help track down her killer."

Brennan grimaced. "Then she never told you anything that might have a bearing on her death?"

"If she did, it was in the sanctity of Confession and is an unshakable confidence that can never be broken."

"Even if her murderer goes free?"

The priest sighed heavily. "Even if her murderer goes free."

Brennan stood, looked steadily at the priest. "You
have
changed," he said. "Sergeant Squidface knew when justice and honor took precedence over a rigid system of rules."

"Sometimes, Captain, I despair of my soul. Sometimes I fear I am as poor a priest as you claim to have been a student of Zen."

Brennan suddenly smiled. "Sometimes, Bob, I think we're both guilty of slinging our share of bullshit."

The priest's tentacles shook with laughter. "You are correct," he said. "Well-Chrysalis did tell me things in the sanctity of the confessional that I cannot reveal to you. But I can tell you that you are overlooking a source of information." He paused dramatically. "Her neighbors, Daniel," Father Squid said. "Her downstairs neighbors."

Brennan's expression was puzzled as Father Squid rose ponderously to his feet.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for the ten o'clock Mass."

10:00 A.M.

Breakfast arrived as Jay was climbing out of the shower. He toweled himself dry, wondering what he was supposed to do about the damp bandages around his ribs, and slipped into the clothes Tachyon had loaned him. The sleeves were too short and the pants showed off two inches of pale white ankle, but otherwise the suit fit well enough. The only problem was, it was puce.

Tachyon was seated in front of the room-service tray buttering a slice of toast when Jay emerged from the bedroom. Blaise, stretched out across an armchair, looked up and sniggered. Tachyon gave his grandson a stern look. "Blaise, did you enjoy your ride on the luggage carousel?"

The boy looked sullen. "No. I felt stupid."

"Then by the Ideal, you will mind your manners," Tachyon told him, "or I will have Mr. Ackroyd teleport you back to the Atlanta airport."

"I can't help it if he's funny," Blaise complained. "He looks like a fruit."

"Those are my clothes," Tachyon pointed out stiffly. He looked at Jay. "Myself, I think it's a dramatic improvement."

"I'm with the kid," Jay said. Blaise looked surprised. Then he grinned. Jay whipped up his finger in a quick-draw move, got the boy in his sights. Blaise flinched. "Gotcha," Jay said. He smiled. So did Blaise. Popping the kid halfway across Atlanta had done wonders for their rapport.

"He's enough of a rapscallion without your encouraging him," Tachyon complained.

"Ah, he's okay," Jay said, pulling a chair over to the room-service cart. "For a Takisian." He lifted the silver dome off his plate and attacked the eggs benedict wolfishly. They weren't as good as the eggs benedict at Aces High, but he was hungry enough not to give a damn. Hiram always said Jay had a Naugahyde palate anyway.

Tachyon was fastidiously patting his lips with a napkin and Jay was mopping up the last of the yolk with a piece of toast when the knock came at the door. Tachyon stood. "Who's there?"

"Carnifex. Open up, I don't have all day"

Tachyon glanced back at Jay. "Let him in," Jay said. "Ray's tough, but there's nothing he can do against you, me, and the Cisco Kid over there." He gestured toward Blaise.

The alien nodded and opened the door. Carnifex glanced around and stepped into the suite, wearing his skintight white uniform that outlined every muscle and tendon in his body. The hood was thrown back to reveal a face that looked like it had been patched together out of spare parts. "Regs say we're supposed to stay out of the political bullshit," Ray told Tachyon with disdain. "Good for you. Otherwise I'd have to whip your ass. You been hanging around Braun too much, I guess. Some of it must have rubbed off."

Tachyon's mouth tightened. "Say what you came to say, Ray," he told the government ace. "Your opinions on political and moral issues interest me not in the slightest."

"Gregg wants to see you," Billy Ray said.

"The sentiment is not reciprocated," Tachyon said. "You'll see him," Ray said, with a crooked smile. "Gregg said to tell you he has a proposition he wants to discuss."

"I have nothing to discuss with the senator."

"Scared?" Ray wanted to know. "Don't worry, I'll hold your hand if you want." He shrugged. "Come or don't come, either way it's no skin off my nose. But if you don't, you're going to regret it." The ace in the white suit looked around the suite: at the windows Turtle had shattered, the television Hiram had dropped, the urine stain on the sofa. "Must have been a hell of a party," he said to Tachyon. "Somebody ought to teach you to clean up after yourself, doc. This place is a mess."

He was going out the door when Jay called out. "Hey, Carny."

Ray turned around with a dangerous glint in his green eyes. "That's Carnifex, asshole."

"Carnifex Asshole," Jay repeated. "I'll try and remember. How many of those Good Humor suits you own?"

"Six or eight," Carnifex said suspiciously. "Why?"

"Must be hell to get the bloodstains out," Jay said. Ray just stared at him. "Stay out of my way, shamus," he said, "or you'll find out firsthand." He slammed the door behind him.

"Shamus," Jay said. "He actually called me shamus. God, I'm so mortified." He turned to Tachyon. "You gonna go?"

The little man straightened. "I must."

Jay sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say something like that."

Brennan dropped Jennifer off half a block from the Crystal Palace and then cruised on by. Given the mysterious note warning them about the Palace, this seemed the safest way to check out the existence of the neighbors that Father Squid had told him about. Jennifer would scout in her insubstantial form, then come and get Brennan if the coast was clear.

Brennan drove past the Palace and into the alley upon which the service entrance fronted. He killed the engine and flicked on the radio while waiting for Jennifer to return.

The news from Atlanta was more cheering than it had been the night before. Apparently the initial reports of Jack Braun's demise had been greatly exaggerated. He was still alive. Golden Boy's ace had saved him again.

Brennan's train of thought was interrupted by a suddenly blaring bullhorn that froze him behind the wheel.

"You in the car, this is the police. Come out with your hands up! We've got you covered. Come out with your hands up!"

Brennan sat behind the wheel for an instant longer, his mind racing through then discarding half a dozen escape plans. He watched through the windshield as three policemen approached. The two in uniform had pistols pointed right at him. The third, following a pace behind, was Maseryk.

He put his hands up, and then with slow, exaggerated movements opened the door and got out of the car. He stood waiting for them with no expression at all on his face. "Couldn't keep out of it, could you?" Maseryk asked. "How's Kant?" Brennan replied.

A shadow of something crossed Maseryk's face. "Still a little shaky, but better."

One of the uniforms had opened the back door of the car while the other kept a bead on Brennan.

"It's him," the first said excitedly. "The bow 'n' arrow killer." He brandished Brennan's bow case.

"You had the Palace staked out, waiting for her killer to return?" Brennan said.

Maseryk shrugged. "It seemed like an idea."

Brennan shook his head in disgust. That was what the note meant. Goddamn.

"All right," the first patrolman said. "Put your hands on the fender. Feet back and spread your legs."

Brennan put his hands down, turned to comply. He didn't move fast enough, so the cop kicked his feet further apart and padded him down, finding the knife Brennan carried in an ankle sheath.

"All right, turn around." The cop was smiling as Brennan did. "We caught him, by Jesus, we caught the big, bad vigilante. Put your hands behind your back, big guy."

"Shut up, Chris," Maseryk said wearily as Brennan complied. He continued to speak in the same weary monotone as the patrolman cuffed Brennan. "You have the right to remain silent.. ."

Brennan said nothing, nor offered any resistance. His face was hard as stone as they led him away to a patrol car parked out of sight past a turn in the alley.

Tachyon was practically shaking when he flung open the bedroom door, his bright hair plastered to his forehead by a cold sweat. He looked like he was about to recycle his breakfast. Even Blaise, who'd been talking and joking with Jay, had the sense to shut up when he saw the look in his grandfather's eyes. "Mr. Ackroyd, come in here, please," Tach said. "I need to talk to you."

Jay got to his feet with a shrug. His pants rode up past his ankles. He tried to yank them down as he trailed Tachyon into the sitting room. "What did Hartmann want?" He poked around the room-service tray as he spoke, looking for something edible.