Suicide Squeeze

17

Tyra

“Be careful with the car,” Co

The kid grunted, parked the Plymouth between a Land Rover and a Mercedes.

Co

If it had been anyone but Tyra

Co

He said, “Hi.”

“You came.” She turned the smile on full blast now, caught his sleeve, and led him into the house. “You look good in a tux.” She ran her hand down the lapel. “Like James Bond.”

“Which one? Co

“The new one. Remington Steele.”

She led him into the throbbing ebb and flow of the reception. Other tuxedos and evening gowns milling about, sipping champagne and exchanging prefabricated party chitchat. The place squirmed with culture and wealth and influence. One lady wore diamonds as big as peanuts around her neck. Co

But then there was Tyra

She stood close to him, whispered in his ear. Her breath was warm silk. “These are the Dybeks. Aren’t they magnificent? Last week in New York one of his pieces sold for eighteen thousand dollars at auction. He’s up-’n’-coming.”

Co

“Jasper Dybek is around here somewhere,” Tyra

“I tingle with anticipation.”

Tyra

Randy saw Tyra

She smiled. “I know, but it was good of you to show up. Randy, this is my friend Co

Co

To Co

Co

“Yeah, but not like this.” He nodded at the Dybeks. “That’s way too abstract.”

“If by abstract you mean a waste of everybody’s time,” Co

Randy started to laugh, then let it trail off.

A white-jacketed waiter glided by with a tray of champagne glasses. Co

Co

Co

“Dynamic displays of the human figure in fantastical contexts.”

“And what the hell does that mean in English?” He was trying to be polite. He really was. He drained both champagne glasses, looked around for the waiter. Maybe he could drink Professor Dan into bankruptcy.

Randy smiled. The guy wasn’t easily offended. “It’s basically fancy talk for comic-book art. In grad school, you have to translate simple things into fancy talk to make people believe you’re worth a damn. You may have noticed I’m not hobnobbing with the other grad students. They don’t really consider me a real artist.” He made air quotes with his fingers around the word real. “My dad says he’ll only keep paying my rent if I’m in school and earning passing grades. What I really want to do is start my own comic-book company and graphic novel publisher.”

Co

“That’s okay, I guess, but the indy companies are putting out the really cutting-edge stuff.”

Co

“I write and draw my own comic. It’s really the ultimate medium for the modern renaissance man.” He pulled a sheet of paper out of his ill-fitting tuxedo, unfolded it. A blue-ski

“What’s Planet X?”

“A comic-book and collectibles shop. I’m assistant manager.” He produced a business card. It had the name, address, and phone number of the shop. In the lower corner was Randy’s name followed by the words Superior Being.

Co

“Oh, his shop’s gone now,” Randy said. “Besides, we’ve always had a better selection. More gaming stuff too, D &D, Gamma World, Shadowrun.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Tyra

“Right. See you later, Co

“Good to meet you.”

Randy left toward the sound of distant ringing. Somebody was tapping a spoon against a water glass. Tyra

The view of the bay from the pool was perfect, moonlight glinting off water. A half dozen men and women smoked cigarettes, escaping the hubbub of the reception. Soft music wafted. Their eyes met, Tyra