Jokers Wild

Spector looked at the Astronomer. The old man was breathing noisily and his hands trembled. When he opened his eyes again, Spector would try his power. There wouldn't be a better opportunity. Spector stared at the Astronomer's eyelids and waited.

The Astronomer opened his eyes. There was still power there, too much for him to challenge. Spector turned away. "I wonder where the hell she's going?" he asked.

"The Jokertown clinic." The Astronomer laughed wheezily. "That's right, Demise. The place you were, born, so to speak."

"I'm not going in there," Spector said, shaking his head. "Yes, you are, Demise. You really have no choice." The Astronomer closed his eyes again. "No choice at all."

Spector clenched his teeth. The, old bastard was right. "You're sure she's going to the clinic."

"That's what she told the cab driver, Demise. There will he two other women. I want them all. Imp and Insulin will go inside with you." The Astronomer paused. "Just to back you up."

They rode in silence until the cab pulled up in front of the Jokertown clinic. The limo pulled past the cab and parked in front of a fire hydrant. The girl got out of the cab.

"Go get them." The Astronomer jerked his thumb in the direction of the clinic entrance.

Spector opened the door and stepped out of the limo. He walked slowly toward the brightly lit entrance. His guts were ice. He'd spent the worst days of his life in the clinic, most of them screaming. He'd had to kill an orderly to escape, and someone might recognize him and remember. Two women were coming down the stairs to meet the girl from the cab. One had dark hair and was wearing a black sequined dress. The other, also a brunette, had on a low-cut electric-blue lame dress slit up to mid-thigh.

"What happened?" asked the girl in the sweatshirt.

"It's Croyd," said the brunette. "We think he went into a coma or something. One minute he was fine, the next he's passed out and we can't wake him up."

"Bet you tried everything you could think of, though." The girl in the sweatshirt smiled. Spector wondered what her expression would be if she knew what was in store.

He heard car doors close behind him. Imp and Insulin were moving in. Spector couldn't make a break for it with Insulin around.

Spector heard muffled screams from inside. Glass from the entranceway shattered outward. A security guard bounced bleeding down the steps. Spector ran forward.

"Get the fuck out of my way, jerk-offs. Get away, or I'll feed you your own assholes." The speaker was one of the biggest, ugliest jokers Spector had ever seen. The thing's face was badly bruised. He raised a clublike hand, tearing the white hospital gown that only partially covered his oversized body. The joker saw the girls and smiled. They backed away from him toward the cab which was pulling away, tires screaming…

"Come to Poppa, little pussies."

Spector moved in as the joker grabbed the woman in the lame dress. She tried to knee him in the balls, but couldn't hit high enough. Spector looked at the dark-haired woman and squinted. It was the same girl who'd been in the subway station with the pimp. She looked even better dressed up. Spector took a step toward her.

"Who the fuck are you?" The joker had slung the other woman over his shoulder and leapt down the stairs at him. "One of the boys of September?"

Spector saw the punch coining and ducked; the blow grazed his left cheek and spun him to the ground. He rolled out of the charging joker's path. There was no way to lock eyes while he was moving so quickly. He turned at a scream behind him. Imp was dragging the dark blonde toward the limo. Insulin faced the giant and smiled.

The joker went to one knee. "Goddamn, what the fuck are you doing to me?" He dropped the woman and slumped over. The brunette pulled herself out from under him, tearing her dress. Insulin grabbed her by the elbow and pointed her down the street.

Spector sat up, thought about ru

"Me again," Spector said. "Looks like your visit is going to, be kind of short." She didn't react. "Tonight nobody's getting out alive." Still no reply.

He kicked the fallen joker in the face with his good foot as he walked past.

Chapter Twenty-one

2:00 a.m.

She glanced back, arched until her shoulder blades etched bony wings beneath her skin, but Tachyon failed to take the hint. He was agitatedly pulling the brush through his tum bled curls and staring sightlessly into the mirror. Frowning with irritation, Roulette reached back and unzipped the white silk gown. It whispered to the floor, brushing softly at her ankles.

The brush crashed onto the antique marble-topped dressing table scattering crystal bottles. "This day! What is it about this day that it always engenders so much grief? And they celebrate." He swept out an arm toward the closed window which could not completely block the sound of continued revelry. "Would you celebrate?" His violet eyes seemed to blaze in his pale face as he swung around to face her.

"No, but mine's a bleak nature." She took several steps toward him, but stopped short of touching him. "And I don't think you fully understand why they celebrate. It's not heedlessness, it's an attempt to survive. We have very few op-. tions when life plays its little jokes on us. We can laugh, hiding the hurt. We can die. Or we can be revenged. You hear the laughter, but I hear cries of pain."

"Pain. You talk to me of pain, I who have lived with it every day for forty years. You humans are fortunate. Your present time memory is mercifully short. The tragedies you endure fade quickly. Your minds draw a veil. It's not so with us."

He lifted the picture in its silver frame, staring at the delicate face captured there. His lips hardened, deepening the lines about eyes and mouth.

She felt again that tearing as the Astronomer stripped from her those buffering veils and released her demons. They lovingly presented each moment of loss and abandonment, and each repetition was as exquisitely painful as the one before. Her hand lashed out, and swept away the picture. It landed face down on the cold marble, and the glass shattered with a sound like frozen music. Tachyon lifted the photo, and held it protectively against his chest while Roulette stared in fascination at the crystal pattern left by the broken glass.

Reflecting waterfalls as the mirror broke, window glass like a scintillating snowfall across the streets…

His eyes were on her, seeming to burn her cheek. Slowly she faced him. Long lashes lowered as he studied the picture. Then the full force of his gaze was once more on her.

"You are absolutely right," he murmured cryptically, and opening a drawer in the dressing table he slid in the photo. Before it closed she saw the gleaming black metal of a. 357 Magnum.

In the midst of the public chaos, it seemed to Jack and Bagabond that they were starting to walk in circles. In the middle of the very core of the Big Apple, the pair started get ting the feeling that they might as well have been in trackless woods with no sign of the sun for navigation. The faces in the crowds started to look the same. The costumes all began to look alike. The only thing missing was a sixteen-year-old girl, tall and slim, with straight, black hair and dark eves.

They passed an alley and heard what sounded like cries. Bagabond shook her head and started to walk past. "Hold it," said Jack. He walked a few steps into the narrow passage. He saw several people he'd already encountered today on separate occasions. One was Jean-Jacques. He crouched protectively over one of the other dancers. This one, in tattered and dirty formal ballet getup, was lying sprawled on the alley floor. There was blood around his mouth.