Jokers Wild

"Whatever you did to Imp, lady, try to do it to him." Specfor pointed to the Astronomer, who turned to look at him. Spector locked eyes and tried to force his death into the old man's mind. He felt the Astronomer block him off "Do it now," he yelled at Cordelia. Pain flickered in the old man's eyes and he reached for his heart. It was like Spector figured. The Astronomer couldn't block two ace powers at once, and Cordelia's was getting through.

Spector kept pushing hard mentally. The Astronomer couldn't look away now that their eyes were locked.

The Astronomer dropped to his knees. "Kill you all," he said, just loud enough for them to hear.

"Not this time, you old fuck." Spector's breathing was getting ragged from the strain.

"What are you doing?" Veronica was awake and looking at Cordelia.

"I don't know. I've never done it before."

The Astronomer slid his right hand underneath the skin and into his own chest. He screamed.

"Jesus, let's get the hell out of here." Veronica grabbed Cordelia by the wrist and dragged her toward the door. Spector broke contact and stared for a moment at the muscles in the Astronomer's forearm. The old man was massaging his heart to keep it going. The Astronomer stared hatefully at Spector. "Dead. All of you."

Spector ran after the women. "Hey, come back. We have to finish him now" He heard a hiss as the Astronomer started breathing again. "Fuck it. Somebody else will have to do it."

Spector ran through the apartment toward the elevator. Veronica had her dress caught on the elevator door and was tearing at it to get free. Spector dived inside the elevator, knocking Veronica down and putting another tear in her already-ruined dress. Cordelia punched the button for the ground floor. The cables creaked and the car began to go down.

"I don't get it," Jay said. "I just don't get it. Not milk. Not lemon juice. Heat doesn't do a thing. The impressions are too faint to be worth a bucket of warm spit. I just don't get it." He slammed the notebook shut with a sound of disgust, and stared down morosely at the bamboo pattern on the blue cloth cover. Hiram stood by the window, peering out around the corner of a torn shade. Jay's tiny two-room office was on the fourth floor of a dilapidated brick building on 42nd Street, half a block off Broadway. From the window he could see the marquee of the Wet Pussycat Theater. Alternating messages flashed in blue and red on the neon sign to his left. GIRLS GIRLS NAKED GIRLS was blue, while ALL-DAY ALL-NIGHT ALL-TOPLESS was red. Popinjay said he met a nice class of people in the building.

Hiram dropped the shade and turned away from the lights. Jay's desk was covered with the remains of the pizzasausage, mushrooms, extra cheese, anchovies on Ackroyd's half that they'd finished an hour ago. Hiram had been giving his power a workout, and it had left him drained and famished. The pie had helped. He wished they had another. Instead, they had three rather troublesome books.

"We can't stay here," Hiram said, lowering himself to sit on the radiator. He'd let his real weight return for the last few hours, to give himself a rest, and the ladderback chair Jay kept for clients hadn't been equal to the task. Hiram wasn't sure he was either; he felt exhausted. "They have to be looking for us," he continued. "Sooner or later they'll find your office."

" I don't know why," Ackroyd said. "The clients never do."

"Droll," said Hiram. " I hope you retain your sense of your humor when people begin shooting at us."

"No one's shown yet," Popinjay pointed out. "Hey, Yankee Stadium's a long walk, especially on one foot."

"A foot and a half," Hiram said.

"For all we know, Demise is still up on top of the scoreboard, and Loophole is still sitting by the phone, wondering whatever became of him."

Hiram stood, frowning. He was very tired. Lack of sleep was begi

"Makes us the odd men out," Ackroyd said. "Everybody else sure as hell wants it."

"Precisely," Hiram told him. "I'm going to call Latham. I want you on the other line."

The detective lifted an eyebrow. Hiram fished the paper Chrysalis had given him out of his jacket pocket and went out to Ackroyd's waiting room, a tiny cubicle filled to the point of claustrophobia with a dead orange sofa, a gray steel desk, and the receptionist, an extremely buxom blonde whose mouth was pursed in a perpetual O of surprise. Her name was Oral Amy; Jay had found her at a place called Boytoys somewhere in the East Village. Hiram lifted her by her hair, seated himself in her chair, picked up the phone, and dialed.

It rang twice. "Latham."

"I wont mince words with you," Hiram said crisply. "This is Hiram Worchester. We have your books." He heard Jay pick up the extension.

" I don't know which books you're referring to."

"Of course you do," Hiram said in aggrieved tones. "Hiram," Jay said, "he's just covering his ass, in case we're recording this. Isn't that right, Latham?"

There was a moment of thoughtful silence. Finally Latham said, "It's quite late. Let's speed this along. What's the purpose of this call?"

Hiram pulled at his beard and considered his words. "A legal matter," he said. "Let us suppose a hypothetical case, purely for purposes of discussion. Say I had, very i

"Assuming these books had indeed been acquired i

"Certainly," Hiram said. "In fact, in our hypothetical case, I'm sure that very thought might have been on my mind when I liberated the books from the custody of a notorious wanted felon. I can't help but speculate on how the felon acquired them. Theft, perhaps?"

"If so, the owner might be quite grateful for their safe return. A reward might even be in order."

"The act is its own reward," Hiram said. "Hey!" Jay protested.

"Quiet," Hiram said. "Now, Mr. Latham, since we're discussing stolen property here, the correct procedure would be to turn over the books to the police."

"Technically, yes, but if there was a question of charges, the property might be impounded as evidence. The rightful owner might conceivably find that inconvenient."

"I see,-" Hiram said. "Now I think we understand each other. Let's be blunt. I don't know who the owner is, and I'm not likely to, am I?"

"Perhaps not."

"I do know that you represent him, however. No, don't deny it. I'm too tired for more of these games. Your client wants his notebooks back? Fine. I'm a businessman, Mr. Latham, not a stamp thief or a racketbuster. Let us do some business, and you can have the books back. Here are the terms. First, no charges or retaliation against me, my restaurant, or any of my friends, including Mr. Ackroyd. The lawsuit against him will be dropped." Hiram cleared his throat and leaned forward. Oral Amy was staring up at him from the floor, mouth open wide as if even she were a little surprised at what he was doing. "Second," he said firmly, "the protection racket at the Fulton Street Fish Market will be terminated immediately. Gills and the other fishmongers will be free to conduct their business without any further harassment or fear. Third, I want Bludgeon to go to prison."