Jokers Wild

Halfway up the block, a dark shape stepped out from the shadows to accost them. Popinjay's hand came out of his pocket fast, but Hiram grabbed his arm. "Don't," he said.

The shape moved under the light of a streetlamp. It was a heavy gray-haired woman in a shapeless green army jacket. The bottom half of her body was a single huge white leg, moist and boneless. She pushed herself forward like a snail. "Spare change?" she asked. "Spare change for a poor joker?"

Hiram found he could not look at her. He took out a wallet, gave her a five-dollar bill. As she took it from his hand, his fist clenched, and he cut her weight in half. It wouldn't last, but for a little while it would be easier for her.

A fire was burning in the vacant, debris-strewn lot beside the Crystal Palace. A dozen small twisted forms were huddled around it, and an animal of some sort was turning on a spit above the flames. At the sounds of footsteps, some of the creatures got up and vanished into the ruins. Others turned to stare, eves hot as embers in the darkness. Hiram paused. He didn't often come down to Jokertown, and now he remembered why.

"They won't bother us," Ackroyd said. "This is their time, when the streets are empty and the world's asleep."

"I think that's a dog they're cooking," Hiram said.

Jay took him by the arm. "If you're that interested, I'll have Chrysalis get you the recipe. Come on."

They climbed the steps, knocked.

The sign on the door said CLOSED, but after a moment they heard the dead bolt slide back and a man stood before them. He had a pencil-thin mustache, oily dark hair, and an expanse of taut skin where his eyes should have been.

"Sascha, Hiram," Jay Ackroyd said. "They here?" Sascha nodded. "In the taproom. Only two. They're clean."

Hiram heaved a sigh of relief. "Let's get this over with, then." Sascha nodded, and led them through a small antechamber to the main taproom of the Crystal Palace.

The only lights were those behind the long bar. The room smelled of beer and cigarette smoke, and the chairs had been upended on the tables. They sat in a booth, three of them. In the dimness, Chrysalis looked like a skeleton in an evening gown. The end of her cigarette glowed like the eyes of the lost souls outside. Loophole Latham was impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray three-piece, and his briefcase was on the table in front of him. Between them, wrapped in shadow, was the third man.

"Thank you, Sascha," Chrysalis said. "You can leave us now" When the echoes of his footsteps had died away, it was deathly quiet in the taproom.

Hiram wondered once again what the damnation he was doing here. Then he thought of Gills, swallowed hard, stepped forward. "We're here," he a

Latham stood up. "Mr. Worchester, Mr. Ackroyd," he said, as easily if this were just a business lunch.

The third person hissed. Something long and thin flickered out of his mouth and tasted the air. "We weren't sssure you would come." He leaned forward, thrusting his gaunt reptilian face into the light. He had no nose, just nostrils set flat into his face. His forked tongue moved constantly. "Ssso we meet again."

"Sorry you had to rush off like that this afternoon," Jay said. "I didn't quite catch the name."

"Wyrm," the reptile man said.

"Is that a first name or a last name?" Jay asked. Chrysalis laughed dryly. Latham cleared his throat. "Let's get on with this," he said. He sat down, spun the combination locks on his briefcase, clicked it open. "I've consulted with my client, and your terms are acceptable. No legal action will be taken against either of you, and the false-imprisonment charges will be dropped. I have the papers here, already signed by Mr. Seivers, who waives all his claims against you for the amount of one dollar."

"I'm not going to-" Hiram began.

"I'll pay the dollar," Latham said quickly. He handed a sheaf of legal papers to Ackroyd. The detective looked through them quickly, signed them in triplicate, returned two sets.

"Very good," the attorney said. "As for the fish market, without admitting any prior guilt or involvement, my client and his organization will henceforth take no interest in that area of the city. This is not something that can be committed to a legal instrument, of course, but Chrysalis is a witness to these proceedings and the organizations reputation is your surety."

"Their business is built on trust," Chrysalis confirmed. "If they're known liars, no one will deal with them."

Hiram nodded. "And Bludgeon?"

"I reviewed his case after our last conversation, and frankly, he is not the sort of man Latham, Strauss, cares to represent. We're dropping him."

Wyrm's smile showed a mouth full of yellowed incisors. "Would you like his head ssserved up on a platter?"

"That won't be-necessary," Hiram said. "I just want him to go to prison for what he did to Gills."

"Prissson it isss, then." His eyes were fixed on Hiram, and his tongue flickered out greedily. "And now, Fatman, you have all you wanted. Give usss the booksss! Now!"

There was a moment of tense silence. Hiram looked at Jay. The detective nodded. "Looks like all the bases are covered."

"Good," Hiram said. Now all that remained was to get it done, and get out of here alive, back to the sanity of his own life. He was about to speak when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move behind the bar. He turned.

Wyrm said, "I want the booksss. Quit wasssting my time."

"I thought I saw a reflection in the mirror," Hiram said. But there was nothing there now. The polished silver surface gleamed softly in the dim light, but no one moved.

"Where are the booksss?" Wyrm demanded.

"I'd like to know the answer to that question myself," another voice added.

He was standing in the door, a black hood pulled over his face, a complex bow in his hands. An arrow was pocked and ready.

Wyrm's hiss was pure poison.

Hiram gaped. "Who in damnation are you?"

As he spoke, a young woman wearing a black string bikini and nothing else stepped out of the mirror behind the bar. "Oh, shit," Popinjay offered.

Wvrm grabbed Chrysalis by the arm. "You ssset usss up, cunt. You'll pay for thisss."

"I had nothing to do with this," she said. She wrenched her arm free of his grasp, and looked at the masked man in the door. "Yeoman, I don't care for this," she told him.

"My regrets." He raised the bow, drew back on the arrow. "Unless the book is handed over, I'm going to put an arrow in the right eye of the gentleman in the three-piece suit." Latham regarded him emotionlessly.

"And you're always telling me to dress better," Jay Ackroyd said to Hiram. "See what it gets you?" He turned to the bowman. "The book isn't here. You don't think we'd be dumb enough to bring it with us?"

"Wraith, pat them down."

The woman in the bikini walked right through the bar and approached the table. Suddenly Hiram recognized her. She'd been wearing rather more clothes at Aces High, but he was sure she was the same young woman who'd vanished through his floor when Billy Ray had tried to apprehend her. It made him sad. She was young and attractive, far too lovely to be a criminal. Undoubtedly she'd been corrupted by evil companions.

She frisked Jay first, then Hiram. When she touched him, her hands seem to go insubstantial, sliding through the fabric of his clothes and even his skin as they moved up and down, searching. It gave him a shiver. "Nothing," she said. The archer lowered his bow.

"You know, I'm a little slow," Popinjay put in. "You're the bow-and-arrow vigilante, right? The ace-of-spades man. How many guys have you killed? Gotta be in double figures, right?"

Wraith's eyes went to her partner, and she looked a little startled. An i