Down And Dirty

"And how do you propose to accomplish that?"

"By making him believe that I am more dangerous to him than he is to me."

A smile quirked that strong mouth, vanished, began to grow by slow stages. Tachyon watched in fascination. It was the first time he'd ever seen Bre

"This is what I propose."

Order was restored. Fi

… his brains consumed by that repellant creature. He decided he just wasn't that noble.

By five A.M. the alien was free to leave. He made preparations, collected the limousine, met Bre

They parked in the alley behind the five-story gray-stone apartment building. Tachyon spread a lace tablecloth across the hood of the Lincoln and laid out breakfast: warm croissants, thermoses of hot tea and coffee. A selection of cheeses. Then, nibbling on a sliver of Camembert, he sent out the call. A siren's summons. Ten minutes later Kien Phuc stepped out the back door into the alley. Wyrm was with him. The joker reached for a gun, then hissed as Bre

Tachyon spread his hands in welcome. "Won't you join me, Mr. Phuc? While our two lieutenants keep us and each other honest." Tachyon proffered a plate, shrugged when Kien remained motionless. "You have

… irritated me, Mr. Phuc, but I was pleased when you tried your pathetic seizure of my clinic. It gave me the opportunity I had been seeking."

"For what?" Kien's voice grated out like rusty machinery starting after years of neglect.

"To warn you. I am a bad enemy to make," the alien said brightly, and spread jam on a croissant.

"What do you want?"

"First, to demonstrate how easily I can take your mind and compel you to do anything. Second, to make it clear to you that Jokertown is my territory, and third, to reach a truce."

"Truce?"

"I have my own interests to pursue, just as you have yours. Yours include prostitution and numbers ru

Kien's eyes slid to Bre

"Oh, no, he too has his own interests to pursue." Bre

Tachyon smiled. "You have people who can kill me from the shadows. I have people who can do the same to you. Stalemate."

"You won't interfere with my business?"

"No." Tachyon sighed. "I suppose it shows a distressing lack of morality on my part, but I am not a crusader. Men will still crave women, and women will sell themselves to satisfy those cravings, and drugs will be sold and consumed. We are, alas, not angels. But I insist on peace in my streets." Tachyon lost his light, bantering tone. "There will be no more children dying in senseless gun battles in Jokertown. And my clinic and my patients will be safe."

"What about Jane Dow?"

"That chip is not up for discussion in this negotiation, Mr. Phuc."

Kien shrugged. "All right."

"Are we agreed?"

"I agree to your terms."

Tachyon gri

"Wait, no wait, wait!"

"All right, let us try it again. Are we agreed?"

"Not quite," Kien ground out. He stared at Bre

Tachyon looked from Kien to Bre

"You weary me," snapped Tachyon. "Your threats weary me. Go!"

And he sent the Vietnamese and his jackal Wyrm trotting back into the building.

Tachyon was feeling pretty jaunty when he returned to the clinic. He paused to gleefully pat each stone lion, then trotted up the stairs. Croyd couldn't remain awake much longer. Surely his contagion power would fade in the next transformation. Kien was, for the moment, neutralized. Of course the Vietnamese would go back on his word, but perhaps by then Bre

Tachyon headed into the basement and shut off the elaborate series of electronic locks that protected his private laboratory. It was here he manufactured the drug for Angelface and pursued his research for a perfected trump virus.

It was force of habit that drove him to draw blood and begin the XVTA-test. He was obviously fine. The Ideal and the percentages had been with him last night.

He slipped the slide into the electron microscope, focused, and read his fate in the tangled web of the wild card. With a cry he swept a tray of slides and test tubes onto the floor. Beat his fists on the table, screaming out denial. Calm, calm! Stress could trigger the virus.

Quietly he righted his stool, sat with folded hands, and considered. If it manifested, he would most likely die. Acceptable. He might become a joker. Unacceptable. The trump? A last resort.

Jane!

The irony of an impotent man being saved through sex struck him, and he laughed. When he realized they grew from hysteria, not humor, he stifled the wild whoops.

And the future?

Search for Jane. Remove as much stress as possible from his life. Go on living. The house Ilkazam did not breed cowards.

And most important: Blaise.

The boy was all he had now. His blood and seed were poisoned. There would be no other children.

Concerto for Siren and Serotonin

VIII

Again they were after him. If you can't even trust your doctor, he wondered, who can you trust? The sirens' wails were almost a steady sheet of sound now.

He hurled chunks of concrete, broke streetlights, and dashed from alley to doorway. He crouched within parked cars. He watched the choppers go by, listening to the steady phut-phut of their blades. Every now and then he heard parts of appeals over some loudspeaker or other. They were talking to him, lying to him, asking him to turn himself in. He chuckled. That would be the day.

Was it all Tachy's fault again? An image flashed before his mind's eye, of Jetboy's small plane darting like a tiny fish among great, grazing whales there in the half-clouded sky of an afternoon. Back when it all began. What had ever happened to Joe Sarza

He smelled smoke. Why did things always get burned in times of trouble? He rubbed his temples and yawned. Automatically he sought in his pocket after a pill, but there was nothing there. He tore open the door to a Coke machine before a darkened service station, broke into the coin box, then fed quarters back into the mechanism, collected a Coke for either hand, and walked away sipping.

After a time he found himself standing before the Jokertown Dime Museum, wanting to go inside and realizing that the place was closed.