Dead Mans Hand

His sister in Salt Lake City didn't know where he was. Neither did either of his ex-wives. Wife number one asked if he was in trouble, and said, "Oh, good," when Jay admitted that he was. Wife number two offered to engage Jay's services on a little matter of alimony. He took it under advisement.

His college roommate didn't remember him.

The journalism professor he'd listed as a reference on his job application was entirely fictitious.

The phone company had no record of any calls from his home number yesterday.

Jay tried Crash at Aces just in case, but no, there hadn't been word one from Digger. Mr. Lowboy still wasn't worried. He was telling them to save space in the August issue for a real Digger Downs blockbuster. "Real good," Jay said glumly, wondering if the news of Digger's grisly death would fit Lowboy's definition of blockbuster. This time maybe Digger was really going underground for a story. Crash asked him if he was having any luck.

"Lots of it," Jay told her. "All bad. I don't suppose he had any friends on the staff there? One of the other reporters, maybe? A poker buddy, a drinking companion, the best man at his weddings, that kind of thing? Somebody who'd let him crash on his couch until all this blew over?"

"No," Crash said. "He was too good. The other reporters resented the way he always got the big assignments and the cover stories. You should have heard them gripe when Low boy sent him on that tour around the world. Digger can be charming when he wants, but he'd very competitive when he's going after a story"

"Damn," Jay said. "Did the guy have any friends at all?"

"Well," Crash said, thinking, `he must have.' "Famous last words," Jay said.

"I know a lot of people thought Digger was a pain in the neck. He could be very abrasive, but he had a sweet side, too. You'd be surprised. A lot of the people he wrote up just loved him " She paused thoughtfully. "Well, at least until the stories came out," she amended., "Terrific," Jay said with a minimum of enthusiasm. "Listen," he started, "maybe you can-" His mind went off on a tangent, and the words stopped coming.

"Jay?" Crash asked after a moment of silence. "You okay?", "Fine," he said. "But I just had this real weird idea."

Noon

The sun was a shiny coin flung high in the sky, obscured by a haze of pollution and a sheath of angry clouds that were motionless in the thick air. The heat and humidity made it hard to breathe as Bre

People walked, crawled, hopped, and slithered into the church past a couple of bored cops who were stationed at the entrance. At least the city had enough sense to assign Kant, their tame joker cop, to this duty, but Bre

The church was packed. The pews already full, Bre

The procession began after the final paternoster. A joker altar boy led the way, bearing a bronze helix hung with Joker Jesus. He was followed by two others-an altar boy with no visible mouth and an altar girl with too many-swinging censers that sent clouds of sickly-sweet incense billowing into the already redolent air. Other servitors followed, including priests who would assist at the funerary Mass. Father Squid brought up the rear, wearing his finest surplice. It was embroidered with a scene depicting a nat Mado

They passed the front pew where the principal mourners sat. Tachyon, wearing a brilliant scarlet and gold waistcoat, sat next to a ta

Father Squid reached the altar, set his missal in place, then turned to the crowd and raised his arms wide and said in his sad, soft voice, "Let us pray."

The Mass began. It was similar to the infrequent Catholic masses Bre

During the Mass there were only a few references, veiled in strange symbolism, to the Mother, reflecting the ambiguous role she played in the Church of Jesus Christ, joker, theology. Praise for the Father was effusive and tainted with an air of placation, as if He were the vengeful God of the Old Testament, the God who saved with one hand and damned with the other.

During Communion the altar boys and girls went out into the congregation bearing small hampers that had been blessed by Father Squid. The hampers contained loaves of bread that the servers passed out to the people sitting at the heads of the pews, who broke off bits for themselves before sending them on.

After Communion Father Squid summoned Tachyon to the altar to deliver the eulogy. As Tachyon approached the rail Bre

The only somber element about Tachyon's clothing was a black ribbon tied around his upper right arm. His scarlet coat, hung with gold braid and piping like tinsel on a Christmas tree, looked out of place at a funeral. But, Bre

Tachyon took his place behind the lectern and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. It was hot in the church and Tachyon's velvet coat looked stifling. He was red-faced from the heat and his coppery curls were damp from perspiration. His eyes, too, were red, and Bre

Tachyon looked out over the congregation. His expression was solemn; his husky voice was so soft that it was difficult to hear him over the thrum of the fans.

"Exactly one year ago on the twentieth of July, 1987, we gathered in this church to bury Xavier Desmond. I spoke his eulogy, as I shall speak Chrysalis's. And I am honored to do so, but the melancholy truth is that I am weary of burying my friends. Jokertown is a poorer place because of their passing, and my life-and yours-is diminished by their loss." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

A eulogy is a speech in praise of a person, but I am finding this one to be very difficult. I called myself Chrysalis's friend. I saw her frequently. I even traveled around the world with her. But I realize now that I didn't really know her. I knew she called herself Chrysalis and that she lived in Jokertown, but I didn't know her natal name or where she'd been born. I knew she played at being British, but I never knew why. I knew she liked to drink amaretto, but I never knew what made her laugh. I knew she liked secrets, liked to be in control, liked to appear cool and untouched, but I never knew what made her that way.