Dead Mans Hand

8:00 P.M.

After the long, hard day, Je

He was on the edge of exhaustion, but his head felt curiously clear and light. His brain wouldn't shut off and allow him the rest he needed, so he slipped quietly out of bed, dressed, and went out into the night.

It was hot and sticky. The heat wave smothering the city was unrelenting even at night. The streets were full of people, wandering, Bre

A new variable had shown up to further complicate the equation of Chrysalis's murder: the mysterious master, Ti Malice, and his apparent accomplice, Ezili Rouge. Sascha was his servant, and so was Kant. The cop had used a strange term to refer to those in thrall to Malice. He had called them "mounts." Bre

A crowd had gathered in front of an all-night drugstore a few blocks from the hotel. Bre

Jack Braun had been murdered, the newscaster said. Bre

There Bre

Stung by the pain of that lesson, Bre

Let Barnett and Hartma

In the end, Bre

Bre

Perhaps that was the answer. Chrysalis knew everything that went on in Jokertown. Perhaps her information cache had the answers Bre

Except perhaps for one man. One man who was something of her confident. One man whose lips would be sealed by unbreakable vows of silence. One man who had received a strange bequest from her.

The time had come, Bre

His mind made up, Bre

Saturday July 23, 1988

8:00 A.M.

… walked faster, his feet bare and bloody, rushing after the heavy man in the bulky black coat. He shouted after him, but nothing broke the dreadful silence but the sound of his feet. The steps grew narrow, making it harder to keep his balance as he rushed down into the darkness. When he reached the platform suspended over that stygian gulf, the man was there ahead of him. Just the sight of that back, hunched and ominous, filled him with fear, and when the man began to turn, the terror rose inside him until he thought he would choke. The featureless white face lifted, the wet red tentacle tasted the air. Its howl and Jay's scream sounded together in a horrible cacophony.. ..

"You pissed your pants," a voice sneered. "Some ace." Jay sat up. His suit was rumpled, his side ached, and his head was pounding. Some kid was standing across the room with a smirk on his face like Jay was the fu

"Where's Gramps?" Jay asked as he lurched to his feet, ignoring the boy's gibes. There was broken glass all over the carpet; it crunched when he stepped on it. It was all over the couch, too, and a few shards fell off Jay when he stood. He noticed the shattered windows for the first time. When the hell had that happened?

The kid shrugged. "His bed wasn't slept in," he said. "Maybe he finally caught one of his bimbos."

"Figures," Jay said. "I pass out on the goddamn couch with a perfectly adequate bed empty in the next room." He went over to the bar, glass breaking under his heels, and stared at the booze for a moment until he found an unopened bottle of cognac. A little hair of the dog, he decided, real good.

"You're Popinjay." The kid was as arrogant as Tachyon. Not to mention almost as tall.

"Jay Ackroyd," Jay corrected. "So who are you, Kid Tachyon?"

"Blaise. I'm one quarter Takisian," he added proudly. "Don't let it bother you, I'm one quarter Croat myself." Jay tossed back the cognac. It burned against the back of his throat on the way down. He splashed a little more into his glass. And kept splashing. The glass was one third full. One half. Three quarters. Jay tried to put down the bottle. He kept pouring. Filled the glass to the brim. Poured it over his head.

The liquor stung when it hit his eyes, blinding him. He tried to say sonofabitch. Instead he heard himself singing "I'm a Little Teapot," in a high falsetto voice. With all the little motions. Somewhere along there the cognac glass slipped from his fingers and rolled across the carpet.

When his vision cleared, Blaise was standing in front of him, arms crossed, smiling in satisfaction. "Takisians don't let anybody make fun of them," he told Jay. "Watch what you say. I can make you do anything I like." He laughed. "Now you're wet at both ends."

"Real good," Jay said. He smelled like cognac and piss. "You'd make some detective."

"Really?" Blaise had managed to miss the sarcasm; Jay was grateful for that much.

"No shit. Of course, you still got a few things to learn."