Part 15 (1/2)

The alligator wrenched his jaws away from the remains of the corpse. There was no chewing. The food went down his gullet where the powerful enzymes would take care of a.s.suaging his hunger. He opened his jaws again to roar a challenge.

No one and nothing answered him. The alligator swung his head heavily from one side of the corridor to the other. On some deep level, he remembered that food was not his only priority this day.

He started forward into the darkness. There was something he had to do do.

”A cab?” Water Lily said. ”I thought we were in a hurry.”

”It'll get the job done,” Fortunato said. ”We don't want any grandstand moves. Not today.”

The cab pulled over and they got in. ”Empire State Building,” Fortunato told the driver. He leaned back in the seat. ”We don't need to make targets of ourselves.”

”It's the Astronomer, isn't it?”

”He just killed Kid Dinosaur. Tore him to pieces. He would have killed Demise, but Demise was tougher than anybody knew. You probably heard about the Howler. So it's . . .”

He broke it off. Jane had stopped listening somewhere in the middle. ”Kid Dinosaur?” she said.

Fortunato nodded.

”Jesus.” She stared straight ahead. Water-not tears-beaded up on her cheeks. Fortunato couldn't tell if she was going to cry for real or start ripping up the cab's upholstery. Finally she said, ”All right.” The words came out small and strangled. She tried again. ”All right. Count me in. Where do we start?”

This isn't working, Fortunato thought. She's not going to go weak and helpless on you. She's gotten too tough for that. What do you do when they don't want your protection?

”Um,” he said. ”How about a bodyguard a.s.signment?”

”What, are you serious? Guarding who?”

”I was thinking of Hiram Worchester.”

”Oh. That fat guy?”

”He identified the Astronomer's coins. He could be in danger too.”

”Oh, all right,” she said. ”For now.”

An establishment as celebrated and unique as Aces High drew its share of trouble, and Hiram had long ago resigned himself to the unfortunate necessity of security, but he insisted that it be discreet. Peter Chou's men (and women) were quick, efficient, highly skilled, and very un.o.btrusive. When it came to dealing with drunks, holdup men, and leapers, no one was better. But the Astronomer was more than they'd been trained to handle.

Modular Man was about as un.o.btrusive as a joker in Idaho. The android had a certain male-model handsomeness, although his prefab features were without either character lines or hair. He wore a skullcap to conceal the radar dome built into his head. Twin grenade launchers were mounted on rotating pivots set in the synthetic flesh of his shoulders.

The shoulder modules popped right out, and normally Hiram insisted that Modular Man check his armament at the door. But today was not the day for normalcy. When the android landed on the balcony and was ushered into his office, Hiram asked him straight out what sort of weaponry he was equipped with.

”The left module fires tear-gas canisters, and the right is loaded with smoke bombs,” Mod Man said. ”The smoke will not affect my radar, of course, but will blind any potential adversary. The tear gas-”

”I know what tear gas does,” Hiram said curtly. ”Your creator is a.s.suming the Astronomer has to breathe. Let's hope he's correct.”

”I could exchange the grenade launcher for an armor-piercing 20mm cannon,” Modular Man said cheerfully.

Hiram made a choking sound. ”If you even think think about firing a cannon inside my restaurant, you'll never set foot in here again.” about firing a cannon inside my restaurant, you'll never set foot in here again.”

”It's more like a large machine gun, actually.”

”Nonetheless,” Hiram said firmly.

”Would you like me to patrol the perimeter?”

”I'd like you to sit at the end of the bar and stay out of the way,” Hiram told him. ”There's still a great deal of work to be done. The guests will begin arriving around seven for c.o.c.ktails. If anything's going to happen, it should happen well before that.”

He escorted the android out to the bar and left him in the company of a bottle of single-malt Scotch. On the way to his office, Curtis accosted him. ”The lobster was the only thing they bothered to destroy,” he reported. ”Some of Gills's employees are cleaning up the damage. The ones who didn't run away. Gills was taken to the Jokertown clinic.”

”Find out who's in charge, and tell them I want the tuna,” Hiram said. ”As much as he has. We'll do blackened tuna tonight instead of lobster.”

”Paul will not be amused,” Curtis said.

Hiram paused at the door to his office. ”Let him scream. Then let him cook. If he refuses, I'll do it myself. I'm not unfamiliar with Cajun cuisine.” He paused thoughtfully. ”Alligator has an interesting taste. You don't suppose that Gills might have . . . no, that's too much to ask. Oh, and offer a premium price for that tuna. If I hadn't interfered this morning, none of this would have happened.”

”You shouldn't blame yourself,” Curtis said.

”Why not?” Hiram asked. He snorted. ”I remember when I was first diagnosed, back in 1971. After Tachyon a.s.sured me that I wasn't going to die, that I'd been gifted with extraordinary powers instead, I determined that I must use those powers for the public good. Absurd, I know, but it was the tenor of the times. I tell you, Curtis, heroism is a ludicrous career choice, although not half so ludicrous as I was in my costume.” He paused thoughtfully, and flicked a piece of lint off the swell of his vest. ”It was well-tailored,” he said, ”but ludicrous nonetheless. At any rate, my physique was distinctive, masked or no, and my abortive experiment in semi-professional adventuring ended abruptly when a gossip columnist accurately divined my ident.i.ty. I'm not a modest man, Curtis, but food is what I'm best at. Gills would be a lot better off if I'd remembered that this morning.” He turned away before Curtis could reply, and shut the office door behind him.

His lunch was waiting on his desk: three thick-cut pork chops grilled with onion and basil, a side of pasta salad, steamed broccoli with grated romano cheese, and a piece of the famous Aces High cheesecake. Hiram sat down and contemplated it.

A newspaper lay next to his untouched lunch platter. The Daily Daily News News had already gotten out an extra, and Anthony had brought up a copy with Hiram's tux. The picture spread across the front of the tabloid had been taken at Jetboy's Tomb by some amateur photographer. Hiram supposed that it was a great news photo, but he could scarcely look at it. had already gotten out an extra, and Anthony had brought up a copy with Hiram's tux. The picture spread across the front of the tabloid had been taken at Jetboy's Tomb by some amateur photographer. Hiram supposed that it was a great news photo, but he could scarcely look at it.

He found himself averting his eyes from Kid Dinosaur's mutilated body, and looking at the faces in the background. Their emotions were plain to read: horror, hysteria, anguish, shock. Some just seemed baffled; others stared with unwholesome fascination. In the right-hand corner was a pretty blonde who couldn't have been more than eighteen, laughing, no doubt amused by some witticism from the boy whose arm she clung to, as yet oblivious to the horror a few feet away. How did she feel when she looked around, the laughter still fresh on her lips? How would she feel when she saw this picture, her laugh frozen there for all time?

His lunch was growing cold, but Hiram had no appet.i.te. Kid Dinosaur had been a constant nuisance to the proprietor of Aces High. He remembered one hot summer night when a pteranodon had swooped in through the open terrace doors and buzzed the diners. Drinks were spilled, plates were dropped, the dessert cart tipped over, and a half-dozen indignant customers left without paying their bills. Hiram had put an end to the incident by making the creature too heavy to stay aloft, and reprimanding him in no uncertain terms. From all reports, the boy had been cowed for almost a week.

When the phone rang, Hiram grabbed it quickly. ”What?” he demanded brusquely. He was in no mood for conversation.

”Me, Hiram,” Jay Ackroyd said.

Hiram had almost forgotten about the detective. ”Where are you?” he demanded.

”At the moment I'm at a pay phone outside the men's room of the Crystal Palace, being eyed by a joker who looks like a cross between a douche bag and a saber-toothed tiger. I think he wants to use the phone, so I'll get right to the point. Chrysalis knows something.”

”Chrysalis knows a good many things,” Hiram said.

”Real good,” Ackroyd replied. ”Your friend Bludgeon isn't independent. Him and his whole scam are part of something, something a lot bigger. Chrysalis knows who and what, but the price she quoted for the information was way out of my budget. Maybe not out of yours, though. I'm bringing her up tonight, you can talk to her yourself.”

”You're bringing her here here?” Hiram said. ”Jay, she's a joker, not an ace.”

”I'm an ace,” Ackroyd reminded him, ”and she's my date. Don't worry, I made her promise to cover her t.i.ts. A shame, though. They're nice t.i.ts, even if they are invisible. Just pretend she's really British and you'll get on great.”

”Fine,” Hiram said. ”And while you've been arranging your social calendar and studying Chrysalis's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Bludgeon put Gills in the hospital and destroyed my lobsters.”