Aces High wc-2

by George R. R. Martin

  "Yes," the man felt himself wanting to answer. "What's your name?"

  "Matthias."

  "What happened here?"

  "A body was stolen."

  "Which one?"

  "A John Doe."

  "Can you describe it?"

  "Looked like a big bug-grasshopper legs.. "

  "Shit!" Croyd said. "What about his possessions?"

  "There weren't any possessions."

  Several of the uniformed officers were glancing in their direction now. Croyd gave his next order mentally. Matthias turned toward the uniforms.

  "Just a minute, guys," he called. "Business."

  Damn! he thought. This one will come in handy. You can't hold me like this forever, fella…

  "How'd it happen?" Croyd asked.

  "A guy came in here a little while ago, went downstairs, forced an attendant to show him the compartment, took the body out, and left with it."

  "Nobody tried to stop him?"

  "Sure they did. Four of them are on their way to the hospital as a result. The guy was an ace."

  "Which one?"

  "The one who wrecked Rockefeller Plaza last fall."

  "Darlingfoot?"

  "Yeah, that's the one."

  "Don't… Don't ask any more, whether I'm involved, whether I hired him, whether I'm running a cover-up now…"

  "Which way did he go with it?"

  "Northwest."

  "On foot?"

  "That's what the witnesses said-big, twenty-foot leaps." As soon as you let me go, sucker, I'm calling in the nukes on you.

  "Hey, why'd you turn and look at me the way you did when I came in?"

  Damn!

  "I felt that an ace had just walked through the door."

  "How'd you know?"

  "I'm an ace myself. That's my power-spotting other aces."

  "Useful talent for a cop, I guess. Well, listen close. You are now going to forget you ever met me, and you won't notice me leaving. You're just going to walk on over to that fountain and get a drink, then walk back and join your buddies. If anyone asks who you were talking to, you'll say it was your bookie and forget about it. You do that now. Forget!"

  Croyd turned and walked away. Judas realized he was thirsty.

  Outside, Croyd walked to his cab, climbed in, slammed the door and said, "Northwest."

  "What do you mean?" the driver asked him.

  "Just head uptown and I'll tell you what to do as we go along. "

  "You're the boss."

  The car jerked into motion.

  Over the next mile Croyd had the driver jog westward, as he searched for signs of the other's passage. It seemed unlikely that Devil John would be using public transportation when carrying a corpse. On the other hand, it was possible he'd had an accomplice waiting with a vehicle. Still, knowing the man's chutzpah, it did not seem out of the question for him to be hoofing it with the body. He knew that there was very little anyone could do to stop him if he did not wish to be stopped. Croyd sighed as he scanned the way ahead. Why were simple things never easy?

  Later, as they were nearing Morningside Heights, the driver muttered, "… one of them damn jokers!"

  Croyd followed the man's gesture to where the form of a pterodactyl was in sight for several moments before passing behind a building.

  "Follow it!" Croyd said. "The leather bird?"

  "Yes!"

  "I'm not sure where it is now."

  "Find it!"

  Croyd waved another bill at the man, and the tires screeched and a horn blared as the cab took a turn. Croyd's gaze swept the skyline, but the Kid was still out of sight. He halted the cab moments later to question an oncoming jogger. The man popped an earplug, listened a moment, then pointed to the east and took off again.

  Several minutes later, he caught sight of the angular birdform, to the north, moving in wide circles. This time they were able to keep track of it for a longer while, and to gain on it.

  When they came abreast of the area the pterodactyl circled, Croyd called to the driver to slow. There was still nothing unusual in sight on the ground, but the saurian's sweeping path covered an area of several blocks. If he were indeed tracking Devil John, the man could well be nearby. "What are we looking for?" the driver asked him.

  "A big, red-bearded, curly-haired man with two very different legs," Croyd answered. "The right one is heavy, hairy, and ends in a hoof. The other's normal."

  "I heard something about that guy. He's dangerous…"

  "Yeah, I know."

  "What are you planning on doing if you find him?"

  "I was hoping for a meaningful dialogue," Croyd said. "I ain't gettin too close to your dialogue. If we spot him, I'm taking off."

  "I'll make it worth you while to wait."

  "No thanks," the driver said. "You want out, I'll drop you and run. That's it."

  "Well… The pterodactyl is moving north. Let's try to get ahead of it, and when we do you cut east on the first street where we can."

  The driver accelerated again, drifting to the right while Croyd tried to guess the center of the Kid's circle.

  "The next street," Croyd said finally. "Turn there and see what happens."

  They took the corner slowly and cruised the entire block without Croyd's spotting his quarry or even viewing his airborne telltale again. At the next intersection, however, the winged form passed once more and this time he had sight of the one he sought.

  Devil John was on the opposite side of the street, halfway down the block. He bore a shrouded parcel in his arms. His shoulders were massive; his white teeth flashed as a woman with a shopping cart rushed to get out of his way. He wore Levi's-the right leg torn off high on the thigh-and a pink sweatshirt suggesting he had visited Disney World. A passing motorist sideswiped a parked car as John took a normal step with his left foot, bent his right leg at an odd angle, and sprang twenty feet farther ahead to an open area near the curb. He turned then with a normal step and sprang again, clearing a slow-moving red Honda and landing in a patch of grass on the street's central island. Two large dogs that had been following him rushed to the curb, barking loudly, but halted there and regarded oncoming traffic.

  "Stop!" Croyd called to the driver, and he opened the door and stepped to the curb before the vehicle came to a complete halt.

  He cupped his hands to his mouth then and shouted, "Darlingfoot! Hold on!"

  The man only glanced in his direction, already bending his leg to spring again.

  "It 's me-Croyd Crenson!" he called out. " I want to talk to you!"

  The satyr-like figure halted in mid-crouch. The shadow of a pterodactyl swept by. The two dogs continued to bark, and a tiny white poodle rounded a corner and rushed to join them.

  An auto horn blared at two halted pedestrians in a crosswalk. Devil John turned and stared. Then he shook his head. "You're not Crenson!" he shouted.

  Croyd strode forward.

  "The hell I'm not!" he answered, and he darted into the street and crossed to the island.

  Devil John's eyes were narrowed beneath his shaggy brows as he studied Croyd's advancing figure. He raked his lower lip slowly with his upper teeth, then shook his head more slowly.

  "Naw," he said. "Croyd was darker and a lot shorter. What are you trying to pull, anyway?"

  Croyd shrugged.

  "My appearance changes pretty regularly," he said. "But I'm the same guy who whipped your ass last fall." Darlingfoot laughed.

  "Get lost, fella," he said. "I don't have time for groupies-"

  They both clenched their teeth as a car drew up beside them and its horn blasted. A man in a gray business suit stuck his head out of the window.

  "What's going on here?" he asked.

  Croyd growled, stepped into the street, and removed the rear bumper, which he then placed in the vehicle's back seat through a window that had been closed up until then.

  "Auto inspection," he said. "You pass. Congratulations."

  "Croyd!" Darlingfoot exclaimed as t
he car sped off. "It is you!"

  He tossed his shrouded burden to the ground and raised his fists.

  "I've been waiting all winter for this…"

  "Then, wait a minute longer," Croyd said. "I've got to ask you something."

  "What?"

  "That body… Why'd you take it?" The big man laughed.

  "For money, of course. What else?"

  "Mind telling me what they're paying you for it?"

  "Five grand. Why?"

  "Cheap bastards," Croyd said. "They say what they want it for?"

  "No, and I didn't ask because I don't care. A buck's a buck. "

  "Yeah," Croyd said. "Who are they, anyhow?"

  "Why? What's it to you?"

  "Well, I think you're getting screwed on the deal. I think it's worth more."

  "How much?"

  "Who are they?"

  "Some Masons, I think. What's it worth?"

  "Masons? Like secret handshakes and all that? I thought they just existed to give each other expensive funerals. What could they want with a dead joker?"

  Darlingfoot shook his head.

  "They're a weird bunch," he said. "For all I know, they want to eat it. Now, what were you saying about money?"

  "I think I could get more for it," Croyd said. "What say I see their five and raise it one? I'll give you six big ones for it."

  "I don't know, Croyd… I don't like to screw people I work for. Word will get around I'm undependable."

  "Well, maybe I could go seven-"

  They both turned suddenly at a series of savage growls and snappings. The dogs-joined by two additional strays had crossed over during their conversation and dragged the small, insectlike body from its shroud. It had broken in several places, and the Great Dane held most of an arm in his teeth as he backed away, snarling, from the German shepherd. Two others had torn one of the grasshopperlike legs loose and were fighting over it. The poodle was already halfway across the street, a four-digited hand in its mouth. Croyd became aware of a particularly foul odor other than New York air.

  "Shit!" Devil John exclaimed, leaping forward, his hoof shattering a square of concrete paving near to the remains. He grabbed for the Great Dane and it turned and raced away. The terrier let go of the leg. The brown mongrel didn't. It tore across the street in the other direction, dragging the appen- I dage. "I'll get the arm! You get the leg!" Devil John cried, bounding after the Great Dane.

  "What about the hand?" Croyd yelled, kicking at another dog newly arrived on the scene.

  Darlingfoot's reply was predictable, curt, and represented an anatomical unlikelihood of a high order. Croyd took off after the brown dog.

  As Croyd approached the corner where he had seen it turn, he heard a series of sharp yelps. Coming onto the side street he saw the dog lying on its back snapping at the pterodactyl which pinned it to the pavement. The battered limb lay nearby. Croyd sprinted forward.

  "Thanks, Kid. I owe you one," he said as he reached for the leg, hesitated, took out his handkerchief, wrapped it about his hand, picked up the limb, and held it downwind.

  The pterodactyl shape flowed, to be replaced by that of a nude boy-perhaps thirteen years of age-with light eyes and unruly brown hair, a small birthmark on his forehead.

  "Got it for you, Croyd," he announced. "Sure stinks, though. "

  "Yeah, Kid," Croyd said. "Excuse me. Now I've got to go put it back together."

  He turned and hurried in the direction from which he had come. Behind him he heard rapid footfalls.

  "What you want it for?" the boy asked.

  "It's a long, complicated, boring story, and it's better you don't know," he answered.

  "Aw, c'mon. You can tell me."

  "No time. I'm in a hurry."

  "You going to fight Devil John again?"

  "I don't plan on it. I think we can come to a meeting of minds without resorting to violence."

  "But if you do fight, what's your power this time?" Croyd reached the corner, cut across to the island. Ahead, he saw where another dog now worried the remains. Devil John was nowhere in sight.

  "Damn it!" he yelled. "Get away from there!"

  The dog paid him no heed, but stripped a furry layer from the chitinous carapace. Croyd noticed that the torn tissue was dripping some colorless liquid. The remains looked moist now, and Croyd realized that fluids were oozing from the breathing holes in the thorax.

  "Get away from there!" he repeated.

  The dog growled at him. Suddenly, though, the growl turned to a whimper and the animal's tail vanished between its legs. A meter-high tyrannosaurus hopped past Croyd, hissing fiercely. The dog turned and fled. A moment later, the Kid stood in its place.

  "It's getting away with that piece," the boy said. Croyd repeated Darlingfoot's comment on the hand as he tossed the leg down beside the dismembered body. He withdrew the folded trash bag from the inner pocket of his jacket and shook it out.

  "You want to help, Kid, you hold the bag while I toss in what's left."

  "Okay. It sure is gross."

  "It's a dirty job," Croyd agreed. "Then, why you doing it?"

  "It's what growing up is all about, Kid."

  "How do you mean?"

  "You spend more and more of your time cleaning up after mistakes."

  A rapid thumping noise approached, a shadow passed overhead, and Devil John crashed to the earth beside them. "Damn dog got away," he announced. "You get the leg?"

  "Yeah," Croyd answered. "It's already in the bag."

  "Good idea-a plastic bag. Who's the naked kid?"

  "You don't know Kid Dinosaur?" Croyd answered. "I thought he knew everybody. He's the pterodactyl was following you."

  "Why?"

  "I like to be where the action is," the Kid said.

  "Hey, how come you're not in school?" Croyd asked. "School sucks."

  "Now, wait a minute. I had to quit school in ninth grade and I never got to go back. I always regretted it."

  "Why? You're doing okay."

  "There's all that stuff I missed. I wish I hadn't."

  "Like what?"

  "Well… Algebra. I never learned algebra."

  "What the fuck good's algebra?"

  "I don't know and I never will, because I didn't learn it. I sometimes look at people on the street and say, `Gee, I'll bet they all know algebra,' and it makes me feel kind of inferior."

  "Well, I don't know algebra and it doesn't make feel a damn bit inferior."

  "Give it time," Croyd said.

  The Kid suddenly became aware that Croyd was looking at him strangely.

  "You're going back to school right now," Croyd told him, "and you're going to study your ass off for the rest of the day, and you're going to do your homework tonight, and you're going to like it."

  "I'll make better time if I fly," the Kid said, and he transformed into a pterodactyl, hopped several times, and glided away.

  "Pick up some clothes on the way!" Croyd shouted after him.

  "Just what the hell is going on here?"

  Croyd turned and beheld a uniformed officer who had just crossed to their island.

  "Go fuck yourself!" he snarled.

  The man began unbuckling his belt.

  "Stop! Cancel that," Croyd said. "Buckle up. Forget you saw us and go walk up another street."

  Devil John stared as the man obeyed.

  "Croyd, how are you doing those things?" he asked. "That's my power, this time around."

  "Then, you could just make me give you the body, couldn't you?"

  Croyd shook the bag down and fastened it. When he finished gagging, he nodded.

  "Yeah. And I'll get it one way or another, too. But I don't feel like cheating a fellow working stiff today. My offer's still good."

  "Seven grand?"

  "Six."

  "You said seven."

  "Yeah, but it's not all here now."

  "That's your fault, not mine. You stopped me."

  "But you put the thing down where the dogs c
ould get it."

  "Yes, but how was I supposed to- Hey, that's a bar and grill on the corner."

  "You're right."

  "Care to discuss this over lunch and a couple of brews?"

  "Now that you mention it, I've a bit of an appetite," Croyd said.

  They took the table by the window and set the bag on the empty chair. Croyd visited the men's room and washed his hands several times while Devil John procured a pair of beers.

  When he returned he ordered a half-dozen sandwiches. Darlingfoot did the same.

  "Who're you working for?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Croyd answered. "I'm doing it through a third party."

  "Complicated. I wonder what they all want the thing for?" Croyd shook his head.

  "Beats me. I hope there's enough of him left to collect on."

  "That's one of the reasons I'm willing to deal. I think my guys wanted him in better shape than this. They might try to welsh on me. Better a bird in the hand, you know? I don't trust them all that much. Bunch of kooks."

  "Say, did he have any possessions?"

  "Nope. No belongings at all."

  The sandwiches arrived and they began eating. After a while, Darlingfoot glanced several times at the bag, then remarked, "You know, that thing looks bigger."

  Croyd studied it a moment.

  "It's just settling and shifting," he said.

  They finished, then ordered two more beers. "No, damn it! It is bigger!" Darlingfoot insisted. Croyd looked again. It seemed to swell even as he watched.

  "You're right," he acknowledged. "It must be gases from the-uh-decomposition."

  He extended a finger as if to poke it, thought better of it and lowered his hand.

  "So what do you say? Seven grand?"

  "I think six is fair-the shape he's in."

  "But they knew what they were asking for. You've got to expect this sort of thing with stiffs."

  "A certain amount, yes. But you've got to admit you bounced him around a hell of a lot, too."

  "That's true, but a regular one could take it better. How was I to know this guy was a special case?"

  "By looking at him. He was little and fragile."

  "He felt pretty sturdy when I snatched him. What say we split the difference? Sixty-five hundred?"

  "I don't know…"

  Other diners began glancing in their direction as the bag continued to swell. They finished their beers.

  "Another round?"