Wild Cards VIII: One-Eyed Jacks

by George R. R. Martin

  “Oh, yes, but without me there are no more jumpers. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot, Blaise, in a fit of pique.”

  The hem of the gown whispered about his feet as the Prime turned and slunk back into the shadows.

  Blaise turned back to his peers. They peered back at him like bright cardinals in their scarlet robes.

  “Come on, let’s play,” said Molly.

  And Blaise reached out. Seemed to bounce out of his skin. Shoot like liquid fire. He came to rest in Kent’s body. He looked out at the world from new eyes. Glancing down, he studied the overly long thumbnail on the right hand, the callused finger pads. Would the body remember how to play guitar? Blaise wondered. Then he was on to other sensations. Like the fact that Kent smelled funny. Blaise looked across to his body. Molly and Kelly were easing it to the floor. It … he … Kent—damn!—seemed to be conscious, but frozen in some kind of fugue state.

  Blaise made the jump back. Shook off Kelly’s patting hands. Climbed to his feet. Raucous laughter rang through the rafters, skittered among the shadows. The jumpers stood in shocked silence.

  Blaise threw back his head and screamed like a banshee.

  “Oh, Tachyon! You’re going to wish I had only killed you!”

  Nobody’s Home

  by Walton Simons

  KENNETH WAS LATE. CENTRAL Park baked in the August heat. Most of the animals in the zoo were napping. Jerry sat in front of the seventy-five-foot-tall cage that had been his home back when he was a giant ape. A lone pigeon walked up to him, head bobbing. Jerry shooed it away.

  He felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s just me,” Kenneth said, sitting down beside him. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “What’s up? You sounded pretty mysterious on the phone.”

  Kenneth nodded. “It’s Latham. He’s going around the bend, I think. He’s involved in more than you can imagine. For years he’s been a major figure in the Shadow Fist Society. Which includes everyone from punks like the Immaculate Egrets and Werewolves up to very respectable businessmen. And Latham’s in it up to his neck.”

  “But he’s got something on you, too. Right?” Jerry leaned forward. He’d been trying to come up with material on Latham for months, and hadn’t turned up anything other than a few interesting reports from his time in Vietnam.

  Kenneth looked away. “There are some things I’d rather Beth didn’t know about. Other women. We’ve made such progress since almost getting divorced. I don’t want to jeopardize my marriage. Latham has some pretty graphic evidence. One of the women I saw was working for him.” He turned back to Jerry. “This isn’t to be repeated, you understand.”

  “Only under torture,” Jerry said. “Who’s Kien?”

  “You’re better off not finding out, but it may come to that soon.”

  “What do you mean?” Jerry wiped his sweaty forehead.

  “Latham knows I have information on him. He wants to trade it for what he has on me.” Kenneth shook his head. “But I’ve known St. John a long time. He’ll hold back something to keep me in line.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Give you my file on Latham, if you’ll have it. He’s made some threats lately. I wouldn’t put it past him to break into the house trying to get them. Beth might get hurt. This way I can let it drop that the papers are no longer in my home. He’ll suspect you might have them, of course.”

  Jerry shrugged. “The day a native New Yorker is scared of some high-class thug from Beantown will never come.” Jerry paused. “Well, maybe he does make me a little nervous.”

  “Good, because he’s a very dangerous man.” Kenneth looked straight at Jerry. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Nope. Look over there.” Jerry pointed at the chimp cage. One of the apes was high in a tree, throwing its shit at another on the ground. “That’s what we’ll be doing to Latham soon.”

  “I’ll settle for a return to the established balance of fear,” Kenneth said.

  “We’ll manage,” Jerry said, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  “Thanks.” Kenneth opened his briefcase. “Now, let’s discuss what you’re going to do about your appointment with the city officials next week.”

  “Right.” Jerry sighed and stared back at the chimp cage. Sometimes the shit got thrown at you, as well.

  Jerry sat on the worn, orange couch, shifting his weight. It was hot outside and his sweaty legs stuck to the cushion through his pants. The waiting room was quiet, except for the male secretary’s fingers on the keyboard, muffled voices from inside the offices, and the breathing of the joker woman sharing the couch with Jerry.

  Kenneth had shown him what to sign and told him what to say. He’d even offered to come along as legal representation. Jerry said no. It was time he started taking care of a few things on his own. Still, the back of his throat was dry. Several trips to the water cooler hadn’t helped. City officials could do that to you. Especially in New York.

  He turned to the joker, who was normal except for her grotesquely overmuscled jaws and mouth. “Did you sign them?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Do I have a choice?” Her voice was soft. Talking seemed awkward for her.

  “Always.” He straightened his shoulders. “I’m not going to.”

  The joker nodded, but didn’t seem impressed. “You an ace?”

  “I was once, but not anymore.” The lie needed all the practice Jerry could give it. “You remember the big ape in Central Park?”

  “Yeah. They took it away to make a movie or something. Right?”

  “Right. That was me.” Jerry felt a chill crawl halfway up his spine. “Dr. Tachyon cured me, but my power doesn’t work anymore.”

  “Too bad,” she said.

  “Not really,” Jerry said. “It’ll keep the government goons off my back. Why are they interested in you?”

  The woman smiled, revealing two rows of large teeth like polished marble. “I’m what’s classified as a type-two joker.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Any joker who’s something other than just ugly, I guess. My teeth and jaws are pretty strong. I can bite through almost anything.” The joker looked around, presumably for something to demonstrate on.

  “That’s okay, I believe you.” Jerry unstuck his legs from the couch. “What do they call you?”

  “Susan,” she said. “How about you?”

  “A long time ago I used to be called the Projectionist,” Jerry said. She looked at him with polite blankness. “That was before your time, I’d imagine. Now I’m nobody. People just call me Jerry.”

  “Regular names are best, anyway,” Susan said.

  The office door opened across the room. A man in a suit showed a visibly shaken six-legged joker out. “Mr. Strauss?”

  Jerry nodded and stood.

  The man let him go inside first. He was middle-aged and slightly overweight. His hair was thin and gray. His eyes brown. He took Jerry’s hand. Jerry shook it and squeezed hard. The man squeezed even harder.

  “Sit down, Mr. Strauss. I’m William Karnes.”

  Jerry sat. Karnes eased into his chair behind the well-ordered desk. He put a finger to his mouth and opened a file. “I see you failed to sign forms fifteen and seventeen-a. Why is that Mr. Strauss?”

  “Well, I’m no longer an active wild card,” Jerry said, “so I don’t see why I should be subject to conscription in the event of a national emergency. And I believe the other one said I was to notify your office if I were to take any kind of extended vacation. It just seems unnecessary.”

  Karnes rubbed the end of his bulbous nose. “The government has its reasons, Mr. Strauss. Failure to cooperate now may mean some very serious inconveniences for you later on. You’re aware of the rumblings in Congress about reinstating some of the old Exotic Powers laws.”

  Jerry took a deep breath. He didn’t want to let Karnes get under his skin. That had been Kenneth’s advice. “Yes. I do keep up with current events
. But, as I say, I’m no longer a wild card, except in the most technical sense. I believe you have a medical report from my physician to that effect.”

  Karnes stared at Jerry. “From Dr. Tachyon. We can hardly give that much credence. If you want to undergo testing by some of our staff, I might agree to that. But we don’t pay much attention to alien quacks.”

  Jerry could feel the blood hammering inside him. “I don’t think I have anything else to say to you, Mr. Karnes.” He stood.

  “Sit down, sir.” Karnes pointed to the chair. “I can make more trouble for you than you can imagine. I have a job to do, and none of your kind is going to stop me.”

  Jerry felt something go hard inside him. “Really? Well, let me clarify something for you, Mr. Karnes. You’re a low-level bureaucrat with a stick up his ass. I’m a multimillionaire with lots of very powerful friends. If I were you, I’d be extremely careful who I threatened. If you’re lucky, I’ll only come after you with lawyers. Do you feel lucky, punk?” Jerry quoted a cop movie he’d just seen.

  Karnes opened his mouth. Shut it.

  “Stay out of my hair, then.” Jerry left the office, shutting the door loudly. He walked over to Susan, who was still sitting miserably on the couch. “He’s an asshole. Don’t trust him.”

  “I don’t trust any nats,” Susan said. “Not anymore. It’s just that I can’t find a way around them.”

  Jerry patted her on the hand. “Right. Well, good luck, then.”

  Susan smiled. It wasn’t pretty. Maybe she’d bite a hole in Karnes’s desk. Probably not, though. That kind of thing only happened in the movies.

  Jerry sat on the bed, oiling the pistol. He’d bought and read a couple of books on gun care. If he was going to have a weapon, he was going to take care of it. He’d been target shooting for a few weeks and the pistol no longer felt awkward in his hand.

  There was a sharp knock at his apartment door. Jerry put the automatic in his dresser drawer under some T-shirts and crossed the room. He peered through the peephole and saw a middle-aged man in maintenance clothes. He opened the door.

  “I’m here to get you plastered,” the man said, smiling.

  “Right. Just follow me.” Jerry closed the door and led the man to where his wall safe had been installed. All it needed was plaster, paint, and something to put in front of it.

  The man walked to the wall and looked it over. “Nice safe,” he said. “This whole building could burn down and anything inside would be fine. Yes, sir. I kind of hate to be working on the anniversary of the King’s death, though. I’ll drink a few beers for him later on. Are you a fan?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean?” Jerry said.

  “Elvis. The King. He died twelve years ago today. I remember that summer. We had the second big blackout. You remember that?”

  “No. I was around for the first one, though.” Actually, Jerry had caused it, but didn’t feel like telling this guy the story. “I liked Elvis when I was younger.”

  “Can’t stop liking the King just because you get older. That’s no kind of fan to be. I listen to Elvis every night before I go to bed with the wife. Makes it just that much more exciting.”

  “You mind if I watch TV while you work?” Jerry asked.

  The man shrugged. “Don’t see why not. You’re the one spending a fortune to live here.” He spread out a piece of canvas on the carpet in front of the wall and sorted through his spatulas.

  Jerry picked up the remote control and punched up the local news.

  “… another apparent jumper crime. A mime says someone else entered his body while he was performing in Central Park, removed his clothing, and inserted a chrysanthemum in his anus. The jumper then paraded the mime around the park and made obscene gestures at passersby.”

  “Jeez,” the maintenance man said. “That’s three in the last two weeks. When are the cops going to do something about those jumper assholes?”

  “Maybe they’re scared,” Jerry said.

  “I can understand that. It’s a sorry day when New York’s finest can’t handle a few snot-nosed kids, though. Even if they are aces.”

  “You like aces?” Jerry turned away from the TV and looked over at the man.

  “Hell, no. Can’t stand them. Put them all in prison.” He pointed a spatula full of plaster at Jerry. “That’s what they should have done to the fat guy, even if it was just a joker he killed.”

  “There’s two sides to everything,” Jerry said.

  “Yep, and the lines are getting drawn. If you’re for aces and jokers, you’re looking for trouble. And a young man like you doesn’t need any trouble.”

  Jerry considered telling the man that they were probably the same age, but that would just make him curious. He turned off the TV and picked up his Cosmopolitan. He was trying harder to understand women, but just couldn’t seem to turn the corner. Maybe Irma Kurtz could enlighten him.

  Kenneth was expecting him for lunch, but this time it was Jerry who was late. Traffic was at a standstill on Third Avenue. He’d paid off his cabbie and started walking uptown. Within two blocks his shirt was soaked in sweat. He’d started out walking fast, but had gotten stitches in his sides and was just keeping pace with the tide of bodies on the sidewalk.

  Kenneth hadn’t actually said so, but Jerry figured his brother was going to turn over the material on Latham. He’d mentioned several times that Jerry shouldn’t cancel out. That had to mean something. Kenneth didn’t waste words.

  He was in the same block as the restaurant when his right leg cramped up. Jerry leaned against a wall and rubbed the back of his calf. The searing pain began to go away after a minute or two. Every other person that walked by looked at him and shook their head. He reached down and pulled the toe of his shoe toward him, stretching out the muscle. The pain lessened. He started limping toward the restaurant. Ahead, he saw three people go in. They were young and well dressed, but their clothes seemed wrong on them. They looked like kids playing dress-up. Jerry only saw them for a moment, but they seemed familiar. One of the girls was wearing a wig. Jerry had a few of his own and could spot one a mile away. He tried his bad leg and it quickly cramped up on him again. He started hopping slowly down the sidewalk. He started walking again when he stepped inside the restaurant. His leg was sore as hell, but there was nothing he could do about it. The cool air inside chilled his sweaty back. He smelled sauerkraut and schnitzel.

  They were sitting in a booth. The girl in the wig and the boy held on to the other girl. She looked passed out. A body brushed past him. Jerry saw his brother leave the restaurant.

  “Kenneth?”

  There was no answer. Jerry hobbled out after him. He grabbed Kenneth as they neared the sidewalk and tried to turn him around. Without looking, Kenneth threw an elbow that caught Jerry in the chest and knocked him backward. Jerry fell onto the sidewalk, skinning his hands. Kenneth stepped out into the traffic.

  “No,” Jerry screamed, and struggled to his feet.

  Kenneth turned, looking disoriented, just like the girl inside had. He snapped his head around at the sound of squealing brakes. The car turned sideways. Its right fender slammed into Kenneth, knocking his body up and back. Kenneth screamed. Jerry heard the crunch of glass. Kenneth bounced off a parked car and slid down into the street.

  Jerry ran over, the pain in his leg forgotten. Blood was coming from Kenneth’s nose and mouth. His body was twisted in a way that meant a broken back. Jerry knelt down next to him. “Kenneth, it’s me. Don’t try to move.” He turned to the gathering crowd. “Somebody call an ambulance, now.”

  “Jerry.” Kenneth’s voice was garbled by the blood in his throat. “They did it to me. Switched bodies. So … weird.” He closed his eyes, reopened them. “Hurts so much. Had to be … Latham behind it. Tell Beth…” His body shuddered and then was still.

  “No,” Jerry said quietly. He held his brother’s hand for a moment, then let it go and stood. He looked up and saw the trio of kids disappear around the corner. The b
oy was carrying a large folding envelope. Jerry ran a couple of painful steps, then stopped. “No.”

  Someone took Jerry by the shoulders and guided him back into the restaurant. He could tell they were saying something consoling, but he couldn’t pick out the words. They sat him down. A waiter put a glass of water and a shot of whiskey in front of him. “You wait here until the police arrive, sir. If there’s anything you need, just ask.”

  Jerry downed the whiskey without feeling it and clenched his hands into fists. Underneath the disbelief and the pain, there was something cold growing inside him. Something that would have to be taken care of sooner or later.

  Jerry thought about Beth and slumped in his chair. She wasn’t up to this, couldn’t be. He’d been a shit to her for so long, it wasn’t likely he could be much of a comfort now. But he was damn sure going to try.

  Jerry heard sirens approaching. He raised his hand for another drink, then reconsidered and waved the waiter away. This wasn’t the time.

  They were alone on the couch. After the funeral Jerry had hustled the friends and relatives out of the house as soon as courtesy would allow. Beth had held up well, but he could tell she needed another big cry soon.

  “I know we haven’t had time to talk about it, but I want to apologize for the way I’ve acted the past few months. I know I hurt your feelings, and you didn’t deserve that.” Jerry sniffed. Beth wasn’t the only one with a cry coming on. “I’m really sorry, and if you’ll give me another chance, I’ll never let you down again.” He touched her tentatively on the shoulder.

  Beth put her hand on his and looked over at him. “Oh, Jerry, that doesn’t matter. I know you’re not really hateful. Sometimes these things just happen. What’s important is that you’re here for me now.” She scooted across the couch and put her head in the hollow of his neck. “I need people around me who I can trust, who I can be myself with.”

  Jerry put his arms around her. He couldn’t tell if he started crying first or if she did. They held on to each other, hard. After they were both done, he went and grabbed a box of Kleenex. They blew their noses together and Beth managed a smile.