Jennifer gasped, but just as Quasiman slid off into empty space, he disappeared. There was a distinct popping sound, then he was standing next to Brennan and Jennifer on the sidewalk in front of the church.
"Yes?" he said.
Brennan stared at him. for a moment. "I wanted to ask you a favor," he finally said.
"A favor?" Quasiman repeated.
"Yes. You know that I'm trying to find out who killed Chrysalis. Well, I'm having a problem with an ace. An extraordinarily strong ace. I may need your help in handling him."
Quasiman glanced at Father Squid, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "All right."
"Thanks." Brennan held up a small electronic unit, the size and thickness of a folded wallet. "When-if-we need you, we'd be able to call you with this."
Quasiman took the receiver dubiously. "All right." He looked at the unit, his look lengthening into a stare as his mind drifted away to wherever it went when he phased out.
"You know," Father Squid said, "Quasiman is not the most reliable of men."
"He'll have to do. There's no one else to turn to." Brennan didn't mention the other reason he wanted Quasiman to carry the receiver. It was also a sensitive sending unit. He planned to monitor Quasiman to see if he had any contact with someone who might have wanted Chrysalis dead.
"Very well," Father Squid said as Quasiman suddenly returned to normal. "But now, the will."
They went into the church, leaving Quasiman outside on the sidewalk.
The first four rows of pews were filled with people who worked at the Crystal Palace, from Jo-jo the microcephalic joker who swept out the place, to Charles Dutton, the skull-faced man who was Chrysalis's silent partner. Only Elmo and Sascha were missing, Elmo because he was still being held by the police. Joe Jory was also present. As Brennan and Jennifer approached the pew where Jory sat by himself, he knocked back a drink from a silver pocket flask. Brennan couldn't tell if grief was making him drink to excess or the thought of being so close to so many jokers. Either way Brennan found it hard to be sorry for him.
Father Squid settled his immense bulk down behind the table set up before the rail and looked around expectantly as all whispered conversations stopped.
"I'm glad that you could all come to hear Chrysalis's last will and testament. This reading is not for outsiders. The lawyers weren't told of it, neither were the police. Those formalities will be taken care of later. Tonight is for Chrysalis's family."
Father Squid picked up a manila envelope, slipped out a sheaf of papers, and tapped them together into a neat stack. "As was my duty, I have already gone over Chrysalis's will once in private. I will read it to you now" He cleared his throat, then began.
"I, Chrysalis, being of sound mind and as sound a body as I've had since the wild card changed me, give you my last will and testament. I have numerous bequests to make, Father, so please gather together everyone connected with the Crystal Palace, and a few others whom I know you know, but will be nameless here."
"First, to Father Squid and the Church of Jesus Christ, Joker, I leave the contents of the luggage locker that fits the key which you'll find in this envelope. I know you will put it to good use." Father Squid looked up. "This has already been taken care of."
"Second, to Elmo Schaeffer, my right hand since I first came alone to the city, I give you what I could not give you in life: my love. If ever there was a man who deserved it, it was you." The priest sighed, cleared his throat again, and went on.
"Third, to Charles Dutton, I give outright my share of the Crystal Palace." There was an audible intake of collective breath and half a dozen conversations broke out that Father Squid's powerful voice hushed. "With the proviso that everything stays exactly as it is and everyone keeps their jobs as long as they shall live."
Dutton inclined his head and a wave of relief swept over the room.
"Fourth, to Digger Downs I leave the coat. Wear it in good health, or use it as you will."
Perhaps, Brennan thought, the Oddity was searching for this coat in Chrysalis's closet. Though what role a coat could play in Chrysalis's murder was utterly beyond Brennan.
"Fifth, to my loving father, if he has bothered to attend this reading…" Father Squid stood and passed a large manila envelope to Jory. He took it with shaking hands, broke the seal, and slipped out a sheet of heavy paper, eight by ten inches. Brennan could see from where he was sitting that it was the famous Annie Leibowitz photograph of Chrysalis. She was naked from the waist up and you could almost see her blood race, her lungs pump, her heart throb to the pulse of her life. "… so that you'll remember your darling little girl, day in and day out," the priest continued in his remorseless voice, "as long as you shall live."
It was a gift with a sharp, but just, edge to it, Brennan thought. Once, in what was probably the most vulnerable mood he'd ever seen her in. Chrysalis had told him that the virus had manifested itself in her at puberty. Her family had then locked her away in a wing of their mansion. They'd kept her hidden in their shame and disgust until she'd managed to escape six years later.
Father Squid sat back down behind his table. The church was silent but for the sobbing that Jory couldn't mule by covering his face with his shaking hands.
"Sixth, to my archer, if he has heard of my death and cared enough to attend this meeting, I leave two things. The first…" Brennan stood and reached out a steady hand to take the small envelope that the priest held out. He opened it. Inside was a small bit of plastic-laminated paper, two and a quarter by three and a half inches, a brand-new, crisp, clean ace of spades. "… to place on the body of my murderer. The second to toast to offers I should have accepted, promises I should have made."
Father Squid picked up a box from the floor and placed it on the table.
"I'm sorry," he said in his gentle voice. "It seems that a vandal broke into Chrysalis's bedroom and smashed most everything, this included. I can dispose of it if you'd like."
It was the decanter she'd kept by her bedside filled with the Irish whiskey that Brennan favored.
"Thank you, Father. I'll take it."
There were more bequests. Most everyone was given a little something that they needed, or perhaps just something that they wanted but could never have afforded. Everyone was touched by the depths of feeling there was to the woman who had known everything, it seemed, and shown nothing. Brennan wondered again, Jennifer's hand a comforting presence on his right forearm, what would have happened if Chrysalis had taken the offer of his protection, had given him the promise of her love. He looked at Jennifer, wondering if she could read the questions in his eyes.
The reading ended. There were tears of sadness and genuine grief as Father Squid moved among the Palace employees, comforting them with his gentle, stolid presence.
Jory had ceased sobbing and had passed out drunk. Father Squid detailed Lupo to get him to his hotel room.
As everyone stood about chatting, Brennan thought he felt eyes on him, as if someone were waiting in ambush in the rear of the church. He glanced back and saw a huge, bulky figure dressed in a floor-length cloak slip out of the back of the choir loft. He handed the box with the broken decanter in it to Jennifer.
"Take this to the room and wait for me. There's someone I have to see right now"
She nodded and took the package from him. "Be careful," she said, but Brennan was already out in the night, following the Oddity as that mysterious entity went on its mysterious rounds.
9:00 P.M.
The Oddity wasn't listed in the phone book or the city directory. At least not under "Oddity."
The joker had other names: Evan, Patti, John. That much Digger had remembered from that story that Mr. Lowboy had refused to print. The Oddity wasn't one person but three, two men and a woman. They'd been roommates and lovers, Digger told him, a menage a trois, until the wild card had fused them into a single nightmare creature, three minds sharing one massive body, its flesh alive with the agony of perpetual transformation. Evan, Patti, John; but no s
urnames.
As for an address, the best that Downs could recall was that they lived down in Jokertown somewhere. That much Jay could have guessed by himself.
He took a cab to Jokertown and hit the streets, making the rounds until his feet began to hurt. The snitches at Freakers gave him some leads, after head dropped a few bills, but nothing had panned out. The Oddity didn't drink in any of the usual gin joints, eat in any of the usual greasy spoons, or get his or her ashes hauled in any of the usual cathouses. Jay finally tried the cophouse, ducking in through the side entrance to avoid his buddies Maseryk and Kant. There had been rumors about the Oddity, Sergeant Mole told him, but no complaints, no arrests, and no address on file.
After that, he walked the streets at random, in the half-assed hope of bumping into his quarry. When he hadn't been looking for the Oddity, the asshole had been showing up everywhere; now he couldn't find him for a prayer.
It must have been old habit that made Jay turn down Henry Street toward the Crystal Palace. He was half a block away when he remembered the Palace was closed.
Except, he saw when he got closer, that it wasn't.
Jay shoved in through the front door, following a pair of slumming yuppies. The taproom was as crowded as he'd ever seen it. All the tables and booths were full, and patrons were lined up two deep along the bar, clamoring for service. Jay moved through the press with a couple of feints and a deft elbow, to belly up to the rail. Lupo was the only bartender. His fur was slick with sweat, and he looked harassed. "I got his poisse cafe for him right here," he snapped at a waitress, grabbing his crotch. He drew a beer and set it on her tray.
"Here, give him this, if he doesn't like it, tell him Squisher makes the best poisse cafe in town over in the Basement." The bartender caught sight of Jay from the corner of his eye. He threw together a scotch and soda and brought it down, walking right past four nat barflies who were trying to get his attention. "Son of a fucking bitch," he complained as he set down the drink on a soggy coaster in front of Jay. "Busy tonight," Jay said.
"Tell me about it," Lupo said. "Nothing like a murder to goose up business. I never seen three quarters of these geeks before. Lemme tell you, they don't know jack about tipping neither."
"Hey!" one of the nats screamed from three stools down. "Hey, furface, I want some fuckin' service!"
Lupo turned his head and snarled, baring long yellow teeth. The nat cringed and almost fell off his stool. For a second it got very quiet along the bar. Lupo turned back to Jay. "You were saying?"
"Where's Sascha?" Jay asked.
"Good question," Lupo said. "This is his goddamn shift, only nobody can find him. Maybe if I was a telepath I'd know when to get lost, too."
"New boss on the premises?"
Lupo nodded, moving off as a waitress hailed him from the far end of the bar. "Try the red room," he said.
The red room was quieter than the main taproom, but all the booths were occupied, red velvet curtains drawn around each for privacy. Jay stopped a waitress and asked about Dutton. She pointed to the booth on the end.
He carried his scotch over and stuck his head through the curtain. "Peekaboo," he said.
Jube jumped like someone had given him a hotfoot and looked nervous until he saw who it was. Charles Dutton seemed unperturbed. "Have a seat, Mr. Ackroyd," he said calmly.
Jay slid into the booth and let the curtain fall closed behind him, shutting them into a soft red womb. It felt good to sit down.
Dutton was nursing a cognac. The Walrus had a huge pifia colada with a pineapple ring floating on top, but he pushed it away and maneuvered his bulk out of the booth. "I got to sell some papers," he said. "Catch you later."
Jay waited till he was gone. "Picking up the pieces?"
Deep-sunk cold eyes regarded him frankly. "You might say that. I've decided to keep the business going."
"Great," Jay said. "I'll be your first customer."
"What would you like to know? If the price is right, I'm sure we can do business."
"I get my usual generous discount, right?" Jay said. He went on quickly, before Dutton could say no. "I'm looking for the Oddity. Know where they live?"
"No," Dutton said.
Jay made a tsking sound. "Chrysalis would have," he said. "See, if you're going to be an information broker, you got to know things like that."
Give me time to consult her informants," Dutton said. "Sascha might know," Jay told him. "You pick up all kinds of things when you can read minds. Where is Sascha anyway?
"I would like to know that myself. He hasn't returned to his room since the murder. His mother hasn't seen him either. She's quite worried."
"He's probably with his girlfriend," Jay said. "Trust me, she's not the kind of girl you bring home to Mom." He finished his drink. "Guess you haven't found those secret files yet."
"No, more's the pity," Dutton told him. "I can assure you, however, that they're nowhere in this building." Dutton pulled his hood over his face and stood up.
"Don't tell me you're tired of my company already?" Jay said.
"I'm afraid I have business to attend to."
"Me too." Jay got to his feet. He was thinking about Sascha. The last time he'd paid a call, he'd gotten laid and lied to. Maybe it was time they had another chat.
10:00 P.M.
It was a cinch to follow the Oddity, no matter how crowded or how empty the streets. The joker didn't move very fast, and he certainly had a conspicuous silhouette.
Things got a little trickier when the Oddity took to the deserted back alleys where there were no other pedestrians to blend in with. But the alleys were also darker than the streets and allowed Brennan to move from shadow to shadow with the stealth of a stalking cat.
The Oddity finally stopped before a back service entrance of a dark brick building and let himself in with a key. Brennan followed him as closely as he dared. He stopped before the metal door, pausing to read the legend stenciled on it:
SERVICE ENTRANCE
FAMOUS BOWERY WILD CARD DIME MUSEUM
Brennan frowned, wondering what connection the Oddity could have with the wild card museum. He went to work on the door, knowing that he wouldn't find any answers out there in the alley.
Inside, the museum was dimly lit by security lights that threw the various exhibits into shadowy relief. Brennan felt a touch of strangeness as he moved by the silent, dimly lit replicas of aces and jokers and aliens. It was a relief finally to hear the sound of clumping feet that put him back on the Oddity's trail.
He caught up to the Oddity as the joker was disappearing down a flight of stairs that led to the bowels of the museum. Brennan followed him down the stairs and caught up with him again as he entered what looked like a basement workroom. The joker had flicked on all the lights, so Brennan cautiously hid behind a tarp-covered something that was being stored in the wide hallway. From his vantage point he could peer around the doorjamb and see into most of the room, which was largely filled with half-completed wax replicas.
The Oddity was pacing before one of the wax sculptures. Brennan leaned further into the light and saw that it was a nude study of Chrysalis. Her torso was just starting to take form with bones and organs gleaming under wispy musculature. Her head was still a formless blob.
The Oddity suddenly took off his fencing mask and hurled it across the room with an anguished howl. It made a loud clatter as it smashed into a pile of pots and pails that was sitting near the wall. The Oddity, now wearing the sensitive features of a handsome black man whose face was twisted by intense emotion, continued to pace before the sculpture.
Brennan was so engrossed in watching the joker that he almost didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs. He managed to jerk back into the darkness just as Charles Dutton came down the hallway and went into the workroom where the Oddity was pacing.
"I thought it was you," Brennan heard Dutton say. There was a long silence, then Dutton added, "There's no sense brooding over it, Evan."
Brennan heard the O
ddity suck in a long, angry breath. "She's dead, Charles, beaten to a pulp by some lousy ace. I'll never finish it now" There was the sound of more angry pacing, then the Oddity-Evan-said, "I'd love to get my hands on the neck of the son of a bitch who did it to her. I would! I really would!"
"Now, Evan," Dutton said placatingly, "That's not like you at all. Sounds more like John. We have plenty of other things to worry about. The police are on the case, and so is Ackroyd. Someone will find the murderer. Let's concentrate on the files."
"I know, Charles," Evan said as Brennan silently backed away down the hall. "I know. But why Chrysalis? Who could have done such a thing?"
Brennan went back up the stairs, through the museum, and out into the alley by the back door.
There'd been no mistaking the pain and anguish in the Oddity's voice, though Brennan was unsure if he was more upset about Chrysalis's death or his unfinished waxwork. In any case, unless the Oddity was even more schizoid than Brennan figured, it was obvious that he hadn't killed Chrysalis. The Oddity was innocent, Brennan thought. So was Bludgeon. The Shadow Fists were looking better and better. He checked his wristwatch as he moved off into the night.
Time to call a man, he thought, about a visit to a graveyard.
This time Jay decided not to ring the doorbell. Just thinking of Ezili gave him a hard-on, but last visit things had gotten entirely too messy for his taste.
He pushed an empty dumpster down the alley and climbed on top. From there his fingers could brush the lowest rung of the ladder that hung down from the old cast-iron fire escape. He stretched, grabbed the metal with one hand, and tried to yank it down. It didn't want to come. Meanwhile the dumpster rolled out from under him, leaving him dangling from the ladder by one hand. Jay grunted, caught the rung with his other hand, chinned himself up, and began to climb. It was at times like this he wished he could teleport himself as easily as he did his targets. But no, he had to do it the hard way. He hunkered down on the fire escape to catch his breath, sniffing dubiously at the air. Something smelled bad.
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