Dead Man's Hand

by George R. R. Martin

  “They’re all going to be living in hell anyway,” Jay said.

  “With me,” Hiram added darkly.

  Tach looked from one to the other. “Without the kiss…”

  Hiram nodded. “You … you cannot imagine.”

  “Oh, Hiram,” Tachyon said, his voice thick with pity for his old friend. “You should have come to me.”

  “There are a lot of things I should have done,” Hiram said.

  “Anyway,” Jay said, “I let the mounts go.”

  “All of them?” Tachyon said, astonished.

  “I didn’t figure I had the right to pick and choose,” Jay said. “Charm was the only one I thought twice about. He was the one who killed Chrysalis.”

  “Charm?” Tachyon said. “But why?”

  “Chrysalis knew everything about everybody. Ti Malice depended on secrecy for safety. Exposed, he was pitifully vulnerable. She must have found out about him somehow, but what she didn’t know was that Sascha was already his. The way I figure, her trusted telepath told his master that Chrysalis was getting close, so Ti Malice sent Charm to take her out. It adds up. The killer had to be someone Sascha knew, otherwise he would never have gotten inside the Palace without being detected. Maybe Ti Malice rode Charm personally that morning, to experience the sensation of beating someone to death. Or maybe not. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.”

  “All this time searching for the man who killed Chrysalis,” Tachyon murmured softly, “and yet you chose to let him go.”

  “Charm’s fucked up enough,” Jay said. “Besides, it wasn’t Charm, it was Ti Malice. And Ti Malice is gone.”

  Dr. Tachyon sipped from his drink and thought about that for a long time. Finally the alien gave a short, curt nod. “So much blood,” he said. “So much killing. It has to stop, Jay.”

  “Yeah,” Jay said. “Maybe Barnett is right.”

  “No,” Tach said.

  Hiram Worchester stood up suddenly. “I should go. I have to pack … check out.…” His voice trailed off.

  “Of course,” Tachyon said.

  “Go on,” Jay told him. “I’ll come down in a minute.”

  Hiram nodded and stepped out into the hall. When the door closed behind him, Ackroyd turned back to Tachyon. “He’s going to need your help, doc. He’s an addict, and from what he says, the kiss is a hundred times more addictive than heroin.”

  “Hiram will have all the help he requires,” Tachyon said. “I owe him a debt I can never repay. A blood debt. My grandson’s life.” The alien shook his head. “I could have helped him,” he said plaintively. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “There’s a better question. You’re supposed to be Hiram’s friend. So am I. So how come, all this time, we never noticed that anything was wrong?”

  Dr. Tachyon just looked at him. Tears welled up in his eyes, and behind them, guilt.

  “Shit,” Jay said. He was tired of tears, tired of guilt and shame and fear and pain. “Just forget it, okay? There’s nothing we can do about it except try to get him through. Hiram used all the strength he had left in him to kick your grandson in the head. He’s going to need us.”

  “Then we must not fail him,” Tachyon said.

  Jay nodded. Suddenly he felt very weary. “I better go down and keep Hiram company,” he said. “He’s still pretty shaky.”

  “Of course,” Tachyon said.

  But when Jay opened the door, Hiram was right there, in the hall. His huge body was trembling, and he looked up at Jay from forlorn eyes. “Hiram, what’s wrong?” Jay asked.

  “It’s … nothing,” Hiram began. “I suppose … an anxiety attack.” He blinked, as if to clear his head. “Jay … if you wouldn’t mind … could you … come down to the room with me? It’s just that I … would rather not be alone right now. Can you understand that?”

  Jay nodded. As he took Hiram by the arm, Dr. Tachyon rose unsteadily from his wheelchair. “We’ll both go,” the little alien announced in a tone that brooked no dissent. Hiram looked at them both gratefully. Jay figured they must have made quite a sight as they limped off together.

  While they waited for the elevator to arrive, Tachyon turned back to Jay. “One thing,” he asked. “You never said where you teleported Ti Malice.”

  “Funny thing about that,” Jay said. “The way my power works, I have to visualize a place real good before I can teleport anyone there. I have to be able to get a clear picture in my head, really see it in my mind’s eye. I got a bunch of places like that, places I know inside out. Sometimes it’s just reflex. I don’t have time to think about what I’m doing or where I’m going to send someone. I just point, and they wind up the first place that pops into my head.”

  “Yes?” Tachyon said politely.

  “I made a lot of phone calls from the hospital. Ti Malice hasn’t shown up in any of my usual places. Somehow, though, I didn’t think he would. I looked right into that son of a bitch’s face when he was crawling toward me, and the only thing that popped into my mind was this nightmare I’ve been having since I was a kid.” Jay coughed apologetically. “I know that place real well,” he said. “So you figure it out.”

  Dr. Tachyon thought about it for a moment. There was the sound of a chime. The elevator doors opened. Tach nodded slowly to Jay, turned, and entered the car.

  1:00 P.M.

  Brennan heard the outer door to the suite open, tired voices, then the door close. He stood up, framed in the doorway leading into the bedroom portion of the suite, gun in hand. Tachyon, Ackroyd, and Worchester stood clumped together, astonishment on their faces as they saw Brennan.

  “Daniel! What are you doing here?”

  Brennan knew that Tachyon had lost a hand, but that knowledge didn’t prepare him for the pale, drawn, bedraggled figure before him. Tachyon had obviously been through a lot the past week, but, Brennan thought grimly, it wasn’t quite over yet.

  “Tracking Chrysalis’s killer,” Brennan said grimly.

  Tachyon’s bloodshot eyes went wide with astonishment. “Surely—”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Ackroyd interrupted. He looked a little worse for wear, himself. His face was puffy and bruised and he seemed to be favoring one side.

  Brennan shook his head and gestured with his gun. “Sit on the bed,” he said in a cold voice, “and I’ll tell you a story about a murder.”

  Hiram hung back for a moment, then did as Brennan ordered. Ackroyd sat down next to Worchester and kept his hands carefully in his lap.

  “Oh, God,” Hiram moaned. “Will this never end?”

  “Let’s give him a chance,” Tachyon said.

  “Why?” Ackroyd asked truculently.

  “Because I know who killed Chrysalis,” Brennan said softly.

  Ackroyd frowned. “It was Malice’s joker goon. Chrysalis had discovered him—”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Brennan took a deep breath so that he could speak in a calm, even voice. “I was Chrysalis’s lover,” he said. “Perhaps even her friend. That alone might have brought me back to track down her killer. But the murderer added insult to that injury. He tried to frame me for her death.” He stared unblinkingly at Ackroyd. “Even you admit that was a clumsy job.”

  Ackroyd nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. It had me going for a while, but it didn’t take me long to realize it was a setup.”

  Brennan nodded, switched his gaze to Tachyon. “I had no idea why Chrysalis had been killed. Any number of things could have triggered the murder. I couldn’t isolate the motive, so I concentrated on finding an ace strong enough to crush Chrysalis. But that, too, proved to be a blind alley, because Chrysalis wasn’t killed by an ace with super strength.”

  “What?” Ackroyd said. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Brennan shook his head. “I knew something was wrong at the crime scene when I first saw it, but it took me a while to figure it out. There was very little blood in Chrysalis’s office. She’d been killed before being pulped. Her heart had stopped pumping so there was n
o blood sprayed on the walls, desk, or floor.”

  Tachyon nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Someone was covering his tracks again, pretending that Chrysalis had been battered to death by an ace with extraordinary strength. But who?” Brennan shook his head. “The list of suspects had again become endless, but I thought I could narrow it down by questioning Sascha. He was a telepath, he’d been on the murder scene, and he was acting peculiar. I figured he knew more than he was admitting. He’d disappeared, but I thought I could track him down.”

  “You couldn’t have found him,” Ackroyd said. “He was here in Atlanta.”

  “That’s right,” Brennan agreed. “But during the investigation I found out that he was in thrall to a mysterious master, someone called Ti Malice. Then I found Malice’s apartment, and in the apartment was a closet, and in the closet was a coat, and in the coat were these.” He carefully reached into his hip pocket with his broken arm and took out a deck of playing cards. They were ornate, but worn and tattered and of great age and apparent delicacy.

  “So what?” Ackroyd asked with a frown.

  “These are the cards,” Brennan explained, “that Chrysalis played solitaire with, the deck from which the murderer took the ace of spades to frame me. The deck he then absentmindedly put in his coat pocket and took with him after he left her office. Isn’t that right, Worchester?”

  Brennan stared grimly at the huge ace. Hiram tried to speak, but no words would come out. He stuttered, sputtered, and fingered the angry sore on the side of his neck, his face pale and beaded with sweat, his hands trembling.

  Brennan dropped the cards on the floor and took from his jacket pocket the ace of spades that Chrysalis had left him in her will. He scaled it at Hiram. The card flew true, struck Hiram’s broad chest, and tumbled to the floor where it landed faceup, black and ominous against the carpet.

  “Cute,” Jay said as the card fluttered to the floor at Hiram’s feet. “That mean you’re going to start killing people now, or what?” He started to get up.

  “I told you not to move.” The barrel of Brennan’s automatic slid a few inches to the right, until it was fixed on Jay.

  “So shoot me,” Jay said. He got to his feet, looking right at Yeoman. “You got any idea what Hiram has just been through?”

  “I don’t care what he’s been through.”

  “Aren’t you the fucking soul of compassion?” Jay said.

  “I don’t waste my compassion on killers,” Brennan said.

  “Oh, I forgot, you’re Mother Teresa,” Jay said with bitter sarcasm. “Well, pardon the hell out of me. Thing of it is, though, seeing as how you hate killers so much, I can’t help noticing you’re the only one in the room with a gun in his hand.”

  “Jay, Daniel, please,” Tachyon pleaded. His good hand cradled his bandaged stump, and he sounded weak and sick at heart. “Can’t we work this out like civilized people?”

  “He’s trying to protect a killer,” Yeoman said icily.

  “You got a hell of a lot of nerve calling anyone a killer, Danny boy,” Jay snapped back.

  “This isn’t about me,” Yeoman said.

  “Stop it!” Tachyon cried. He looked over at Brennan. “Daniel, there must be some mistake. I know Hiram Worchester. I have known him for close on two decades now, in good times and bad. He is a good man. Even if I believed for a moment that Hiram was capable of such an act, he was here in Atlanta at the convention while Chrysalis was being murdered in Jokertown. He couldn’t have done it.”

  Jay glanced back at Hiram uncomfortably. “Well,” he admitted with vast reluctance, “that’s not quite true. I checked the airline schedules. If he took the last flight out and the first flight back, he’d never have been missed. But Carnifex could have caught the same flights. Same for Braun, or any of them.”

  “That can easily be verified,” Tachyon pointed out. “Even if Hiram used an assumed name, a man of his size would have been noticed.”

  “Then check it if that’s what it takes to convince you,” Brennan said. “I have all the proof I need.”

  “What about a motive?” Jay demanded. “Or don’t you bother with things like that? Motives, chains of evidence, courtrooms, what a fucking nuisance, right? Your way is a lot simpler. Danny Brennan says he’s guilty, time to kill the poor bastard.”

  “I have evidence,” Brennan replied curtly. “Enough to convince me that it’s true.”

  “As far as I can see, you don’t have jack shit except for a deck of cards you found in some coat pocket,” Jay said.

  “Jay makes a good point,” Tachyon put in. “Do you have any proof that Hiram brought the cards to this apartment?”

  “The kitchen cabinets were full of expensive gourmet foods. There was every kind of utensil you can imagine, everything a gourmet cook like Worchester would need. And the jacket was white linen, expensive, fashionable, custom-tailored. Size 68 long. Chrysalis was killed by an ace. How many aces wear that size?”

  Silence filled the room.

  Jay turned to look behind him. Hiram still sat on the corner of the bed. He was not using his gravity power; the mattress tilted ominously under his massive weight. His face was pale and damp, his shoulders slumped, his eyes still fixed on the ace of spades that lay at his feet.

  The stillness lasted an eon. All three of them were looking at Hiram now. The big ace seemed oblivious until Tachyon finally, softly, said, “Hiram?”

  Then he looked up, and sighed hugely. His eyes were sad and sick. “Yes, doctor?” he asked.

  “Are you all right?” Tach asked gently.

  “No,” Hiram said. “I haven’t been all right for some time.”

  “This is crazy,” Jay said. “Hiram, don’t just sit there. Tell him that he’s wrong.”

  “I wish I could,” Hiram said with quiet dignity. “You don’t know how much I wish that.”

  “What are you saying?” Tachyon asked, dread in his voice. “You don’t mean to say that these accusations are true?”

  Hiram nodded, his eyes far off and full of pain. The big man seemed to be having trouble speaking. “I … I’m sorry.”

  Then it was Jay who had no words.

  “There must be some explanation,” Tachyon said. “I cannot accept this. You’re a good man, a man of courage and integrity.”

  “Ti Malice,” Jay blurted. “That fucking thing was riding you, using you, your powers, your body.” He swung around to face Brennan. “You don’t understand the situation. Hiram was a victim. Even if he did do it, he was only the instrument.”

  “No, Jay,” Hiram interrupted quietly. “I appreciate your loyalty, but … it wasn’t like that. It was me. Just me. God help me.” He fell silent again, eyes turned inward.

  “Hiram, tell us,” Tachyon implored.

  For a moment Hiram didn’t seem to hear. Then the big ace began to speak. His voice was weary, so quiet they had to strain to hear. “I needed the kiss,” he began simply. “That was why I flew back to New York that night. The last flight out, just as Jay surmised. You don’t know what it was like to go without the kiss … I needed it badly.

  “So I flew back up, and went to him secretly. There were always other … other mounts about. Ti Malice was never alone. When I arrived, he was mounted on Sascha. But my … my master was pleased to see me. He left Sascha and gave me his kiss.

  “That was when Sascha told me. He was angry. It was an act of spite. I’d taken Ti Malice away from him, you see, and there is nothing so awful in the world. He wanted to hurt me, so he told me that Chrysalis had hired a man to assassinate Gregg Hartmann. He knew how hard I’d worked, how much hope and faith and trust I’d put in Gregg. Sascha had picked it out of her mind just that morning. He was only a skimmer, you know, the poorest kind of telepath, but her plan must have been right there on the surface of her mind.

  “It didn’t bother me, not then. When Ti Malice honors you with his kiss, everything seems just as it should be, and nothing can bother you. But after a few hours, t
he master bestowed his kiss on Ezili, leaving me alone again. That was when I finally grasped what Sascha had said. I couldn’t believe it. It seemed so monstrous, so obscene. I knew Chrysalis. Not well, but I knew her, we’d spent five months together on the Stacked Deck. I couldn’t believe she would do such a thing. I had to confront her. I dressed and went down to the Crystal Palace.

  “She was alone in her office, playing solitaire. You have to believe me, I never intended to hurt her. I told her what I’d heard, demanded to know if it was true. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t say anything. She looked up at me once, suspiciously, then went right back to playing solitaire. When I pressed her, all I got were evasive, meaningless answers in that infuriating fake accent of hers. If only she’d talked to me, told me what she knew about Gregg, what she’d seen … perhaps I wouldn’t have believed her at first, but I would have listened. Dear God, why wouldn’t she talk to me?”

  “She didn’t trust you, Hiram,” Jay said, with a sad certainty. “That was how she was. She didn’t trust anybody.”

  “I tried to make her see … how important it was. What a good man Gregg was.” Hiram laughed bitterly. “I talked about his principles, his courage, his commitment to all of us, jokers and aces alike, how he was our last hope. Dear God, what a fool she must have thought me!

  “I begged her.” Tears were running down Hiram’s face. “If it was true, what Sascha had said, I … I begged her to call it off. And all the time she just played cards, turning them over one by one, putting them down in place. They made a little snapping noise when she flipped them off the deck, I remember. Black on red, red on black. Her face … like a skull. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She reminded me of death, sitting there playing cards while her hired assassin went out to do her killing for her. By what right? I asked her that, and she had no answer. I was very angry then. I made accusations, threats, told her I would go to the police. She just looked up and said that I’d do no such thing, that she knew a few things about me, too, and I knew she was talking about Ti Malice. Then she told me to get out. I refused. I begged her to talk to me, to listen to me. She just laughed, and started to get out of her chair. That was when … when…”