Jokertown Shuffle

by George R. R. Martin

  The bullet clipped him in the leg, and he went down with a yell. "Stop that!"

  "Give me my body back!"

  "Fuck you!"

  Bang.

  The bullet took Black Shadow in the torso somewhere, and he went down, suddenly limp, hands clutching at the roof. "You're crazy!" he shouted.

  And then his eyes narrowed as he looked at Shad. Triumph sang through Shad's veins as he realized what was about to happen. He gave his hand a command to drop his pistol, but suddenly the world was spinning again, and he couldn't be certain if the command was obeyed.

  Asphalt hit him in the face. I'm Black Shadow, he thought, and laughter rang through his mind.

  He ate every photon he could reach. Heat blazed through him. He rolled across the roof as blind pistol shots snapped out.

  The jumper loomed in his awareness, a flaming infrared target that staggered around the roof, blinded by darkness.

  Shad's body had been exercising hard, and it was starved for energy. Shad concentrated on the figure and drank in its heat.

  The jumper swayed, staggered, collapsed.

  Shad gasped for breath and tried to rise to his feet. The wounded leg seemed willing to support him; the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of the thigh. The other bullet had gone through the right shoulder, and Shad could feel bone grating as he tried to move it. Blood was soaking the jumpsuit, coursing warm down Shad's right arm.

  The wounds were in shock, and there was no real pain yet, just little crackling twinges of what was to come. He was going to need a doctor real soon. Except that the police had fired a lot of bullets at him, would have no idea whether they'd hit, and would be searching the hospitals for him. The jumpers too, probably.

  He'd have to find a doctor he could trust, a junkie or alcoholic or someone who would want his cash and not turn him in. He searched his mind.

  Nothing. Shit. He'd settle for a vet.

  He could hear police shouting, the pounding of boots on pavement. They'd heard the shots and figured something was up. Time to leave. He squatted over the jumpers and Shelley's body, and ate every bit of heat in them, feasted on photons until the two lay with frost covering their glassy eyeballs. Shad rose and headed off the roof. A tornado of heat swirled in his heart. Blood drizzled on the cold pavement below as he eased himself over the wall.

  I'm Black Shadow, he thought.

  A glowing green landscape burned in his mind. The night covered him with its velvet mask.

  He collapsed two blocks away. He panted for breath, ate photons, tried to gather himself together. He became aware of someone moving cautiously across the street, watching him with dilated cat's eyes.

  "Wait!" He called the darkness, staggering toward her trailing a boiling black shroud and a trail of red. She hesitated, then began to retreat. "I need help." He sagged against the wall and slid to the pavement.

  Chalktalk turned. Her dilated cat's eyes seemed big as the moon.

  A bolt of pain shot up his arm. "I've been shot," he said.

  "I need to get out of here." He sagged against a brick wall. Chalktalk stood, undecided, five long yards away. "Can you take me somewhere?" Shad asked. "Someplace where I can… get better? I can't have police involved."

  She said nothing.

  Shad tried again. "You've been following me, okay? I know that. So you know what I've been up to. I don't know what your reasons were, but-" Pain crackled through his body. He gasped. "Help me now, all right? Like I helped you with Anton."

  She walked close to him and knelt, her bulky overcoat obscuring her work as she reached for chalk and began to draw.

  Shad shivered. The girl's warmth called him, but he didn't take it. The chalk made little scratching sounds on the pavement. Shad became aware that he was sitting on wetness. "Hurry," he said.

  The girl looked up at him. Her famished wide-eyed face was lit from below, as if the pavement were glowing with light. He crawled toward her, and she ducked her head toward him and kissed him, and before he had a chance quite to absorb that, he was suddenly aware that he was falling. Falling into another place.

  The phone rang twice. 741-PINE. The answering machine picked up.

  A woman's voice spoke for a few seconds. "I've called a dozen times," she said.

  There was no one to answer. The little Jokertown room was empty, holding only a narrow bed and a footlocker with an odd assortment of clothing.

  "I don't know what to do," the woman said. There was a click. And then there was silence.

  The Temptation of Hieronymus Bloat

  VII

  Blaise had torn down the Administration Building around me, replacing it with a gigantic cage of steel. I stared out forlornly through the bars as Blaise and Prime rounded up all the jokers from their houses and the caves below, herding them into a great mass before me. Tachyon-Kelly was there, too, standing beside Blaise and cradling the great mound of her belly. Blaise kissed her savagely, his eyes open and staring at me, not her. Prime applauded the gesture-Latham had taken all the money from the jokers; the bills in an enormous green pile before him.

  "Now, Durg," Blaise said, and I heard a rumbling. An enormous bulldozer the size of a house came into view, and instead of grillwork, the front of it was Durg's face. DozerDurg churned the earth of the Rox, driving inexorably toward the jokers, who screamed with rapture-blue lips, cowering and backing away from the mechanical horror until the water of New York Bay lapped at their heels.

  "Stop!" I yelled to Blaise from my case. "This is the joker homeland! This isn't your place; this is the Rox!"

  Blaise only laughed. Prime smiled coldly, sorting the stacks of bills before him. A cold wind was blowing, a dark wind, and it scattered the money. Latham ran after the flying bills, shouting and grasping, but the wind took them all out into the bay. Prime-Latham jumped up and down on the shore, cursing.

  "Prime!" I shouted to him. "You have to help me! I'm the governor!"

  Blaise was laughing at Prime, laughing at me. DozerDurg herded the jokers, forcing them deeper into the water. "Well, Fatboy, they've got you trapped, but then you already know that."

  I looked down to see the penguin grinning up at me. A huge key ring was hung over the funnel hat; an ornate ancient key dangled from the ring. "Shut up. Go away," I told it.

  "Whassamatta, Gov? You afraid?" The penguin tsked softly, shaking its head. The key rang against the ring with a dull chiming. "You have so much potential, so much power."

  "I don't have any power," I raged. "Nothing. The caves just came; I don't know how I did it or how to do it again. It's all a sham. Damn it, I could make this place something wonderful if they'd just let me."

  "You certainly could," the penguin agreed. "If you'd get off your big ass and use that power. But you won't. You don't really believe in it."

  I began pacing the perimeter of my cage. I was the Outcast now, with an empty scabbard banging against my hip as a reminder of my impotence. I shook the bars; I raged.

  None of it did any good. Blaise laughed, Latham ignored me. Dozer-Durg drove the jokers out until the waters of the bay closed over them with black finality.

  Blaise's arm snaked around Tachyon's swelling waist and walked her over to my prison. "You see," he said to her. "He's nothing. He's powerless to help you. He's lost everything." He pointed at me, low, and chuckled.

  I looked down. Blaise was right. I was naked, and where my genitals should have been there was nothing but smooth unbroken skin. I began to scream…

  I was still screaming when I woke up.

  "You'll take the message to Latham?" I asked Croyd. "Is it safe for you?"

  Croyd shrugged. I could tell he was wired, red-eyed and ready to sleep. He looked like a pink-skinned bat on growth hormones-not a pretty sight. He'd come to the Rox since he didn't feel that Manhattan was safe for any joker any longer. It's a bitch, man. If I'd known Shad was gonna cause this kinda ruckus… "I can do that much, sure. I still think it'd be a lot easier to just get a whole bunch of us together
and bust Tachyon."

  "It's not that simple," I said. "You don't know the situation here. I have to be honest, Croyd. I've got a tower room all set up for you-hell, you're one of the joker heroesbut I can't say you're safer here than Manhattan."

  "I'll take my chances," Croyd shrugged. Wing membrane rustled. "And I'll pay the rent, too. I make a hell of delivery boy; don't have to fool with traffic. What's in the package?"

  "Blackmail."

  Croyd grinned. He flew off.

  I hadn't been kidding. Whoever this ace was who'd wrecked our jump-the-rich scheme had left me one silver lining. There was now a lot of pressure on the authorities to hang someone for this. I was only reminding Latham that I had a lot of information regarding that scheme that would make his life very, very uncomfortable. Sure, he'd shrugged that aside once before, but there was a lot more heat now. I also let him know that none of that information would ever reach them if he could do me just one little favor-convince Blaise to let Tachyon go, or simply spring Tachyon himself. I knew Latham's thoughts, after all; I knew he detested Blaise as much as anyone. I knew that he feared Blaise as well. In my letter, I asked him what might happen to Blaise once they heard from Tachyon what had happened. Blaise, after all, was the visible head of the jumpers.

  Croyd came back several hours later. "It's done," Croyd said. "Latham said that he'd take care of it."

  I laughed, happily. Yes! I exulted. Soon, my love! Soon you will be free. It's done!

  I'd done it. It had taken far longer than my worst fears, but at last this injustice would be over. The realization felt so good, so damned good. Even the colors of the Bosch seemed more vibrant.

  Croyd looked at the painting, too, sighed, and rustled his wings, folding them around his wrinkled, wizened body. "Now, where can I sleep, Governor?" he asked.

  Riders by Lewis Shiner

  The man was a Shinto priest, but in an attempt to satisfy everyone, he had worn a black suit and black turtleneck. There was enough March sunshine to make the clothing uncomfortable. He had visibly begun to perspire. "Dearly beloved," he said, with some sort of Asian accent, "we are gathered here today… to celebrate=" He stopped and looked down at the prayer book, puzzled. Then, looking horribly embarrassed, he flipped forward and started the service for the burial of the dead.

  Veronica shifted uncomfortably on her metal folding chair, as did most of the small crowd of mourners. For Veronica, it was an attempt to keep from laughing. Ichiko, she thought, would have laughed. But Ichiko was dead.

  " I did not know Ichiko personally," the priest said, beginning to drone. "But from what I understand, she was a kind, generous, and loving soul."

  Veronica wondered how he could go through with it, to stand there next to her coffin and issue platitudes, to sum up the life of someone he'd never met. She tuned him out and looked around once again, hoping to see Fortunato. Ichiko was, after all, his mother. Veronica had sent the telegram herself to the monastery on Hokaido where Fortunato had retreated. There had been no answer, just as there had been no answer to any of the other letters or pleas that had been sent him. All she saw now was sunshine, birds splashing in the puddles left from a morning shower.

  In all, maybe a dozen people had shown up for the service. Cordelia and Miranda, of course, who had been with Ichiko to the end. A handful of former geishas. Digger Downs, probably hoping for a glimpse of Fortunato. Three elderly men Veronica didn't recognize. None of Ichiko's famous clients, of course, could afford to be seen at her funeral. There were lots of flowers.

  She looked at the old men again, wondering if one of them might be Jerry Strauss, in disguise. She hadn't heard from him since the previous fall, but it wasn't like Jerry to give up easily. It was Miranda who had told her about his ability to change his appearance, something he'd never let on about in all the time he was paying for her professional services. Still, if one of them had been Jerry, he would have been watching her. These three seemed to have trouble staying awake.

  Then again, she thought, even Jerry might not recognize me now.

  The transformation had started the night Hannah died, a year and a half before.

  Hannah had become the thing Veronica lived for, the reason she cared what her body looked like, the reason she was able to wake up in the morning, the reason she went downtown everyday for her jolt of methadone mixed with sicklysweet orange drink. And Hannah had somehow, inexplicably, hanged herself in her jail cell before Veronica could get to her.

  In the process of getting there, Veronica had learned something about herself even she hadn't known. Her sometime lover Croyd, temporarily spreading an infectious wild card virus, had given it to her. She had developed an ability that she didn't fully understand, that she had hardly used. It seemed to cause another person to become weak, helpless, devoid of willpower.

  Even that power had not let her save Hannah's life. She'd left the police station and wandered back to the apartment she shared with Hannah and gone to bed, holding on to her cat and waiting and waiting for sleep. At three in the morning she came violently awake, sure that she was in danger. The police could find her there, and so could whoever had killed Hannah.

  It was murder, beyond question. Some outside force had taken possession of Hannah in a midtown bank, while Veronica stood by helplessly. That same force had to be responsible for her suicide.

  She packed a suitcase and put Liz in a cat carrier, and phoned for a cab. She waited in the shadows of the building's entrance until the cab arrived, then got in quickly and gave the address of Ichiko's brownstone.

  Veronica had to go into Ichiko's bedroom and wake her up, which was more difficult than she'd expected. Finally Ichiko got out of bed and struggled into a kimono and took a few clumsy strokes at her hair with a brush. Veronica had never seen her without her makeup before. She had let herself forget how old Ichiko was, in her seventies now.

  "I need help," Veronica said. "Hannah's dead. She killed herself-they say-in her jail cell." It was Ichiko who had sent her to Hannah in the first place, for drug counseling. "But she would never have killed herself. It's not like her."

  "No," Ichiko said. "You are right. It is not her way."

  "There's something between you two, isn't there?" A sudden pang of loss blinded her for a second. "I mean, there was something. You sent me to her, out of all the therapists in this city"

  Ichiko nodded. "Years ago; she was part of a group, a feminist group."

  "W O. R. S. E."

  "Yes. That one. She had decided to make us her target. She wanted to have her people follow our geishas on their assignments and make trouble for them, draw attention to them, embarrass our clients. There is no doubt she could have destroyed the business this way."

  "When was this?"

  "Seven years ago. Nineteen eighty-one. She had just joined the group. She had many problems, with her marriage, with drinking and drugs. She was not… stable. She came to me and told me what she planned to do. She had not formally proposed it to the group yet."

  "And?"

  "And I gave her money not to."

  "Hannah? You bribed Hannah?"

  Ichiko held up her hands. " I made her an offer. A hundred-thousand-dollar anonymous donation to the organization. Enough money to keep them going for years. In exchange she would let me take my business apart slowly, in my own time, in my own way."

  " I can't believe it."

  "She was not the same woman then. When she brought in that donation, it gave her much power. She soon became president. That in turn gave her personal strength, let her conquer her private demons. There is no simple good and bad here."

  "So the two of you stayed in touch."

  "We shared that guilty secret. The guilt is mine also. I have done little to keep my end of the promise. Little until now. But perhaps the time has come."

  "What about W O. R. S. E.? Are you in touch with them? Could they help me?"

  " I will try. But you are not safe here. Check into a hotel somewhere. Pay cash; do not use you
r real name. Tell no one. Call me tomorrow at noon. I will see what I can do."

  Veronica did as she was told. The next day, Ichiko gave her a single name: Nancy. This was the woman who had arranged for Hannah's lawyer. Ichiko described her over the phone with typical precision: five foot three, long brown hair parted in the center, wire-rimmed glasses, small breasts, full hips. Veronica was supposed to meet her at Penn Station at three o'clock, by the ticket windows for the Long Island Railroad.

  She stopped off for her methadone on the way. She still had a check from Ichiko in her purse, the check she'd been meaning to deposit two days before, when Hannah…

  Her numbness had started to wear off. The thought hurt her more than she could have imagined.

  Finish it. When Hannah had gone berserk. Taken a guard's gun and started shooting.

  The check would have to wait. She couldn't go back into that bank again, even if the cops weren't likely to be looking for her there.

  Ichiko had said she was to be ready to travel, which meant lugging the suitcase and cat carrier with her. Liz hated being in the cage and squalled continuously. The suitcase, full of winter clothes, was enormously heavy. She was tired and sore and sweating by the time she made it through the labyrinth of tunnels to the LIRR.

  Someone touched her elbow. "Veronica?"

  Ichiko's description had been carefully nonjudgmental. It had omitted Nancy's clear skin, her smiling Clara Bow mouth. No makeup, of course. Intelligent light brown eyes. "Yes," Veronica said.

  "I'm Nancy," she said. "I'll watch your things. Get us two one-way tickets for East Rockaway. We can just make the 3:23."

  Veronica bought the tickets and Nancy carried her suitcase onto the train for her. They got settled and Veronica opened the door of the cat carrier to stroke Liz, hoping to shut her up. "Where are we going?" Veronica asked.

  "I'm putting you up at my place for the duration. You'll be safe there. Not even Ichiko knows."

  "I don't know how to thank you. I mean, you don't even know me."

  "Hannah knew you. That's enough."