Marked Cards by George R. R. Martin
"It was Lon Chaney Jr.'s real first name." Jerry's Creighton face was a cross between Chaney Jr. and Bogart, craggy, but with sharp features and knowing eyes. "Stop trying to change the subject. You keep me away from all the really big cases, Jay."
Ackroyd rubbed the side of his head. "It's too early in the morning for anyone to be giving me this kind of headache."
The intercom buzzed. "He's here," Ezili said.
"I'm staying," Jerry said, settling as deeply as he could into the leather chair.
Jay sighed. "I guess you are." He pressed the intercom button. "Send him in."
Jerry stood as Hartmann walked into the room. His hair was thinning a bit, and his eyes had a touch less sparkle, but he still looked the part of a senator. He extended his prosthetic hand quickly and awkwardly to Jay. The real one had been mangled by some kind of demonic dog during the war for the Rox. "Mr. Ackroyd."
Jay held hack for a second, then shook Hartmann's hand. "Senator, this is my partner, Mr. Creighton."
Hartmann turned and placed his prosthetic hand in Jerry's. Jerry shook it tentatively. They made brief eye contact. There was an intensity about Hartmann that Jerry couldn't quite classify.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Creighton."
"A pleasure," Jerry said. "Please, sit down."
Hartmann clumsily unbuttoned his tailored blue coat and seated himself, his briefcase in his lap.
"What is it exactly we can do for you?" Jay was giving Hartmann a look he usually reserved for thugs and lousy waiters.
"I've come across some information recently which, if true, could have major implications for wild cards everywhere." Hartman pulled a sheaf of papers from the briefcase. "In here is a list of individuals I need investigated. I want everything done in the quietest possible manner. Some of them are very influential, so I'd advise you to be circumspect."
Jay extended a hand. Hartmann handed the papers over. Jay began flipping through them, and shook his head. "Pan Rudo, Etienne Faneuil, Philip Baron von Herzenhagen, George G. Battle ..."
"George G. Battle?" Jerry said the name much louder than he'd intended.
"Yes," Hartmann said, "you know him?"
Jerry cleared his throat. "We've met."
Jay handed the papers back to Hartmann, shaking his head. "What is the reason for these investigations, Senator? What are we looking for?"
Hartmann glanced away from Jay, toward the windows. "I'm afraid I can't divulge that. At least, not at this point."
"Then I'm afraid we can't be of any help to you," Jay said.
Hartmann arched an eyebrow and sat back in his chair. "Really? Why is that?"
"Well, if you're correct about how powerful these people are, we could be placing ourselves in real jeopardy if we go poking around." Jay shrugged. "Besides which, you're holding out information on us. I just don't like the way it smells, Senator."
Hartmann took the papers and tucked them back into his briefcase, then stood and gave Jay a tight smile. "I know your reputation, Mr. Ackroyd. You're not afraid of danger. Still, your reasons for refusing are your own. I trust you'll keep the nature of this meeting entirely confidential?"
Jay nodded. "That goes without saying, Senator. Goodbye."
Hartmann nodded and glanced over at Jerry. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Creighton." He brushed a piece of lint from his coat and walked imperiously from the office. If Hartmann was disappointed, it didn't register in his posture.
"You must not care for politicians," Jerry said.
Jay grinned. "Some I do, some I don't. Sascha?"
An eyeless man stepped from behind a partition in the corner. Sascha was one of the agency's key operatives. He was a skimmer, could pick up on a person's surface thoughts, though the depths were as much a mystery to him as anyone else. He'd been a bartender at the Crystal Palace until it burned down. Like Ezili, he'd become one of Ti Malice's mounts. They'd both done some pretty twisted stuff while under the little monster's influence. Jerry hadn't even known Sascha was in the room.
"Hartmann believes that the person who gave him this information is on the up-and-up. Her name is Hannah Davis, for what it's worth. I don't think he's convinced it's true, though." Sascha smoothed his moustache. "I don't think he likes you much either, Mr. Ackroyd."
"Nobody likes me. That's why I had to get married." Jay rubbed the back of his neck. "That's all we need for now, Sascha."
The eyeless joker walked in measured steps to the doorway, paused a second, then left.
"I'm always afraid he's going to send me to the cornfield," Jerry said, exhaling.
Jay laughed. "Yeah, he told me. You jumped a little high at Battle's name."
"Yeah," Jerry said. "Well, since he almost got me killed, I think I'm entitled."
It was true. When Jay was on Takis, Jerry had assumed his identity to get a little practical experience as a P.I. Battle had recruited him for a covert assault on the Rox, assuming he was the real Popinjay. Jerry managed to get caught in a flood in the caverns under the Rox, and had escaped by turning into the Creature from the Black Lagoon. He'd almost lost his mind, clawing and paddling his way through the dark waters under the Rox. The experience had terrified him on another level. Whenever he changed into something inhuman, he had to fight for control of his body. It had been a close thing as a gill-man; a slightly weaker will and he might be living in the East River, eating rotting fish.
"He sounded like a typical spook to me, just took a few more chances than most." Jay put his feet up on his desk. "You're not thinking of going after him on your own, are you?"
Jerry squirmed up from his chair and moved quickly to the door. "Of course not."
"Never hold out on your partner. It's the fifth rule of detective work."
"What are the first four rules?" Jerry asked from the doorway.
Ackroyd grinned. "Tell me the truth and I'll clue you in."
"You know I never lie," Jerry said. "Well, almost never."
Jay shook his head "Have it your way."
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Ezili was on top. Her cafe au lait skin was electric under his fingertips. Jerry looked into her red eyes. They were wild and unfocused, as if she were seeing some great truth far beyond either of them. He grabbed her shoulders hard and pushed upward. She leaned backward and bared her teeth. They were perfectly formed and perfectly white. Perfect, like every inch of her. Jerry closed his eyes and came. There was noise, almost inhuman. He thought Ezili must have made it, but wasn't sure. Ecstasy lingered a few moments, then passed, like the sun on a cloudy day.
He felt Ezili roll off him and he opened his eyes. She looked down at him, the wildness gone from her. Jerry got the feeling she was going to ask for something.
"How would you like to rub my feet?" he said, making a preemptive strike.
Ezili smiled and ran a finger down his calf. "Very well. Later will be for me." Her finger reached the bottom of his foot and she ran it lightly up to his toes.
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll bite off one of your toes. It would make a fine necklace."
Jerry ignored the threat and sank into contentment. "Okay. Later is definitely for you. Do you think Jay respects me?" The question revealed more than he'd wanted it to. Abandon had its drawbacks.
Ezili looked at his feet. "If he did, it would not show. Mr. Ackroyd always seeks the advantage. Old habits die with their owner."
"Interesting twist on that old adage." Jerry pulled one foot away and offered the other. "I know better than to ask if you respect me."
You get what you want from me. I get what I want from you. Is respect better than that?"
"Good question. You're full of them tonight."
Ezili took his feet out of her lap. "Now for me. Something unusual."
Jerry lifted his head up and bit his lip suspiciously. "What?"
"I want you to be a woman for me."
"You can't ... I mean, that's not exactly playing to my strength."
She smiled her Ezili-will-have-it
Jerry lusted after many beautiful women, but right now he couldn't think of a single one he wanted to be. "Where should I start?"
"Here," she said, running a lacquered fingernail over one of his nipples.
Jerry concentrated. Breasts formed on his chest. Big, but not as large as Ezili's, with dark nipples. There wasn't much hair on his chest, but he got rid of it anyway. Ezili glanced down at his crotch. Jerry sighed, then watched his pride and joy disappear and shift into a female organ. An image of a young Julie Newmar crept into his mind and transformed his flesh. He/she had a wanton look that might be a challenge even for Ezili.
"Satisfied?"
Ezili nuzzled Jerry/Julie's ear. "Aren't you glad I don't just fuck you because you're the boss?"
"If you ever tell Jay about this, I'll kill you."
Ezili laughed and pulled her lover into the bed. She positioned her head between Jerry's legs and blew lightly, then extended her tongue. Jerry felt a ribbon of pleasure knotting inside.
"The sweetest," Ezili said, then flicked her tongue across him again.
"Yes," Jerry whispered. "The sweetest."
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
In spite of the fact that it was hell on his eyes, Jerry did his computer work in the dark. He liked being alone with the phosphor glow of the CRT while he prowled through a system. He'd had a few of the local hackers teach him system breaking, and in return provided them with top-of-the-line equipment.
He was after George G. Battle. Jerry hadn't liked being drafted by him, hadn't liked the way Battle looked or spoke, or the company he kept. Jerry wouldn't be surprised if Battle were involved in some anti-wild card plot, in spite of the fact that George G. had employed aces in his covert team. Jerry figured Battle was one of those people, who, the better you know them, the more you despised them. Finding out more was his top priority right now.
He always started with a person's credit record. Almost everybody had one, and the systems were fairly easy to get into and around in. He'd tried two, but so far no BATTLE, GEORGE G. Jerry stretched and made his way over to the red light on the coffee-pot, then poured himself half a cup. He'd already put away most of the pot. If he didn't slow down, he'd be typing from the ceiling.
Jerry sat back down and tapped into the next system. He typed NOBODY, his superuser ID. Jerry started the listing with Battle, G, and began paging slowly through.
"Bingo," he said, locating his target. Jerry punched into the general history screen and started printing. He rubbed his moist palms together. There was always an adrenaline surge when he found what he was looking for, but this was something else. Maybe it was just the coffee. Then again, maybe it was that he thought George G. Battle might be a bad guy straight from the movies. There were four pages of material on as many screens, with plenty of base information. Jerry jumped out of the system as soon as the last sheet of paper slid up from his printer.
He turned on the lights and flipped through the pages. There was a lot to go on, home and secondary address, phone numbers, SSN, drivers license number. It was a good starting point.
He leaned rack in his chair and sipped at his coffee. If Jerry's theory about Battle proved out, Jay was going to have to eat a heaping helping of crow for not taking the case.
Which would be just fine with Jerry.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Midtown traffic had been a snarl south of Central Park and Jerry was late. There wasn't a line of people waiting to get into Starfields, which was not too surprising, given the public's current level of paranoia and the fact that Starfields was run by a Takisian. Hastet.
The decor was different enough to be alien, but also had a curiously homey feel. Jerry took a few deep breaths and tried to relax. Although the food was superb, Hastet scared the bejesus out of him. Like Tachyon, she had a way of looking right through you. Unlike Tachyon, she didn't mince words. Jay had a bowl of something turquoise in front of him when Jerry walked up.
"Evening, partner," Jerry said, sitting down.
"Hi. You should try some of this soup, it's fabulous." Jay motioned to a waiter, who immediately walked over. "A bottle of your best red wine."
"I didn't think Hastet liked you to tie one on," Jerry said, opening his menu.
"She doesn't. I'll have a glass or two. The rest is for you." Jay smiled "I'm going to get you drunk and have my way with you."
Jerry set down the menu and looked hard at Jay. "You think I'm after Battle, don't you?"
"You just may make a detective yet," Jay said. "You wouldn't keep it to yourself unless you had some ideas about the guy."
"You're right. If you'd accepted the case, we might have more than my ideas right now, but you didn't." Jerry shook his head. "Sorry, that came out a little sharper than I intended."
"I think it came out exactly as sharp as you intended." The waiter arrived with the wine, opened and poured it. Jay took a sip. "Wonderful, just what I had in mind. We'll need a couple more minutes before we order." The waiter nodded and left.
Jerry ignored the wine. "Hastet doesn't have that thing here tonight, does she?" Jerry didn't much care for Hastet's pet. It reminded him of some of the things he'd run into under the Rox, and it always looked hungry.
"Changing the subject on me?" Jay paused, as if on the verge of pursuing his line of questioning, then slowly exhaled "I promise you'll be safe as long as I'm around. It's never even drooled on you."
Jerry gave in and took a sip of wine. It warmed, caressed, and soothed all the way down. He wondered why in hell Jay had taken him on in the first place. His partner had plenty of other operatives, and with his wealth from Takis, he certainly didn't need Jerry to bankroll the agency. Maybe it was just plain guilt. Jerry had almost died trying to help Jay out. "Why don't you put Peter Pann or Topper on me to find out if I'm after Battle?"
Jay shook his head. "I can't waste them on anything so stupid. You need a stable woman in your life, Jerry. Get you to toe the line. Whatever happened with Beth?"
That one still hurt. Beth had moved to Chicago and Jerry had refused to go with her. New York was the only place worth living as far as he was concerned, and he had been sure he could convince her to come back. He was wrong.
"Irreconcilable differences, I suppose. And anyone who speaks ill of unstable women should spend a few nights with Ezili. However, there is one thing I know we can agree on."
"It's time to eat," Jay offered.
Jerry set down his menu and signalled the waiter. "Common ground at last."
"That's why we're partners."
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
It was perfect weather for a drive. The October air was crisp and cool, even in the full sunlight. The pictures of Vermont in the fall didn't really do it justice. No photograph could capture the movement of the red, gold, and brown leaves against the blue sky.
He was driving an ash-gray Ford Taurus. He'd rented it under the name Anthony Carbone, one of a half-dozen false identities he'd created. His hair and skin were dark, and he had a small scar on his chin. If someone spotted him at Battle's house, they might figure he was Mafia. Battle could easily have enemies in the mob, or at least someone who might hire a hit.
Jerry pulled down the sun visor. He'd made a map of the area on a Post-it-note. If he had navigated right, Battle's place was only a couple of miles away. The area was still rural, with most houses out of sight of their nearest neighbors. That's what Jerry was counting on anyway.
Battle spent most of his time in DC, so the Vermont place was a logical starting point. There would be security, but he'd planned for that. He'd phoned earlier in the day and gotten a generic recording. He planned to have the house all to himself.
Jerry turned off the main highway and onto a narrow asphalt road. It turned into gravel a few hundred yards in and Jerry saw a yard bordered with a high stone wall. He pulled the Taurus as far onto the shoulder as he could and killed the engine.
Jerry stepped out of the car and looked both ways before trotting across the gravel roadway to a wooded area by the wall. He jumped and caught the edge with his fingertips, then swung a leg over and hoisted himself up. Jerry paused for a moment, listening, then dropped over the side. Evening was coming fast, and Jerry crept toward the house, using trees for cover. The house was two stories of wood and stone, not formidable, but not friendly looking either.
Jerry made his way around back to the power and telephone lines. One thing he'd learned was that his body responded to electric current by converting it to mass. For the few moments his body was in flux, he could discharge the current; otherwise it became a part of him. At that point it became a little trickier to get rid of. He pulled out a knife and cut carefully into the power and telephone lines. He caught the juice from the power line and waited a moment then discharged a portion of it into the house's main line. He reached over to the phone line and gave it the rest of the juice. He figured the electricity had tripped every breaker in the house. The phone equipment should be fried too, so even if a security system was working, it still couldn't contact anyone on the outside.
Jerry walked over to the nearest window. It was heavily bolted from the inside. Jerry pulled out his glass cutter, and removed a section big enough to get his arm comfortably through, then unbolted the window and lifted it.
The trophy heads stared glassy-eyed down at him from the walls - deer, elk, what looked like a grizzly bear in a particularly bad mood. The temperature was low, not as cool as it was outside, but Jerry still figured there hadn't been anyone there that day. He walked over to a heavy oak desk and tried the drawers. Locked. Jerry took a couple of deep breaths and put the end of his first finger against the keyhole in the top drawer. He softened the tip of his finger and pushed it inside, tearing his skin. Jerry hardened his finger and turned carefully. It hurt like hell, but he felt the metal give and swivel. Jerry pulled his damaged finger out. He'd have to learn how to pick locks the old-fashioned way someday.
Jerry rifled through the desk quickly. His fingertips were smooth to avoid prints. He pushed aside the bank statements and appliance warranties, and pulled out a file marked "October Surprise." He opened it, then took out a pocket camera and carefully photographed each page. There were three unmarked blueprints. Jerry had no idea what they belonged to. He could worry about that later. He put the file back into the drawer and checked out the rest of the desk, but didn't find anything of interest.