Marked Cards by George R. R. Martin
Jerry stepped carefully out into the interior hallway. He saw a motion detector at ceiling level, but its lights were obligingly dark. If the system had a backup battery it was dead. Jerry stopped at the phone stand and popped open the answering machine. He lifted out the minicassette and dropped in a blank one he'd brought along. He'd planned more than usual, ultimately wanting to impress Jay.
He reached the end of the hallway and stepped into the living room. More trophies. There was a thick-legged table in the center of the room surrounded by several uncomfortable looking high-backed chairs. Jerry decided to head upstairs. He'd only taken a couple of steps when something caught his ankle and he pitched forward, smacking his forearm onto the hardwood stair. He crawled back down and fingered the ankle-height wire. It had pulled out several inches.
Jerry heard loud barking from alongside the house. He bounced up off the stairs and ran to the living room window. The two mastiffs saw him and bared their teeth. The wire must have triggered a physical mechanism to set them loose. Battle had a military mind, and was nobody's fool. He planned for every contingency.
He backed away from the window. He'd been feeling lucky and hadn't brought a gun on this trip. Next time he'd ignore his instincts and pack something. There was no choice but to run for it. Jerry crossed into the front of the house and unbolted the door, then opened it and sprinted toward the wall.
The dogs were on his heels before he made it twenty yards. Jerry fashioned his fingertips into claws and turned to face them. The first mastiff was already in the air, jaws open, going for this throat. Jerry brought his arm around as fast as he could and tore into its neck. It yelped and fell. The second animal hurled itself at him before he could get his arm back around. The mastiff slammed into his chest and knocked him to the ground. Jerry grabbed the dog's throat with a clawed hand and dug in. The animal shook its head violently, trying to break free. Saliva fell on Jerry's face, then blood. The mastiff collapsed on top of him, snapped its jaws, and was still. Jerry dragged himself from under the dog, fighting for breath. The other animal was still alive, lying in a pool of blood. Its eyes were peaceful, almost sad. Jerry looked at the blood on his clawed hand and gritted his teeth. The wound was fatal. There was nothing he could do.
He returned his hands to normal and staggered to the wall. It took him two tries to grab the top, and all his remaining strength to haul himself up. He checked his pockets to make sure the camera and mini-cassette were still there, then dropped heavily to the ground on the far side.
His silver Ford reflected golden in the sunset. Jerry jumped inside and power locked the doors, then took time for a few deep breaths. He started the car and did a quick U-turn. It was getting cold and he flipped on the heater. The main highway was clear, and he pulled out and sped away.
He noticed the car about a mile and a half later. It was black or dark blue, Jerry couldn't tell which in the fading light. There were two men in the front seat. Jerry changed lanes to let them around, but they stayed right behind him. Jerry didn't panic, but he wasn't calm either. Maybe they worked for Battle and had heard the dogs. Maybe they'd driven by the place earlier and seen his car. Maybe they just liked tailgating. It didn't particularly matter, Jerry wanted them gone. A high speed chase was out of the question. His driving skills were only adequate at best. He would drive until he found a restaurant or something, pull in, and change into someone else in the bathroom. He'd done it before.
It was like they read his mind. The dark car pulled up alongside. Now Jerry had them on one side and a nasty incline into the trees on the other.
"Shit," he said.
The car veered over and slammed into the side of the Taurus. Sparks flew and the tires squealed and smoked. The impact knocked him onto the shoulder. Jerry hit the brakes, hoping they would sail by him, but the other car moved over again and caught his front fender. There was nothing but big trees in front, and Jerry threw up his hands.
There was a noise like styrofoam being cut, only a hundred times louder. The air bag hit him like a heavyweight with a grudge. His wrist crashed into his lip, splitting it. Jerry smelled fuel. He clutched for the clasp on the safety belt and ripped it loose. The passenger side of the car was facing down, so he opened it and dropped out onto the ground.
Jerry knew they might be watching from the road, so he limped away from the wreck in the opposite direction as fast as he could. There was a flash of heat and a concussion from behind. He was knocked further down the hill, tumbling until he landed against the bole of a tree. Jerry felt around behind him. The back of his shirt was in tatters. The pain wasn't that bad yet. He knew with a burn it sometimes took awhile before you could really tell. Something to look forward to, if he managed to get through the night alive.
He heard tires squeal above him. Jerry looked up and saw taillights twinkling in and out as they receded through the trees. He was suddenly very cold. Jerry clambered up the hill, pulling himself along on bushes and low hanging branches. He could see a fair distance down the road. There was a single headlight approaching. Jerry took a breath and thought Austrian. His jaw went square and his hair shortened. He bulked up his entire body and lost a few inches of height in the process. He took a few steps to the center of the road and held up his right hand, motioning the approaching vehicle to stop.
The motorcycle slowed from a thrum to a putter. Jerry couldn't see anything of the driver, because of the glare from the headlights.
"I need your jacket, your boots, and your motorcycle." The accent was perfect. Jerry had been practicing it for months.
"Jesus, Mr. Schwarzenegger?" said the cyclist. His voice was shaky.
Jerry walked around and looked the driver in the eyes. The man looked to be in his early twenties, and was on the thin side. "Wrong, osshole."
"Uh." The man unbuckled his helmet and handed it over. "No boots." He looked down the hill at the burning Taurus. "Emergency, huh?"
"Get off the bike, dickweed," Jerry said. The cyclist dismounted. Jerry caught the bike before it fell over. "The chacket."
The man tugged the leather bomber jacket off and handed it over. Jerry slipped it on. It was wonderfully warm, but tight. He could fix that in a few moments.
The man put his hand on Jerry's shoulder. "It's only a Honda."
Jerry smiled thinly. "Hasta la vista, baby." The first phone he saw, he'd call the cops. That would take care of the motorcycle's owner. He accelerated off into the night, feeling more like something from Pee Wee's Big Adventure than The Wild One.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
He'd had to pay the cab driver a hundred dollars to take him to the clinic. But then, it was the Jokertown Clinic, and almost nobody went into Jokertown anymore unless they were looking for trouble. Jerry told the cabbie that the police had been making a point of being visible, at least during the day, and it was noon at the time. That, plus the money, had finally convinced the hack to make the trip. Jerry could have had Jay pop him there, but then Jay would have started prying. He didn't want his partner to know he was going there to have his bums looked at. Jay was too smart for any story Jerry could make up; besides, he'd never been on the receiving end of Jay's ace. It might be something he wouldn't enjoy. Jerry was disoriented enough without Jay's help.
The corridors were crammed with jokers. Some were trauma victims, some were sick, some were likely just trying to get in off the streets. Jerry tried to overlook the fact that they were different, deformed. He'd impersonated jokers plenty of times, and seen the way they were treated. But it was different for him. He could turn back whenever he wanted. They had to wait for the next life, assuming there was one.
Jerry saw Doctor Finn from halfway down the hall. Finn was a centaur, and a handsome one at that, so he was easy to pick out of any crowd. Even the one here.
Finn glanced Jerry's way and flashed a quick smile, then continued his conversation with a nurse. Jerry walked up and waited a few feet away from them. He didn't recognize the nurse, and he knew most of the staff. She was pr
"Mr. Strauss," Finn said, his conversation with the nurse apparently finished. "So good to see you. You always manage to show up on one of our slow days."
Jerry laughed. "Actually, I've been waiting for a day and a half. Uh, can I see you in private for a few minutes?"
"That will be no mean feat, but I'll see what I can arrange." The centaur moved carefully through a knot of people and unlocked a door. He motioned Jerry inside. Jerry stepped in quickly and Finn closed the door behind them. "What can I do for you?"
"First, this." Jerry handed over a check for five thousand dollars. Finn took it and tucked it into a breast pocket. Jerry carefully unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it slowly off. "Then, this." He turned around and snowed Finn his back. Jerry wondered why he couldn't heal the wounds himself. Maybe it was that he could only control healthy tissues, not dead or damaged ones. Then again, maybe the pain just made it too hard to concentrate.
"Umm," Finn said, testing the area carefully with his fingers. It hurt, but Jerry stayed still. "Would you like to tell me how this happened?"
"No. Just tell me what to do about it."
"Okay," Firm said, noncommittally. Jerry heard hooves on the floor. "It's bad, but not terrible. You won't need any debridement, and I doubt there will be any scarring. Still, I want to put you on a course of antibiotics. Keep an eye on it. If the pain gets too bad, I can prescribe something."
"It hurts a lot," Jerry said. "Can I put my shirt back on now?"
"Of course." Finn walked around in front of Jerry, busy scrawling on a pad. He tore two pieces of paper from it and gave them to Jerry. "Fill these ASAP. Get started on the antibiotics immediately. The pain reliever is codeine based, not very strong, but it should let you sleep. I want to see you again in a couple of days."
Jerry slid his shirt gingerly over his reddened shoulders. "If only the women in my life had your attitude."
Finn smiled and cocked his head. "Be sure to get an injection from Nurse Moffat before you go. More antibiotics. Get you started."
Jerry made a face. "A shot. I hate shots."
Finn wagged a finger. "Doctor's orders. Besides, you won't mind, she's cute. And her nickname around here is 'Painless.'"
Jerry's shoulders slumped. Might as well get it over with, but god he did hate needles. "Do I get a sucker on the way out?"
Finn opened the door and motioned Jerry out with his pen. "Back in two days."
"Yes, sir."
Jerry walked slowly down the hall, eyeing the doorway to the nurse's station like it was the gateway to hell. He stuck his head inside, hoping to find it packed with patients. A short, scaly joker pushed past him, leaving the room empty except For the nurse.
"Hello," he said. "Nurse Moffat?" She turned around. It was the nurse he'd seen talking to Finn a few moments before. Jerry straightened his shoulders and walked in.
"Yes," she said. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Dr. Finn said I need an injection." He handed her the paper with the antibiotic prescription. "This stuff, I think."
She looked at the paper and gave it back. "No problem. Get that shirt off and have a seat." She indicated an aluminum chair with cracked red vinyl upholstery.
Jerry did as he was told. "Didn't Dr. Tachyon have a treatment that caused tissue to regenerate? Sure would be useful now."
"I don't think so. That lovely bit of technology gave us Demise. Besides, since Dr. Tachyon left, all the experimental equipment is locked up. Dr. Finn inventories it now and then, but otherwise we leave it be."
Jerry heard the sound of a needle going into a bottle cover. "Do they really call you 'Painless?'"
She walked around in front of him, holding the hypodermic. "Them what speaks of me at all." She put a hand on his shoulder and bent down. "Now think of something pleasant."
Jerry closed his eyes. To his surprise he found himself thinking of his nurse. "I'm as ready as I'm going to get." He waited a few seconds, then looked.
Nurse Moffat smiled at him. "You're done. They don't call me 'Painless' for nothing."
Jerry sat up straight and reached for his shirt. "Wow. You're great. You're going to have to do all my injections from now on." He stood, tucked in his shirt and walked to the door, then turned around. "What's your name? I mean, other than 'Painless.'"
"Emily Moffat. What's yours?"
"Jerry Strauss."
"Well, pleased to meet you, Jerry Strauss." She smiled again, and motioned with her hand. A joker scuttled into the room. "Drop in again anytime."
"I will," he said. "I will."
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The answering machine cassette from Battle's house had one message on it, a female voice saying, "The Halloween party is on. Expect you to bring the treats. See you then."
Jerry figured that whatever the "October Surprise" was, the payoff was coming on Halloween. The pictures had survived the wreck, too, but the blueprints didn't mean anything to Jerry. He knew somebody that might have a better idea.
Ernie Swartz had been the archivist at the Department of Public Works for the past twenty years. He was the antithesis of the absent-minded clerk. He could carry on three conversations and simultaneously do whatever task was currently at hand. Jerry had done some architectural research for a period film set in New York. The movie was a pipe dream, but it had given him the opportunity to meet Ernie.
The office was relatively quiet today. There was actually one of the staff who didn't have a handful of documents, or a phone glued to his ear.
Jerry walked up to the unoccupied clerk, a young man nursing a large mug of coffee, and indicated Ernie's office. "He in today?"
"Today and everyday." The clerk's phone buzzed. He rolled his eyes and picked up.
Jerry made his way down an aisle between the rows of desks and rapped on Ernie's door.
"Come in."
Ernie had a sheaf of papers on the desk in front of him and his "in" box was overflowing with more. He looked up, saw Jerry, and smiled. "Jerry. Made your Citizen Kane yet?" He took Jerry's extended hand and gave it a warm shake.
"No. I think I'm either too young or too old to be a cinematic genius." Jerry sat down in the chair opposite Ernie, tapping the envelope with the blueprints against his pants' leg.
Ernie pointed to the envelope. "You got something else for me?"
Jerry handed it over. "There's some old blueprints. I don't even know if they're New York. I thought maybe you could tell me what building they go to."
Ernie slid the photographs out and pursed his lips. "Might be Manhattan. Hard to say. You need this in a hurry?"
"Well, if you don't find out before Halloween, it probably won't matter."
Ernie tossed the blueprints into his desk drawer. "That's less than a week. I'll see what I can manage in my copious free time. No promises."
"Great. I'll get you into a couple of Knicks games, regardless." Jerry stood and fished in his pocket for an agency business card. "Oh, and if you can't get in touch with me at home, call this number and leave a message for Mr. Creighton."
Ernie's phone buzzed. He gave Jerry an "OK" sign and snatched up the receiver. "Swartz."
Jerry nodded and left.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Ezili was standing by the door when he stepped in. "Mr. Ackroyd wants to see you first thing. You should make time for me later."
Jerry smiled at the thought. "Sounds good. I'll let you know."
She returned the smile and walked slowly back to her desk, rolling her hips just enough to remind him what it was like to be with her. Not that he needed reminding.
Jay had his feet propped up on the desk, and was staring out the window. "I kind of miss the neon 'liv
"Right. Now I know what to get you for Christmas. You wanted to see me?"
Jay walked over and slapped Jerry on the back, hard. Jerry tensed his shoulders, but managed not to scream. "I like you, Jerry. You know that."
"I appreciate that. I like you, too."
"So, it would be very depressing if you got yourself killed." Jay eased into his desk chair. "I know you're working on something right now. I know it's dangerous and probably has something to do with Battle."
"Hold it." Jerry lifted a hand. "If I am involved in something a little risky, and I'm not saying I am, then there's a damned good reason. And for Christ's sake, Jay, I'm not just a stooge out there. I can handle myself."
Jay rubbed his forehead. "You're just not getting the message here. It takes years to develop the instincts and techniques to be a good private investigator. I'm still learning, myself."
Jerry started taking deep, measured breaths. He didn't want to start yelling, that would only reinforce Jay's argument. "You're just going to have to trust me on this one. It's important."
Jay slowly formed his hand into the familiar gun-shape, then pointed it at Jerry. "I should send you to Takis, to worry Tachyon's ass."
"Yeah. I could change to look like you, go home and fuck your wife." Jerry leaned onto Jay's desktop. "But I'm no more going to do that, than you're going to send me to Takis."
Jay looked Jerry in the eye. "Don't bet on it. The only person I know as stubborn as Tachyon is you. Don't force my hand on this, I've got a business to run."
"We've got a business to run." Jerry walked to the door. "There are two names on the glass outside. Don't forget it." He shut the door and stalked put of the office.