Marked Cards by George R. R. Martin

  "I said stop." The nurse took a step toward him. "What are you doing?"

  Jerry let go of Battle and curled his lips. The woman moved beautifully. Her eyes were bright with life. It would be sweeter to kill her last, but he wanted her now. Wanted her to come apart in his hands and mouth.

  She stood in front of him, unafraid. Jerry leaned in her direction, ready to spring. She would never even feel it.

  The pain in his side vanished. Jerry lowered his arms. The nurse moved closer and looked into his eyes. Hers were aqua. He couldn't see anything else. Just her eyes.

  "Change back."

  Jerry felt the mat of hair on his skin. It itched. He wanted it to go away. His teeth began to recede, and his face began to shift.

  "That's it. Change back."

  Jerry felt the world shifting underneath him. He collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. "I could have killed you."

  Battle screamed. Jerry turned at the sound, still lightheaded. Battle was in convulsions. Emily moved in and tried to grab his shoulders, but Battle racked her away. His body poured out of his clothes and onto the floor. The flesh shifted and changed color and texture, becoming yellow and brittle. Multiple legs sprouted from Battle's new form. His face became putty-like and his ears melted into dark globs. The thing screamed and backed into a corner. There was a crash from another room. Jerry heard steel thud heavily onto the linoleum floor.

  "Jesus, the Crypt Kicker," Jerry said.

  "I'll get him," Troll said, turning away.

  "Look out for his hands," Jerry said. Troll nodded and headed own the hall.

  "What the fuck happened to him?" Jerry looked over at Battle, who was cowering in the corner.

  "You mean you don't have all the answers? Who was that to begin with?" She began to sift through the glass wreckage on the table. "Hello." She pulled out a broken vial, dappled with blood, and examined it. "Xenovirus Takis-A."

  Jerry laughed. "A joker. He turned into a joker. There is some justice after all. Eh, George G.?"

  "Who the fuck are you?" Battle screamed, curling his limbs protectively around his body.

  "Nobody," Jerry replied, and smiled.

  "What did he want here?" Emily tapped Jerry on the shoulder.

  Jerry said nothing. He wasn't really sure, anyway. The pain in his side returned, worse than before. All the air went out of him and he crumpled back to the floor.

  "Sorry," she said. "I pushed you too hard. I still want some answers. We've got to get this wing sealed off, too."

  "Come with me to visit a friend and I'll tell you everything I know." He held out his hand. She took it and helped him back to his feet.

  "Troll can handle anything else that might happen. You'd better get the hell out of here before the police show. I have a feeling you aren't going to want to answer most of their questions." She picked up Battle's gun and pointed it in his direction. "Besides, I want your answers all to myself."

  ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

  "He kept screaming, 'I'm not a joker. I'm not a joker,' when the cops took him away." Emily drained the coffee from the bottom of her cup.

  Jay sat behind his desk listening to the story, stopping them once or twice to clarify a point. Jerry couldn't really gauge his partner's reaction. He'd left out any references to a conspiracy, or to himself as Mr. Creighton of Ackroyd and Creighton.

  "Do you know what Battle was after?" Emily asked, then yawned.

  "No. But we're going to check into it. You can count on that." Jay looked over at the half-empty coffeepot. "I think you're past the point of caffeine being a help. Want me to send you back to the clinic?"

  "Yes." She rubbed the side of her head. "The explanation I left Dr. Finn with wasn't exactly adequate. And the cops want to talk to me again."

  "No doubt," Jay said. "Thanks for taking care of Jerry here. He's a valued client. If you don't mind, either Mr. Creighton or I would like to buy you dinner sometime."

  "Who's Mr. Creighton?"

  "One of our best, Ms. Moffat. One of our very best." Jay made his hand gun-shaped and pointed at the nurse. "Get to sleep as soon as you can."

  She nodded, then vanished with a soft pop.

  "Another nurse," Jay said, raising his eyebrow. "An analyst would say you're trying to reenact your failed relationship with Beth and make it come out right. Ezili might not like it."

  Jerry shook his head. "So I'm attracted to her. I don't think that has anything to do with Beth. I don't have any idea what's going to happen with any of the women in my life. Par for the course." He paused. "Well, aren't you going to let me have it?"

  "What for?"

  "Taking stupid chances, risking lives, mine included." Jerry felt the fatigue in his body down to his bones. He wanted to get this over with.

  "Nope. You did take chances, but it turned out alright." Jay grinned. "That's one of the keys. You're still alive and still learning. I'll bet next time you won't be such an eager beaver."

  "That's for damned sure. If Emily hadn't helped turn me back ..." He shook his head. "All I wanted to do was kill. It was scary. I owe Ezili, too. You just can't do it all on your own."

  "That's why I have operatives." Jay smiled "And a partner."

  Jerry straightened in his chair. "That's all I want to be. Are we really going to look into this conspiracy?"

  "Might not be a bad idea. But it would be an agency investigation. No freelancing." Jay stood and stretched. "Let's get out of here."

  Jerry pulled himself up out of the chair. "You going to tell me why you don't like Hartmann?"

  Jay fingered his palm. "If I could, I would, but I can't. Have you had any dirty dreams about Emily Moffat?"

  Jerry made a face. "You want something for nothing, eh?" He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. "It'll cost you dinner."

  "A small price to pay."

  Jerry was so tired he could barely walk, but he felt good. Content. "You know, Jay. This could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership."

  The Color of His Skin

  Part 2

  "What do you know about this Judge Sweeney, Sam?"

  The city prosecutor - Samuel Hanley, in his mid-thirties and showing progressive male pattern baldness and perpetual bags of weariness under his eyes - shrugged at Gregg and adjusted his wrinkled Brooks Brothers suit. It wasn't much of an improvement. "Not a hell of a lot. Political appointment, probably has his eye on some cushy circuit. He's been fair enough in the cases I've had before him up until now." Hanley rummaged in his briefcase and pulled out the case file - the edges of paper bristled and curled around the manila folder. "I'm more worried about the guy van Renssaeler's firm has brought in: Fitzpatrick. That's a fed if I ever saw one."

  Brandon van Renssaeler, at the table on the other side of the courtroom, was one of a quartet of lawyers retained by Battle and Puckett. He conversed earnestly with a tall man in a tailored dark suit. The bristle-cut hair and the lean, muscular body lurking under the expensive wool, Gregg admitted, seemed to shout "Federal agent." Fitzpatrick glanced over once at Gregg, nodded, and favored him with a faint smile that bordered on a smirk before turning back to Brandon. The knot in Gregg's stomach tightened another notch.

  Nothing about this case made Gregg feel good.

  With the break-in at the Jokertown clinic and Troll's identification of Battle and Crypt Kicker as the two men responsible, Gregg had felt a surge of optimism. It had seemed fated, his path laid out in neon letters before him: Here is the Way. All the hazy plans Hannah, Gregg, and Father Squid had devised were quickly scrapped.

  Armed with the information Ackroyd and Creighton had funneled to him, Gregg had gone to Hanley, the DA in charge of Battle's case. Gregg had convinced the man that this trial would be a fame-maker, something to bust open the whole conspiracy and (just incidentally) make everyone involved very, very visible. Expanded charges had been filed, bench warrants and subpoenas issued. Everything was moving so well for a week or so that Gregg could almost envision the headlines. It didn't ma
tter that Battle and the joker known as Crypt Kicker had disappeared - in fact, that was in their favor. Let them run. Gregg had already put out tentative feelers to America's Most Wanted; their executive producer seemed interested, especially with Gregg's hints that there was a deeper plot behind the burglary. Gregg had begun outlining the way they'd pull the existence of the Sharks into the tale of the Jokertown Clinic Burglary. Hardly the forum Gregg wanted, but it was a start. He could almost imagine Robert Stack's intro....

  But Battle and Puckett had suddenly and unexpectedly turned themselves in to the authorities. A high-powered staff of attorneys had been hired, and the case had suddenly gone forward at a breakneck pace. Gregg pulled a few of the strings he still held: the DA had received permission to allow Gregg to act as co-counsel in the case. He figured a trial was almost as good as a television show. The onlookers were mostly press, and camera crews were waiting outside.

  But Gregg didn't like the way Brandon smiled easily as he talked with his companion, glancing from Gregg to Hannah, who sat in the spectator's area behind the railing. He didn't like the fact that after the bailiff announced Judge Sweeney's arrival, the judge immediately asked Fitzpatrick to approach the bench. The two were quickly engaged in a lengthy whispered conversation. The judge had a thin nap of salt-and-pepper hair receding from his forehead, and his small eyes were sharp and hard - he looked like someone who knew political expediencies; he looked like someone who would have been a tasty puppet. But Gregg could sense nothing but a smug self-satisfaction from the man, nothing more. Gregg cursed the limits of his new power.

  The judge nodded as Fitzpatrick stepped away. "We will delay proceedings for an hour, gentlemen. I will be meeting with Mr. Fitzpatrick in my chambers immediately."

  Hanley, followed a moment later by Gregg, leapt up from his chair. "Your Honor," the prosecutor said urgently, "the prosecution has the right and the obligation to be part of any discussion in this case. If there's something of import to our case - "

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Hanley, but it seems that there are potential issues of national security involved, and I had been so notified earlier this morning, on a very high level. The precedent is clear enough; I don't have any choice in the matter. I will make the prosecution aware of the content of the discussion as soon as I can." Judge Sweeney nodded to Fitzpatrick, Brandon, and the others. "In my chambers, Mr. Fitzpatrick ..."

  Sweeney banged his gavel. Fitzpatrick gave Gregg the smile again as he passed their table, causing the dull embers of nervous pain in Gregg's stomach to burst into a full roaring inferno. He tried to reach out with the Gift, but again it did nothing but let him sip the sour taste of confidence in Fitzpatrick's mind. The voice scolded him: "If I had Puppetman ..." We both know that old lament, Greggie. Give it up. That's not the way to redeem yourself.

  Hanley shook his head, scooped up his files and dumped them in his briefcase again. He snapped the lid closed on the heap and shrugged at Gregg with a tired expression on his face. "Not a damn thing we can do about it right now," he said. "I'm going for coffee and a Danish. Join me? No? See you in an hour, then."

  Brandon looked at Gregg. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  "Gregg?" Hannah had come up from her chair. She glared at Brandon as he passed on his way out of the courtroom. "What's going on?"

  "I'm not sure," he answered. "But I don't like the look of it. They've brought in some heavy suit from the government."

  "Damn it!" Hannah burst out. "My God, the Sharks broke into Tachyon's lab for some reason - once they're brought to trial, everything we know can be brought out. All of it...."

  Hannah leaned heavily on the railing, intense, her fingers white where they curled around the polished mahogany. Now she sighed, and Gregg sensed the woman's weariness, her despair, and her idealistic fury. She is truly incredible. I wish I had known her before ...

  With Puppetman? the inner voice interjected. What would you have done with her, Greggie? You would have dragged her through the slime like all the rest. You don't deserve her. Not until you've redeemed yourself.

  "These are lives we're talking about," Hannah continued, softer now. "People who happen to be jokers. People who laugh, and love - and hurt."

  "Hannah," Gregg said quietly. "You're preaching to the converted."

  That earned him a fleeting smile. "I know. It's just ..." She stared at the door through which the judge and Fitzpatrick had gone. "I just wish I could do something."

  "So do I," Gregg told her. But you can't, the voice answered him. Not this way. Gregg had the sense of being outmaneuvered, of being hemmed in by unseen forces behind the scenes. He could feel the Sharks' presence again, a hidden, sinister presence tugging on his line from below the surface. The sensation brought back strange feelings of yearning. If only I'd known, back then. If only I'd stumbled across them before, with Puppetman ...

  An hour later, Gregg heard the words he'd somehow known he was going to hear as soon as he'd seen Fitzpatrick and van Renssaeler. Judge Sweeney cleared the courtroom of everyone but the lawyers and himself. He took a long breath before he spoke. "Mr. Hanley, I regret this, as I can tell by the reams of paper that you've stacked over there that you've done your usual exemplary job of preparing your case. However, I must tell you and your co-counsel that I have been informed of certain mitigating circumstances regarding the break-in at the Jokertown Clinic. I have already ordered the release of Mr. Battle and Mr. Puckett from custody."

  "No!" Hanley slapped his hand down on his briefcase. Sweeney glowered at the prosecutor, but the judge's attention snapped back to Gregg as he stood. Gregg reached out with the Gift and felt the emotions within Sweeney. He could sense a nagging irritation within the man - evidently the judge had been looking forward to the publicity this trial would bring him as well.

  "Your Honor," Gregg began, letting the Gift lend his words all the power it could, "surely the defendants are not claiming that this was a matter of national security. That's ludicrous. The Jokertown Clinic treats the poor jokers of this city. It provides a badly needed service to people who would not otherwise have it available to them, and it has done that good work for decades. The clinic is hardly a threat to the nation; in fact, it is quite the opposite. There are no hidden agendas there, no weapons, no secret laboratories, no threat to the public welfare. There are only caring people and a dedicated, caring staff."

  Gregg could feel Sweeney's agreement, like an azure sea deep within him, but the Gift would only let him raise the smallest wavelets on that surface. He could also sense something else holding back that agreement, a dam of scarlet, nameless fear that made Gregg wonder. Puppetman could have raised a storm of certainty, a hurricane of assurance that would have shattered that dam. With Puppetman, Sweeney would have nodded and smiled and spread his hands wide. "I have never heard anything more convincing," he would have said. "I have never been so moved...."

  The words flared with the Gift. Incandescent, they battered against the dark fear and fell guttering into silence. Something inside Sweeney was stronger than the Gift. Gregg could sense the seed of compassion the Gift found within the man, but the seed was locked in stone, captured in a hold the Gift could not break.

  What is it that holds him? Damn it! What use is this power if it doesn't work?

  The voice chided him. Accept it as it is, Greggie. Use the Gift correctly and it will become powerful.

  Sweeney was speaking. "Mr. Hanley, Mr. Hartmann, it is done. I have no choice. This court has dropped all charges against George G. Battle and Robert Joseph Puckett in the matter of the Jokertown Clinic burglary."

  "Judge Sweeney," Hanley persisted "Mr. Battle is known to be attached to the Special Executive Task Force. Are Mr. Fitzpatrick and Mr. van Renssaeler claiming that the burglary of the clinic was performed at the behest of the executive branch?"

  Sweeney looked at Fitzpatrick, and then back at Hanley. "I have nothing more to say on the matter at all, Mr. Hanley." Sweeney raised his hand as Hanley started to speak again. "The
matter is closed. One more word, and you'll be held in contempt. Mr. Battle and Mr. Puckett have been cleared of all charges against them. That is the ruling of this court. Furthermore, I must warn both of you to be very careful as to what you say to the press outside ..." The judge was still talking, but Gregg heard nothing of it.

  Brandon van Renssaeler snapped shut the locks of his briefcase. The sound was very loud in the room.

  ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

  In the cab afterward, Gregg looked over to see tears gathering in Hannah's eyes. He was surprised momentarily, to see the vulnerability in the woman. She would have been a glorious puppet. She feels so deeply, so strongly....

  "What now?" Hannah asked him. She stared straight ahead as the cab headed uptown. "We're sunk, right?"

  Gregg reached over to her and touched her shoulder gently with his left hand, his real hand. Hannah shrugged away from him, glaring at him. "Hannah," he said, and he let the Gift, the power, touch the word. Greggie ... the voice said warningly inside him, but he ignored it. "I'm very sorry."

  The tears fell then, twin droplets tracking down either cheek. Hannah brushed them away angrily. The desire to use the power came on him. Even with this poor shadow of the old ability, he knew he could make this grief that so filled her overflow. He could take her in his arms and let her sob her despair, sheltering her, and once the tears were gone, she might look up at him and ...

  He was surprised at how much he wanted to do that. At how much he desired her. His hand was still out. All he had to do was touch, to say the right words garlanded with his new Gift.

  He withdrew his hand. Set it on his lap and covered it with the prosthetic. That was very nearly harder to do than anything he'd ever done in his life.

  She's angry and furious because this means that more people will be hurt. She cries for them, not herself. But you, Greggie ... you're just disappointed. You're feeling irritated because this means Gregg Hartmann won't get the publicity he wants. You're a sham. You're an ass.