"Look, you've got everything wrong." Spector figured he must have stumbled into a big-time dope operation. Nurse Gresham could be stealing all kinds of drugs at Tachyon's clinic. "The deal went down fine. Somebody else must have done it."
There was a hum, and an old man moved forward into the light. He was seated in an electric wheelchair. His head was abnormally large and sparsely covered with white hair. His thin body was twisted, as if forces inside it were trying to move in different directions. His skin was pale, but healthy, and he wore thick glasses.
"Do you remember this?" The old man held up a coin. Spector recognized it instantly. It was an old penny that he had taken from Mike's body. Since it was the size of a half-dollar and dated 1794 he had saved it, thinking it might be worth something.
"No," he said, stalling for time.
"Really? Look at it carefully." The penny shone blood-red in the moonlight.
Spector had heard enough to know he was in deep trouble. Gresham and the old man were going to kill him. If he was going to stop them, now was the time. "Nobody move, or I'll kill this old guy the same as I offed your pusher friend." They laughed. "Look at me, Mr. Spector." The old man leaned forward. "Use your power on me."
Spector locked eyes with him and tried to share his death. He could feel it wasn't working, for whatever reason. The old man seemed to be blocking him off somehow. He slumped beaten into his chair.
"Sorry to disappoint you. You're not the only one to have extraordinary powers. Untie him, Nurse Gresham."
The woman reluctantly did as she was told. "Be careful of him," she warned the old man. "He could still be dangerous." Spector did not feel dangerous. Whatever he had gotten himself into, it was certainly no run-of-the-mill drug operation. "How do you know about me? What do you want?"
"Nurse Gresham kept a very complete file on you at the clinic." The old man opened a notebook and began reading. "James Spector, a failed CPA from Teaneck, New Jersey, infected by the wild card virus nine months ago. You were clinically dead upon arrival at the Jokertown clinic. Since you had no living family members to object, Dr. Tachyon revived you with a now-abandoned experimental process. You spent six months in ICU screaming uncontrollably. Finally, with the help of medications you were brought back to sanity. You disappeared approximately three months ago. Coincidentally, an orderly died mysteriously the same day. It's all here. Very complete."
"Bitch." Spector tried to locate the nurse in the darkness. "Now, now," said the old man. "If I let you live, Mr. Spector, you may get to like her."
"You'd let me live?" He realized it was the wrong way to put it. "I mean-"
"Realistically," the old man interrupted, "you have a great talent. Aces are rare, you don't just flush them down the toilet. You could be quite useful to our cause."
"What cause?"
The old man smiled. "You'll find out if we accept you into our.. . society. But before we even consider that, you'll have to prove your value. We have a little job for you, but with your abilities and the information we'll give you, it shouldn't be too hard."
"And if I don't play ball?" Spector was scared, but he wanted to know the exact consequences.
The old man tore a sheet of paper from the notebook and handed it to him with a pen. "Write your address on that piece of paper and put it in your pocket." Spector was confused, but did what he was told. The old man closed his eyes tightly and placed the tips of his fingers together.
Spector shivered. He felt as if cold water were being poured over his naked brain. "I feel…" He stopped, overcome by the sensation.
"Yes, I know. Not like anything else, is it? Now, tell me your address."
Spector opened his mouth to answer and realized he could not remember. The information was simply gone. "Selective amnesia. When a person is physically present with me, I can take out whatever I want." He raised a bushy eyebrow. "Or I can remove everything."
Spector was shaken, but knew that the old man's power might also be used to remove the memory of his death. The loss of his power would be a small price to pay to sleep nights again. "I see what you mean. I'll do whatever you say."
"You see, Nurse Gresham, he's no trouble at all. It would be stupid to kill someone who can be so useful. Inject him again and return him to his apartment before he wakes up."
"Hold on a minute. Who are you? If you don't mind telling me."
"My real name would mean even less to you than it does to me. You can call me the Astronomer."
Spector figured that anyone who called himself the Astronomer was certifiable, but this wasn't the time or place to bring it up. "Fine. Well, Astronomer, what do you want me to do for you? The only thing I'm good at is killing people." The Astronomer nodded. "Precisely."
Spector was nervous about killing a cop, especially since it was Captain McPherson. Nobody had been stupid or courageous enough to mess with the head of the Jokertown Special Forces Unit. The Astronomer had given him no choice. McPherson's death had to appear accidental since one of the Astronomer's people was in place to succeed him. If Spector failed or tried to get away, the Astronomer would brainwipe everything but his death.
He laced the shin guards on tightly and rolled his jeans down over them. He was also wearing additional protection under his shirt, on his forearms.
The Astronomer must have been planning to kill McPherson for some time. Spector was seated on a sofa in the apartment directly beneath his target. The woman who lived here was one of the Astronomer's underlings. From what he had been told, McPherson's maid was also in on the operation. "If you want to replace someone, first replace the people around them," the Astronomer had said.
Spector looked at the wall clock. It was between one and two in the morning. He checked to make sure the hypodermic was in his pocket, then turned out the lights and opened the balcony door.
He picked up the rope and hefted the padded grappling hook at the end. The distance to the balcony above was about twelve feet. He leaned out and tossed the hook. It landed perfectly, one large barb catching the edge above. A handful of snow fell on his face. He tugged at the rope. It snapped taut and the hook held fast.
Spector climbed up quickly and heaved himself over the edge of McPhersons balcony. The accumulated snow muffled the sound of his feet on the concrete. He waited for a moment. He heard nothing from inside.
The maid had done as she'd been told. The balcony door was unlocked. Spector slid it open; a blast of cold air rushed into the apartment. He entered quietly and closed the door behind him.
The dog was waiting for him. He could see the red glow reflecting off the animal's retinas. The dog growled a threat and charged. Spector could not clearly see the animal and threw up one arm to protect his vulnerable head and throat. With his free hand he reached for the hypodermic which Nurse Gresham had given him.
The Doberman slammed into him, grabbing his extended arm in its jaws. He could feel it trying to bite through his armguard to sever his tendons.
He jabbed the hypodermic into the animal's stomach. It continued to growl and grind away at his arm. A light came on in the next room. Now that he was able to see, Spector pushed the dog away. The Doberman fell heavily and tried immediately to stand.
"Get him, Oscar. Tear him to pieces." The voice came from the lighted room.
Oscar tried to respond. He bared his teeth and took a step, then his eyes closed and he collapsed.
So far, so good, thought Spector. He faked a limp toward the lighted room. "I give up. Your dog hurt me bad. I need a doctor. Help me, please." He tried to sound hurt.
"Oscar?" McPherson's voice was unsure. "You all right, boy?"