"Yes," Worchester said.
"Even though it is inadmissible in a court of law?"
"Yes."
Tachyon danced around to face Jay. "As for you, Mr. Ackroyd, take the jacket. Destroy it."
Fleeting visions of the world of shit he'd lived through to find the jacket passed through Jay Ackroyd's mind, and he protested. "Hey, that's our only proof!"
"Proof? Are you really suggesting that we publicize this? Think. What we hold could spell the ruin of every wild card in America."
Stubbornly, Jay said, "But he killed Chrysalis, and if we don't nail him, Elmo takes the fall."
That was too much for the alien. All of a sudden Tachyon started pulling at his hair in something that looked perilously close to a hysterical frenzy. "Damn you, damn you, damn you. "
"Look, it's not my fault," Jay said, scared that Tach was about to burst into tears. "But I'm damned if I'm going to agree to some sleazy. little deal that lets Chrysalis's murderer walk."
"I swear to you upon my honor and blood that I will not let Elmo suffer."
"Yeah? What are you going to do?"
"I don't know yet!" Tachyon switched off the electron microscope, removed the slide, washed the incriminating scraps of fabric down the sink. Hiram moved to follow when the alien started to leave, but Tach stopped him. "No, Hiram. I must do this alone."
Jay pointed out the obvious objection. "And if he's got Buzz Saw Boy waiting for you?" he asked.
"That's the risk I must take."
7:00 P.M.
"It's all," Brennan told Jennifer grimly, ", just a matter of patience."
For what was perhaps the tenth time in the last hour one of the Freakers patrons cruised their table, eyeing Brennan and Jennifer speculatively. For the tenth time in the past hour, Brennan gave a cold stare that made the cruiser move on without lingering.
"But," he added through gritted teeth, "I'm about all out."
He'd made it back to Freakers about an hour ago and had told Jennifer about his nautical adventures and Tripod's wise decision -to go on vacation in Florida until things quieted down. He'd had quite a bankroll to finance it, because Kien's Asian Princess had brought a nice sum from Tripod's boatbroker acquaintance, which they'd split fifty-fifty.
A cocktail waitress with a Medusa head of twitching blind worms came up to their table.
"We're waiting for someone," Brennan said.
She smiled. "Someone in particular," she asked, "or will anyone do?"
Brennan ground his teeth together. He started to answer her, stopped, and gripped Jennifer's arm while nodding toward the bar. "Here," he said, giving the barmaid a twenty without looking at her. "Go away."
She took the bill, slipped it into her ample cleavage, and went off on her rounds.
"It's him," Jennifer whispered. Brennan nodded. "Wait here."
Kant was at the bar. Even from across the room Brennan could see that he was highly agitated. He was questioning one of the bartenders as Brennan came up quietly behind him. The bartender was shaking his head.
"She ain't been in for a couple of days."
Kant was disheveled and had a rank, reptile-house smell about him.
"You don't understand," he told the bartender. "I need her. I need the kiss!"
A woman sitting at the bar swiveled toward him, her face hidden by a cheap, glittery mask. "You sound like you need it bad, doll."
Kant turned to her. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath was a husky rattle.
"I'll kiss you, honey," the woman said. "Anywhere you want."
Kant growled wordlessly and struck her backhanded across the face, knocking her from the bar stool. She gazed up at him in terror as he towered over her, glowering like a madman.
"I don't need a filthy whore!" he screamed. He pounded his fist on the bar, then shuddered all over like a dog throwing off water. He brought himself under control with great effort and hissed, "I need the kiss!"
He whirled and almost trampled Brennan as he lunged toward the door. No one tried to stop him. Brennan turned to signal Jennifer and saw that she was already at his side. He took his bow case from her and said quietly, "Let's go."
It was the easiest tailing job Brennan had ever done. Kant left a trail of disgruntled pedestrians in his wake as he obliviously slammed through them. The biggest problem Brennan had was keeping up with him. Kant wasn't exactly running, but he was moving with the urgency of a man who had to find a bathroom.
They followed him for half a dozen blocks to a shabby five-story apartment building. It was solid and functional looking, with no pretense toward elegance or security. Kant went in the lobby and after a moment Brennan and Jennifer followed him. They heard him pound up the stairs and then followed at a more sedate pace all the way to the top, meeting no one else on the way.
Brennan and Jennifer reached the top floor just in time to peer around the stairwell and see Kant take a key ring from his pocket and unlock the door. He entered the apartment and slammed the door so hard that it rattled in its frame.
"He's off the deep end," Brennan whispered. Jennifer nodded. "Let's find out why."
Brennan unzipped his bow case and took out the longbarreled air pistol that had been snugged down next to the bow. It was loaded with tranquilizer darts. He didn't want to hurt Kant, and he wanted the joker able to answer his questions.
They went down the corridor and stopped in front of the door. It had rebounded out of its latch when Kant had slammed it, so that it was open a crack. Brennan nodded at Jennifer, who blew him a kiss, and then he went in fast and low, dropping the bow case and rolling to a crouch.
The living room was decorated with obvious expense, but it was not to Brennan's taste. It was brightly lit with numerous bulbs blazing in track lighting set in the ceiling, and even though it was summer, the heat was on and cranked up to the max. The furniture was all shiny leather and polished chrome. The image of a lizard sunning himself on a smooth rock flashed through Brennan's mind.
The room was empty. Brennan closed the door as Jennifer ghosted through the wall and joined him. It was quiet but tense, as if an angry beast were waiting in ambush somewhere in the apartment.
Brennan motioned down the hallway that led to the apartment's interior, and Jennifer nodded. He crept forward, passing a kitchenette that was also empty, then a hall closet whose sliding door was half-open. Brennan looked into it to make sure it wasn't hiding a crazed joker cop. It wasn't, so he moved on toward the doorway to the bedroom, listened for a moment, then cautiously peered in.
The room was dominated by a huge four-poster water bed with mirrors on the canopy and headboard. A bigscreen television stood against the wall opposite the bed.
Next to the television was what looked like a child's wading pool filled with sand. A pair of sunlamps were focused on the pool and Kant was in it, naked, with his eyes closed. He was rooting in the sand, mumbling aloud as he dragged himself through the grit as if he were frenziedly trying to wipe himself clean.
"Kant," Brennan said quietly.
The joker turned slowly. His face was a frozen mask of madness. There was an ugly oozing sore on his lower neck. He stared at Brennan, his mouth working wordlessly, and then he screamed and sprang, his hands outstretched, his fingers hooked into talons.
Brennan calmly shot him.
The pistol whooshed and a feathered dart flew through the air, struck Kant's naked chest, and bounced off the hard, scaly skin.
Shit, Brennan thought. Then the maniac was on him.