Croyd nodded. "I'm willing to give it a shot. What particular information are you after?"
Mazzucchelli leaned forward and lowered his voice, his lips barely moving. "The chairman of the board. I want to know who's running the show."
"The boss? You mean he didn't even send you a dead fish in somebody's pants? I thought it was customary to observe certain amenities in these matters?"
Mazzucchelli shrugged. "These guys got no etiquette. Could be a bunch of foreigners."
"Have you got any leads at all, or do I go it cold?"
"You will be pretty much a ground-breaker. I will give you a list of places they sometimes seem to operate through. I also have names of a couple people who might do some work for them."
"Why didn't you just pick one of them up and pop the question?"
"I think that, like you, they are independent contractors rather than family members."
"I see."
Then, "And that may not be all they have in common with you," Mazzucchelli added.
"Aces?" Croyd asked. Mazzucchelli nodded.
"If I've got to mess with aces it's going to cost more than if they're just civilians."
"I'm good for it," Mazzucchelli said, withdrawing another envelope from his inner pocket. "Here is a retainer and the list. You may consider the retainer ten percent of the total price for the job."
Croyd opened the envelope, counted quickly. He smiled when he finished.
"Where do you take delivery.?" he asked.
"The manager here can always get in touch with me."
"What's his name?"
"Theotocopolos. Theo'll do."
"Okay," Croyd said. "You just hired subtlety."
"When you go to sleep you turn into a different person, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if that happens before the job is done, that new guy's still got a contract with me."
"So long as he gets paid."
"We understand each other."
They shook hands, Croyd rose, left the booth, crossed the room. Moth-sized snowflakes swirled in as he departed. Mazzucchelli reached for a fresh toothpick. Outside, Croyd tossed a black pill into his mouth.
Wearing gray slacks, blue blazer, and bloodclot-colored tie, his hair marcelled, shades silver, nails manicured, Croyd sat alone at a small window table in Aces High, regarding the city's lights through wind-whipped snow beyond his baked salmon, sipping Chateau d'Yquem, hashing over plans for the next move in his investigation and flirting with Jane Dow, who had passed his way twice so far and was even now approaching again-a thing he took to be more than coincidence and a good omen, having lusted after her in a variety of hearts (some of them multiples) on a number of occasionsand hoping he might fit the occasion to the feelings, he raised his hand as she drew near and touched her arm.
A tiny spark crackled, she halted, said, "Yike!" and reached; to rub the place where the shock had occurred.
"Sorry-" Croyd began.
"Must be static electricity," she said.
"Must be," he agreed. "All I wanted to say was that you do know me, even though you wouldn't recognize me in this incarnation. I'm Croyd Crenson. We've met in passing, here and there, and I always wanted just to sit and talk a spell, but somehow our paths never crossed long enough at the right time."
"That's an interesting line," she said, running a finger across her damp brow, "naming the one ace nobody's certain about. I bet a lot of groupies get picked up that way."
"True," Croyd replied, smiling, as he opened his arms wide. "But I can prove it if you'll wait about half a minute."
"Why? What are you doing?"
"Filling the air with neg-ions for you," he said,
"for that delightfully stimulating before-the-storm feeling. Just a hint at the great time I could show-"
"Cut it out!" She began backing away. "It sometimes triggers-"
Croyd's hands were wet, his face was wet, his hair collapsed and leaked onto his forehead.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"What the hell," he said "let's make it a thunderstorm," and lightning danced among his fingertips. He began laughing. Other diners glanced in their direction.
"Stop," she said. "Please."
"Sit down for a minute and I will."
"Okay."
She took the seat opposite him. He dried his face and hands on his napkin.
"I'm sorry," he said. "My fault. I should be careful with storm effects around someone they call Water Lily."
She smiled.
"Your glasses are all wet," she said, suddenly reaching forward and plucking them from his face. "I'll clean-"
"Two hundred sixteen views of moist loveliness," he stated as she stared. "The virus has, as usual, overendowed me in several respects."
"You really see that many of me?"
He nodded. "These joker aspects sometimes crop up in my changes. Hope I haven't turned you off."
"They're rather-magnificent," she said. "You're very kind. Now give back the glasses."
"A moment."
She wiped the lenses on the corner of the tablecloth, then passed them to him.
"Thanks." He donned them again. "Buy you a drink? Dinner? A water spaniel?"
"I'm on duty," she said. "Thanks. Sorry. Maybe another time."
"Well, I'm working now myself. But if you're serious, I'll give you a couple of phone numbers and an address. I may not be at any of them. But I get messages."
"Give them to me," she said, and he scribbled quickly in a notepad, tore out the page, and passed it to her. "What kind of work?" she asked.
"Subtle investigation," he said. "It involves a gang war."
"Really? I've heard people say you're kind of honest, as well as kind of crazy."
"They're half-right," he said. "So give me a call or stop by. I'll rent scuba gear and show you a good time."
She smiled and began to rise. "Maybe I will."
He withdrew an envelope from his pocket, opened it, pushed aside a wad of bills, and removed a slip of paper with some writing on it.
"Uh, before you go-does the name James Spector mean anything to you?"
She froze and grew pale. Croyd found himself wet once again.
"What did I say?" he asked.
"You're not kidding? You really don't know?"
"Nope. Not kidding."
"You know the aces jingle."
"Parts of it."
"'Golden Boy ain't got no joy,"' she recited. "'if it's Demise, don't look in his eyes…'-that's him: James Spector is Demise's real name."
"I never knew that," he said. Then, "I never heard any verses about me."
"I don't remember any either."
"Come on. I always wondered."
"Sleeper waking, meals taking." she said slowly. "'Sleeper speeding, people bleeding.'" P› "Oh."
"If I call you and you're that far along…"
"If I'm that far along, I don't return calls."
"I'll get you a couple of dry napkins," she offered. "Sorry about the storms."
"Don't be. Did anyone ever tell you you're lovely when you exude moisture?"
She stared at him. Then, "I'll get you a dry fish too," she said.
Croyd raised his hand to blow her a kiss and gave himself a shock.
Breakdown by Leanne C. Harper
The pair of bodyguards left Giovanni's first. Behind their dark glasses they immediately began scanning the street, looking for trouble. At a wave from the man on the right, another bodyguard preceded Don Tomasso, head of the Anselmi Family, onto the street. The don had to be assisted in walking. He was an old man, bent and in obvious pain, but his old-fashioned black suit had been hand-tailored and pressed into sharp creases. He surveyed the street as well, swiveling his shaking head from between his hunched shoulders like an aging turtle. The red and green neon of the restaurant's sign alternately revealed and hid his weathered face.
Don Tomasso's black Mercedes limousine was doubleparked directly in front of Giovanni's entrance. Surrounded by his men, the don approached his car with his head held as high as possible in defiance to any unseen observers. A dark BMW pulled up behind Tomasso s Mercedes. He nodded in recognition at the driver before ducking his head and climbing into the limousine. One of the bodyguards followed him. The others moved back to the BMW Both cars were in motion before the doors of the BMW were shut.