"Where did you get a bug?" They'd reached the lobby. The doors opened, and they stepped out of the elevator. Ackroyd shrugged. "Oh, I carry a few around. They're good for making people nervous. I get them real cheap at this place in Jokertown, this guy sells me all his broken ones, six for a dollar. Unless Loophole knows a lot more about microcircuitry than I figure, he'll never know the difference." Ackroyd glanced at his watch again. "By now he should have found it, locked it up somewhere, and gone back to business, but let's give him a few more minutes just to play it safe. Did you notice the computer?"
"Eh? Yes, certainly, what of it?" Hiram opened the door and they walked outside.
"Manhattan streets," Jay said. "Times Square area. There were maps on his desk. Some kind of search is in progress, and our friend Loophole is coordinating it, I'd bet. Staving right by his phone, keeping everyone in touch with everybody else, charting the players on the computer. Real interesting."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hiram said. "Remember our little tete-a-tete at Tachyon's place? Tall-green-and-scaly was looking for some kind 4 book, and he didn't strike me as a real heavy reader. I think Loophole's looking for the same thing."
"I don't care a fig about stolen books," Hiram said. "I want something done about Bludgeon."
"Maybe the same guy owns them both," Jay said. He shrugged. "Or maybe not. Let's find out." He ambled back over by the building and began poking around in the shrubbery.
Hiram crossed his arms and scowled. "What are you doing?"
Popinjay looked back. "I'm going to hide in these bushes. I'm real good at hiding in bushes. Its the first thing they teach you in detective school."
"How are you going to find out anything that way?"
"I'm not," Ackroyd said. He shaped his right hand into a gun and pointed a loaded finger. "You are," he finished. Hiram never heard the pop.
Fortunato's black tie and long coat were a little out of place in the Jokertown station house. It was like a human garbage dump. The dominant smell was a blend of cheap wine and vomit and stale sweat. The main hall was standing room only, with a special section for hookers. The sight of their streaked makeup and stained, gaudy clothes was more than Fortunato could stand.
It took him ten minutes to find Black's office. The door was open and Black was on the phone. Black was good looking in a five-o'clock-shadow, rolled-sleeve, cheap-haircut sort of way. Fortunato waited in the hall until Black hung up. Then he stepped in and closed the door.
"The name didn't mean much," Fortunato said. "But I recognize you now. It was seven years ago. I spent the night in a cell here while a woman I cared a lot about got her brain fried. You had a Sergeant Matthias and a guy named Roman interrogate me. They decided they weren't interested and turned me loose. You probably don't remember."
"Remember? I've never seen you before, or this bimbo you're talking about." Black was scared and not hiding it well. Fortunato liked that.
"You're going to tell me everything you know. I'm not going to fuck around, because I'm in a hurry. So you're just going to tell me, right now."
It was easy. Black wasn't an ace, just an ordinary guy. Fortunato was weak, but would never be ordinary again. Black leaned back in his swivel chair, tense but unresisting.
"What do you want to know?" Black said tonelessly. "The Astronomer. He's escaping tonight. He's got a ship, some kind of spaceship. I need to know where it is."
"Spaceship? Like aliens from space? Like Dr. Tachyon and that kind of shit? You must be crazy."
Fortunato gave him another little jolt of power. He was starting to feel dizzy. "He must have been planning to take you with him. Otherwise he would have killed you."
Black looked puzzled. "Yeah, he was… but he decided to keep me here, keep me alive for 'contingencies.'"
"Like pulling the guards off Kafka?"
"Yeah. Like that."
"And where is it he's going?"
"It's funny. I really can't remember."
"Funny," Fortunato said. He let himself come loose from his physical body and went into Black's mind. The man wasn't lying. The memory of the ship, where the Astronomer got it, where it was hidden, where he was taking it, was gone. Neatly cut away. Just the way the Astronomer had cut up Eileens brain.
Fortunato turned to go.
"You're just… going to leave me here?"
"You're no use to me."
"But… aren't you afraid I'd try to get back at you?"
"Yeah," Fortunato said. "I suppose you're right." With the last of his strength he reached into Black's chest and stopped his heart. Black made a noise like a cough and slumped sideways in his chair.
"Her name was Eileen," Fortunato said, and walked away.
Hiram's right foot was soaked up to the ankle; he'd appeared half-standing in the toilet, and it was sheer good fortune that an ongoing phone conversation had covered up the splash he made when extricating himself. As it was, he got nervous every time he took a step, fearful that the squishing sound would give him away. So he tried not to move much. He crouched in the bedroom, near the door to the spacious living room. It was open, as was the door to the adjacent room. He couldn't see a thing but the empty living room, but he could hear everything, and that was what mattered. He'd been there twenty-odd minutes now, and he'd heard more than enough.
Ring. "Latham? This is Hobart. Subway's secure. The Egrets are down on the platforms, no way anybody gets on any trains without us knowing. I've got men hanging around every turnstile. You sure she's heading this way'?"
"Our friend from justice seem to think so. I spoke to Billy Ray a few minutes ago, he says that she's heading up Broadway and he's not far behind her. Wyrm has been informed, and he confirms. He's on his way."
St. John Latham of Latham, Strauss, obviously gave his clients a good deal more than legal representation.
Ring. "Cholly, man. We're at the Port Authority. I'm in a phone booth, we got guys at all the doors. Lots of pimps and ho's, man, but no sign of a white chick in a bikini."
"Keep watching."
The ringing of the phone was constant, as was the soft sound of Latham's practiced fingers on the IBM keypad. Hiram edged closer to the door.
He felt sorry for the prey, whoever it was. Latham and his people were closing a net around the whole Times Square area. Each phone call pulled the weave a little tighter, and the phone kept ringing.
Ring. "Sinjin? This is Fadeout."
"Where are you?"
"In front of Nathan's. No sign of her. It's not quite as bad as New Year's Eve, but it's not far off either."
"You visible?"
"For the moment. Otherwise I'd have nat assholes bumping into me every other second. Besides, I may need the energy if she shows."
"She'll show. Wyrm is certain of it."
"Where the hell is he?"
"In his limo, fighting traffic. Where are the rest of our people?"
"Egrets and Werewolves all over the place. Our jokers are all wearing Dr. Tachyon masks, so we know who they are. The Whisperer's up by the Cohan statue, Bludgeon is hanging around outside the Wet Pussycat, Chickenhawk's perched on top of the tower. He's supposed to be watching, but he's probably eating a goddamned pigeon. We've got a few guys in cabs too, in case she tries to hail a taxi, maybe she'll get one of ours."
Hiram tensed at the mention of Bludgeon's name. When the next call rang through, and he heard a familiar razor-cruel voice come out of the speakerphone, he edged forward until he was in the doorjamb. "Loophole, you fucker," the voice said. "It's me."
"Yes," Latham replied in polite, icy tones.
"I just spotted the gash. I'm watching her tight little butt right now. You ought to see her, nothing on but a fuckin' bikini, her titties just hangin' out there. Should I kill her?"
"No," Lathan said crisply. "Follow her."
"Shit, I could twist her fuckin' head off before she knew I was there." He laughed. "Fuckin' shame to waste the rest of her, though."