The minute the thought manifested, Tachyon felt guilty. After all, it was Jay who had saved the alien from an assassin a year and a half ago. The Takisian realized that some of his waspishness was due to Jay's having caught the alien doing a silly little hop-skip step up the stained concrete steps. "Get lucky last night?"
Tach's frowned deepened. Had he spent the evening with any one of his normal complement of female companions, he might have responded with the obligatory leer and nudge. But this was Cody. And though their passionate kissing last night had not lead through the bedroom door, Tach was beginning to nourish passionate hopes. What happened behind that bedroom door was no one's business. Tach frowned at the nondescript human in front of him.
"Did you come by just to annoy me, or has my money actually garnered a few results?"
"You think what I do is easy?"
"No, tedious-which is why I do not do it myself. Besides, I'm out of the law enforcement business. I tend to my clinic now, and-"
"-cultivate your garden," concluded Jay, startling Tachyon with his knowledge of Voltaire.
"By the ideal, you read," said Tach as they stepped through the front doors.
"Yeah, it impresses babes."
Tach nodded a friendly good morning to Mrs. Chicken Foot and crossed to the elevator. As they rode up the four floors to Tach's office, the alien could feel the human's mood sobering as he mentally marshaled the information he had obtained. Tach's good mood drained like water sucked into desert sand. In another, more impatient time, the Takisian would have yanked the knowledge from Jay's mind, but this was something he preferred to delay-forever if possible. Unfortunately an ostrichlike response to Blaise was dangerous.
In the office Jay lounged on the couch. Tachyon stood with his back to the room, gazing out the window at Jokertown laid out before him like a pustular sore on the body of Manhattan. Was it age or depression, or had the vista actually grown shabbier and dirtier over the past twenty-five years? "It's so ugly," Tachyon murmured.
"You just noticed?" Jay's tone offered no comfort. Tach turned to face him.
"Perhaps I have less stomach for it now"
"Then you better get a barf bag because what I've got to tell you doesn't qualify as pretty" Jay pulled out a notebook, flipped it open, and began to read. His voice had lost much of its joking edge. "Blaise is running with a jumper gang."
The desk chair was a welcome support to legs suddenly gone shaky. Tach longed to clasp his hands, but the plastic monstrosity at the end of his right arm offered no comfort. Instead, his left hand cupped his right elbow, both arms drawn protectively across his aching stomach.
"Ideal… now he's far too powerful."
"It gets better. He also has ties to the Shadow Fists…" Tach's head jerked up. Jay didn't miss the reaction. "Got friends there too?" asked Jay dryly. Tach mutely shook his head, waved to Ackroyd to continue. "Look, Tachyon, you haven't got a priest, and if you can't trust your private dick, who the hell can you trust?"
"No one," said Tachyon softly.
Jay watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged and resumed. "While running with the jumpers, your charming grandson has engaged in the usual round of fun-beatings, muggings, robberies, nights on the town courtesy of the victim's credit card." Jay hesitated.
Tach leapt on it, imperious and demanding. "What?"
"Everything seems to point to Blaise being the jumper who took over Ira Greenstein's body, and-"
"I know what happened to him." His tone was shrill. Tach regained control of his voice. "Ira has been my tailor for twenty years. How many other people whom I have patronized are in jeopardy?"
"You know Blaise better than I do."
"No, I only thought I did."
"The alien delinquent has graduated from brutality. He's in the big leagues now-murder. Couple of my sources say he blew away a small-time Shadow Fist soldier named Christian."
"Murder's not new to Blaise. He killed when he was in that revolutionary cell in France."
"No, he mind-controlled other people to kill. It's a big step to holding the gun yourself. I personally wouldn't know-I hate the fucking things-but for Blaise it's a turn-on. He kills for fun and kicks, and likes every moment of it. That was the one thing my informants agreed on. That, and that they were terrified of the little bastard."
"Is he… is he in Manhattan?" Tach hated himself for the hesitation that made his voice as ragged as a broken saw. It revealed his fear, and he didn't like to admit, even to himself, that he was afraid of his grandson.
"No, I think he's based on the Rox, but he and his gang of delinquents make raids into the city."
"You think?"
Jay correctly interpreted the added emphasis on the final word as censure. "Look, you hired me to get information on the kid, not recover him. And while I'm not a coward, I'm also not stupid. People who go to the Rox generally don't come back."
"And if I hired you to bring him back?"
"I'd say no. I'm a private eye, not a one-man commando unit."
For a long time they sat in silence. It was hard for Tachyon to ask the question that was battering impatiently at the back of his teeth. Over the years he had been threatened by enemies far more terrifying than Blaise-the Astronomer, the Swarm, Hartmann. Why, then, was he so afraid? Or did a surfeit of love translate into a greater sense of betrayal and terror when that love died?
"Am I in danger?"
They locked eyes. "I don't know. Given your past history, yeah, you're probably in danger. You imprisoned his father, and killed his guardian, sacrificed his tutor to save your neck. Not to mention dressing him in puce and lace-"
"You also bear some responsibility in this. What about Atlanta, when he was possessed by that creature? He mindcontrolled that poor joker, made him tear himself to pieces."
Jay shrugged. "Okay, neither one of us are prime candidates for father of the year. The point is, what he thinks will hurt you most. Maybe he'll just be content to fuck over everyone around you."
Tachyon stood, began to pace. "I can't live with that burden."
"I don't see that you've got any choice."
"There must be some other option."
"I can think of one-deal with Blaise."
Tach's stomach felt as if lead shot had been dropped into it. He shook his head. "I can't deal with him."
"Why not?"
"That would require killing him."
Jay's eyes flicked in reaction to that bald statement.
"Jesus Christ, what is it with you Takisians? You've never heard of psychiatrists?"
"Do you want to capture him for me?"
Jay had the grace to blush. He looked down. "Not particularly."
Tach turned away. "I am wounded, Jay, wounded in ways which can't even be seen. I just want to be left alone."
"That's not an option that's open for you." There was a grimness, a seriousness to the detective's expression that Tachyon had never seen before. It was a little frightening. "There are people who are actors on history. They can't step off the stage no matter how much they might like to. You're one of those people-you poor bastard."
There was no answer to that. Again silence held the room. Tach finally crossed to the bar, and poured out a brandy. "A little early in the day, isn't it?"
"Don't nag. You have unalterably depressed me, now you must take the consequences."
"Hey, it ain't my problem. You can go to hell anyway it suits you. Just don't try to blame me."
Tach set aside the snifter, untasted. "And what of Mark?"
"No trace. Oh, I know he's somewhere within the environs of greater Manhattan, but I don't know where."
"Why is this so difficult? Mark Meadows is a lovely but totally ineffectual person. How could he evade you this long?"