"No. You just reminded me again how important all this is." Gregg allowed himself a small smile. He tried to project some of his newly returned ability into the gesture, feeling - tasting - her passion. He touched her shoulder with his left hand, wanting to take her as he used to take puppets, to make the full psychic connection.
He felt nothing. He couldn't do it.
The charisma, the conviction was back in his voice, but this was not Puppetman. Gregg couldn't find the strings of her emotions, couldn't follow them back to their sources and make her dance the old dance. He could only tug gently at her feelings, not shape them completely. Hannah wanted so badly to believe him; that was the only thing that had made it possible.
Still, even this truncated power, after having it all vanish for so long, nearly took the breath from him. He nearly missed her question.
"Did you hear Barnett's speech tonight?"
"No. I was - "
"- occupied. We know." Hannah's look was almost shy, but it still made Gregg look aside for a moment. Ashamed, Greggie? Ahh, too bad - well, you should be....
"Barnett called for mandatory blood testing for anyone who is currently in or is applying for a public service position," Hannah told him. "That's every doctor, every nurse, every health care worker, every police officer, every firefighter, every last government worker. 'The great majority of decent people have a right to know if the person treating them is infected by this horrible scourge.' That's what Barnett said. He's promised to sign the legislation as soon as Congress puts it on his desk. Zappa's already stumping for support, and you know how effective a speaker the vice president can be. A coalition of senators and representatives has pledged to introduce a joint bill in session tomorrow. It's starting - all the controls and oppression you oppose. First, it'll be the testing, then.... That's why ..."
Hannah stopped, biting her lower lip. She was glorious, the emotions cascading from her like a fountain. So attractive.
So very, very attractive.
"Senator ... Gregg - we can't wait any longer. My God, all the hidden manipulations, all the strings they pulled."
Manipulations. Strings. You remember those, don't you, Greggie.... Hannah nodded toward Oddity, watching them silently near the mouth of the alley. "Patti suggested something the other night: look at what happened to you, in '76 and again in '88. Doesn't it make you wonder? Who would the Sharks have been most against having as president? If they were willing to assassinate the Kennedys, what would they have been willing to do to you?"
Christ! Gregg couldn't speak, couldn't answer. Of course! I missed Rudo. I could have missed others. Could Tachyon ...? His other voice seemed equally stunned. You see! There it is, Greggie: redemption, redemption for it all! "There was nothing in what you gave me to indicate that, Hannah," he heard himself protest automatically.
"No," she admitted. "But the Sharks were there. Given their ideology, they must have been. You want yet another reason to go after the Sharks, Senator? Try revenge."
"I would say that you're fairly adept at manipulation yourself, Ms. Davis." She colored nicely at the soft accusation. Gregg hurried into the gap, his words laced with the old power. "Hannah, I have to be certain that all your facts are correct and verifiable before we move." He was certain as soon as he said it. Gregg was not a particularly devout man: call it God, call it Fate, call it Destiny, call it Accident. Whatever, Gregg had been handed a Gift. He'd been given back a portion of what he'd once had, and he intended to use it. "Hannah, I will take care of this. It is very, very important to me."
Hannah gave him the first smile he'd seen from her. Behind her, Oddity was nodding.
It was what he would have told her anyway. But now conviction lent strength to the words. This time he meant them. Tomorrow, he'd start things rolling.
After all, now he had something to prove.
This is your chance, Greggie. This is your one last chance to get it all back. If Hannah's even halfway right, you can redeem yourself.
He wasn't going to blow it this time.
Two of a Kind
by Walton Simons
She was beautiful, the kind of woman men killed or died for. The gabardine suit wasn't tailored to show off the exquisite contours of her body, and her hair was pinned back. It didn't matter. One look into her crimson eyes and any man was lost, swallowed up in the promise of a single, sensual glance. Seeing her made coming into work every morning a pleasure.
"Is he in yet?" Jerry eased himself onto the corner of Ezili's polished mahogany desk. Everything in the offices reflected taste and wealth. From the plush carpeting and deco fixtures to the location itself. Ackroyd and Creighton took up half a floor of the most expensive office space in Manhattan.
"Yes. He actually came in early, I think. I hope there's no trouble at home." Ezili smiled, a look that went beyond mischief into a kind of unconscious predation.
"I don't think there's much chance of that. Hastet would never allow it." Friendly as she was, Jerry couldn't help being intimidated by Jay's wife. But then, she was a Takisian.
Jerry rapped on the smoked glass of the door, right under the painted letters which read:
JAY ACKROYD, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR
"Come in," Jay said. Jerry stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Ackroyd straightened a stack of papers against the desktop and put them in a drawer. "How are you today? Ezili keep you up late again?"
"That's off and on, you know that." Jerry sat in the chair next to Jay's. "I want to sit in on the next meeting. The one with Hartmann."
"Hmmm."
"What does that mean?"
"It means hmmm," Jay said. "Jesus, now you've got me quoting the movies. I don't know. He's a big fish and I don't want to spook him."
Jerry tapped his fingers together. He didn't buy Jay's excuse, but that wasn't the real issue. "I'm a full partner. I want to be treated like one."
"You are treated like a full partner. Your fake name is as big as mine on the office stationery." Jay held up a piece of paper. "See. Ackroyd and Creighton. You never did tell me why you chose such a weird nom de snoop."
"It was Lon Chaney Jr.'s real first name." Jerry's Creighton face was a cross between Chaney Jr. and Bogart, craggy, but with sharp features and knowing eyes. "Stop trying to change the subject. You keep me away from all the really big cases, Jay."
Ackroyd rubbed the side of his head. "It's too early in the morning for anyone to be giving me this kind of headache."
The intercom buzzed. "He's here," Ezili said.
"I'm staying," Jerry said, settling as deeply as he could into the leather chair.
Jay sighed. "I guess you are." He pressed the intercom button. "Send him in."
Jerry stood as Hartmann walked into the room. His hair was thinning a bit, and his eyes had a touch less sparkle, but he still looked the part of a senator. He extended his prosthetic hand quickly and awkwardly to Jay. The real one had been mangled by some kind of demonic dog during the war for the Rox. "Mr. Ackroyd."
Jay held hack for a second, then shook Hartmann's hand. "Senator, this is my partner, Mr. Creighton."
Hartmann turned and placed his prosthetic hand in Jerry's. Jerry shook it tentatively. They made brief eye contact. There was an intensity about Hartmann that Jerry couldn't quite classify.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Creighton."
"A pleasure," Jerry said. "Please, sit down."
Hartmann clumsily unbuttoned his tailored blue coat and seated himself, his briefcase in his lap.
"What is it exactly we can do for you?" Jay was giving Hartmann a look he usually reserved for thugs and lousy waiters.
"I've come across some information recently which, if true, could have major implications for wild cards everywhere." Hartman pulled a sheaf of papers from the briefcase. "In here is a list of individuals I need investigated. I want everything done in the quietest possible manner. Some of them are very influential, so I'd advise you to be circumspect."