The kids didn't say anything. Good people shouldn't get the wild card, either. "There's nothing I can do. There's nothing I can do about any of this shit! My God this world is going crazy."
Not to mention that she was pouring out her troubles to joker kids who lived in an alley. "And I don't want to cry on my parents' shoulders and let them know I'm scared. My folks think I'm strong, and rich. They think I got out of Jokertown forever. But I didn't. I'm here. God damn it, I'm here!"
Needles bit through a french fry with his baleen teeth. "You got that note, Jan?" he asked.
"Got it." The child pulled a sheet of shiny fax out of her pocket.
"Dutton said give you this." Needles settled back with the rest of his french fries.
"It's dark in here," Zoe said.
"Oh." Jan reached for the sheet of fax and looked down at it. Her eyes sent out beams. Her eyes were bioluminescent flashlights; the light they produced had a chartreuse tint like that of a firefly.
The information you seek is available. Please contact me.
Charles Dutton.
Zoe folded the note and stuck it into the kangaroo pocket on her windbreaker.
See the man. See him. Get Anne out of here, and Bjorn too, if it were possible, and tell Mendlen you're going to do it. If he says Anne's leaving will break a law or several? Find out how to do it discreetly, then.
"You thinking," Needles said.
"I'm thinking." She felt the kids' sympathy, their support. Thinking about how to find the cracks in the walls of the world, how to step through them into safety. Thinking about how to be good in a time of evil.
"We like you," Jellyhead said.
"Thank you," Zoe said. What about these kids? She wouldn't be able to walk away and forget them, their survival, their odd sense of charity. They had offered bread and salt, in their own way.
Okay. Question. What could a female ex-CEO facing embezzlement charges do to change the opinions of a terrified, well-meaning population that was bent on quarantining a fearsome disease? A disease that killed nine out of ten and changed the tenth into an inhuman monster? She couldn't think of much, at the moment.
Angelfish Jimmy had replaced Needles near the door hole. "Up, Jan. We gotta go talk to Hotair. Time to make morning report."
"I should see Dutton. Will he be awake?" Zoe asked.
"Yeah," Angelfish Jimmy said.
Zoe crawled out of the lean-to and followed the Escorts toward the Dime Museum.
"Ms. Harris." Dutton did not seem suiprised to see her. "I'm glad you're here."
He led her to his office, away from the crowd of tired-looking jokers. He offered coffee. Hot and fresh.
"Kona," Zoe said.
"Why, yes."
"You have information for me, or so the kids say."
Dutton tapped at a manila folder on his desk. "I have names for you. In Jerusalem. A flat that is ready for occupancy, if a deposit can be made in the next twenty-four hours. Several names of oncologists in Israel, but none in the city itself. However, the distances to the clinics are not large, and your mother should have no difficulty obtaining care."
"Oncology. How did you know Anne would need an oncologist?"
"Please, Ms. Harris." Dutton's protest was a mix of amusement and offended pride.
"Sorry," Zoe said.
"The Jerusalem information came from an organization you may not find - palatable. They are called the Twisted Fists."
"Terrorists."
"Dependable terrorists. Their organization has shown signs of maturity of late. It would be advisable, of course, for you to purchase round-trip tickets for your parents, ones that would indicate a relatively short stay in the Mideast. In light of your current - difficulties."
"You know about those, too?"
Dutton pushed the folder, gently, toward Zoe's side of the desk. "I grew up in Rhode Island. I went to Princeton. I was a successful stockbroker once, Zoe Harris. In spite of this face, this fate, I am 'successful' again. There is life after one's card is on the table. There is life. More coffee?"
Zoe shook her head, no.
"Please. Hotair is not going to be finished for a while. I enjoy your company, I must admit. It is not often that I have the honor of being of assistance to beautiful young women."
Zoe smiled and pushed her cup across the desk. "Thank you. And yes, another cup, please." She picked up the folder and held it tight to her chest.
"I am known to be a gossip, Zoe. But I am also a good listener, and my gossip is tempered with discretion."
She believed him. Stories of his charities, of his generosity, were part of the Jokertown mythos.
"I want to ask you something," Zoe said.
"Yes?"
"Do the Card Sharks exist?"
Dutton leaned back in his chair. "Conspiracy theories are usually the product of the imaginations of the prosecuted. There are many internal consistencies in the stories I have heard. Too many. I fear that they exist. I cannot prove it."
He spoke with great sorrow. Zoe sipped her coffee. Tell him. Tell him what you've never told anyone before.
"There is so much hatred. I fear that my mother will be locked away. My dad's pension has been commandeered. These things are real, whether or not the Card Sharks are real. I've got to do something, Mr. Dutton, even if it's wrong." She caught her breath. "I have - I have a wild card power. It's not a great power, it's just this little thing I can do, and I trained myself years ago never to use it. There are other things, things like money and political clout that might help the wild carders now, but I don't have those things, not any more. I've lost a lot of what I thought was me, since my partner framed me for embezzlement. But that doesn't mean I want to come out of the deck."
Through the closed door, she could hear murmurs of sound, the jokers doing what they could to protect each other.
"I'll send momma to Jerusalem. I'll talk to your Twisted Fist people, because I might need them someday. I'll get my latents out of the country, the ones who work for my company. There are thirteen of them, Mr. Dutton. But maybe you knew that."
Dutton said nothing.
"That will take every cent I have, but that's okay. I'll get momma out, and Bjorn. I'll start there. Then I'll deal with this embezzlement mess. I haven't done anything wrong. Things are bound to work out for me. The court system is designed to protect the innocent, isn't it? This thing with the company is just an awful nightmare mistake, that's all it is."
Dutton sighed. "More coffee, Zoe?"
"Yes. No. Yes, half a cup. It's not like I can use my ace when I want to. I don't know how to use it! And I don't want to. It's ugly, it's strange. Mr. Dutton, I hate what I am underneath this, but this is me, too." She held her hands palms up, her fingers stained, as always, with residues of the chemicals she still worked with, CEO or no, for she was good at finding the mixes, it was as if she shoved the molecules into place - and she moved her hands to indicate her flat belly, her long thighs, like a model on a runway pointing out design details. "But I've got to learn to use my ace. I've got to stop hiding from it. But I don't want to. I want to keep on hiding in the nat world. But I can't. I'd hate myself, every morning, if I did. Who can help me?"
"Turtle," Dutton said.
"Turtle? That man's a bag of neuroses! I mean, there's defense mechanisms, but his are made of armor plate!" And needless to say, she wasn't neurotic, or defensive, at all. No way.
"He's in town for a week." Dutton rummaged in a drawer, extracted a business card, and handed it to her.
Thomas Tudbury. A California address. There was a Manhattan number scrawled on it in ballpoint.
A knock sounded on Dutton's thick door.
"Zoe? Zoelady? You ready to go?"
"Yes," Zoe said. "Thank you, Mr. Dutton. I think."