Gregg dropped down and hurried on, trying to convince himself that he was being paranoid. A block further down, an NYPD squad car passed him going the other way, obviously from Fort Freak since the patrolman driving had the face and hanging jowls of a bulldog. Gregg heard the car pull over behind him, smelled the exhaust and the sudden odor of stale cigarettes as the doors opened. He didn't look back, trying to convince himself that the cop wasn't stopping for him, but the jokers in front were suddenly moving aside, wide-eyed, and Gregg felt a prickling chill along his spine.
There was a scent of metal, of burnt gunpowder, of oil, of shoe leather, of tobacco.
"Battle!" a gruff voice like a talking St. Bernard growled. "You're under arrest. Stop right there."
Gregg thought about running, but he didn't know how to shift his body into hyperdrive without getting hit first. That didn't leave many good options, and Gregg suspected that if he was taken into Fort Freak he might end up being one of those suspects found accidentally dangling from the end of their belts in their cell.
At least he was still hungry. He turned around.
Bulldog-jowls had his gun out, standing just behind Gregg.
Gregg puked.
He had decent velocity and aim - in fact, he told himself, he was getting pretty damn good at this. The viscous globule splattered messily and noisily over Bulldog's gun hand. The officer recoiled involuntarily, staring in disbelief and disgust. The moment was enough. The short barrel of the official issue 9 mm. automatic drooped, the chamber sagged, and the vinyl grips were pressing against each other as the metal frame turned to tafly. The cop dropped the weapon as if it were molten, shaking his hand as what looked like cream of steel soup dripped from his unhurt fingers. Everyone watching was suddenly giving Gregg a wide, cautious berth.
Gregg didn't need a second invitation. He ran, nightmare-slow at first, but accelerating all the time. If Bulldog-jowls had had the inclination, he could have tackled Gregg before he moved five feet.
About three blocks down the street, the world finally shifted into slo-mo about him.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
It was days before he dared to come out from the sewers again. He let himself run until exhaustion slowed him more, even though this time he didn't black out. He returned to the alley and the open sewer hole, and let himself climb down in a half-stupor. Gregg didn't fight the weariness.
You're defeated. Done. As far as the authorities are concerned, you are George G. Battle, the murderer of Pan Rudo, and you can add assaulting a police officer and flight to avoid prosecution to the charges.
So he slept, so that he wouldn't have to think.
Part of him hoped that he'd never wake again.
The weather finally drove him out. His new body didn't seem to mind the cold as much as his old one, but the temperature suddenly dipped drastically. He woke up shivering, with icicles hanging from the gratings above him and everything around him frozen solid.
"This is no way to live, Gregg," he said aloud mostly to hear a voice, any voice. "You need a place to stay. You need money. You need to find Hannah and let her know what's going on."
It was snowing. The night air was luminous, and the sounds of the city were hushed and muffled. Gregg could smell the moisture and the cold like mint. He hesitated in the alley before going out onto the street.
Where to? Can't get to any of my funds - by now, my estate's been settled. If I'm seen, someone's liable to call the cops. The Oddity's apartment isn't far away, but if John's in charge he's liable to kill me before I get a chance to explain, especially after the last time. Finn might know where they are, but the clinic's not going to be safe. Who ...?
He knew.
His secretary, Jo Ann, lived on the edge of Jokertown near his old office. The brownstones crowded shoulder-to-shoulder might have looked impressive a century ago, when trees had lined the street and gaslights had shed their warm glow on the dark fronts. Now they simply looked shabby and tired. Gregg eased his body up the worn steps to the front door. He had to climb the wall to get to the doorbell. As soon as he heard it ringing, he dropped back to the stoop.
The inner door opened. A man looked out through the screen door, then down. The skin showing around the sweatshirt proclaiming THE ROX LIVES! was beaded like a Gila monster with swirling patterns of glossy orange, black, and red - actually rather striking, Gregg thought. The eyes, startlingly human, squinted as the man peered down at Gregg through the mesh. Gregg could smell supper in the warmth that cascaded from the house into the chill air: baked potatoes, carrots, chicken: none of it smelled as appetizing as the cheap aluminum screen door frame.
"What do you want?" The breath was freighted with beer.
"I need to talk with Jo Ann. You're Sam, right? Her husband?"
"Yeah." Sam was making no move to invite him inside. "Wait here ..." He turned and bellowed into the interior as he let the screen door close behind him. "Hey, Jo! Someone asking for you ..." Sam's voice trailed off as he went further back into the house. He heard Jo Ann answer, and the two of them talking for a moment. Then Jo Ann came to the door. She stared down at him through the screen.
"I know who you are," she said without preamble. She looked like she was ready to flee. Her hand stayed on the comforting thickness of the inside door.
"I know you think you do, but you're wrong," Gregg said quickly. "Please, I need to talk with you, Jo Ann."
"I aon't think so."
"You hid a tape recorder in the office after Hannah came, that first time. You always kept the extra key to the office in the front of the file drawer, in the folder marked 'Receipts.' You and Sam met on Black Queen Night; Father Squid introduced the two of you. You two got married the day after the Rox disappeared - you said that something good had to happen that day or you couldn't stand it."
"How do you know all that?" Jo Ann asked. Her voice was shaky and she kept looking over her shoulder to where Sam's bulk loomed under the ceiling light in the hallway. "What do you want, Battle?"
"I need to see Hannah and Father Squid. It's very important. And I know all about you because I'm not Battle. I'm Gregg Hartmann." He saw her fairy-tale witch's face twist then, and the rest of the words tumbled out in a rush, falling over themselves. "They had a jumper, Jo Ann. They jumped Battle or somebody into my body before the press conference. It wasn't me who said the Sharks didn't exist, and it wasn't me who was killed - "
"Fuck you," Jo Ann interrupted. "You tortured Gregg before you killed him, Battle. He could have told you anything. For that matter, you could be reading my mind - the wild card's given that gift to a dozen people I can think of. I'm not talking to you and I'm not telling you anything."
The door slammed shut on his explanation. Gregg stood there on his six legs, his mouth open under the clown nose. A few seconds later, Sam opened the door again. He had a baseball bat in his meaty hands. "Get the fuck out of here," he said. "I won't have you or anyone upsetting her. I won't turn any damn joker over to the law, no matter how much I despise them, and you probably did a good thing killing Rudo, but if I see you around here again, I will beat the shit out of your ugly goddamn body. You understand me?"
"I'm not Battle, damn it - " Gregg began.
Sam kicked open the screen door. The corner of it struck Gregg full in his cartoon-drawing face and sent instantaneous adrenaline surging through his body. He used the pain and the rush to catapult himself into a double-speed retreat.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
"Jube! Goddamn it, Jube ...!"
Gregg's voice sounded like a two-year old with an adenoid problem; the cursing sounded almost laughable. He had spent several nights lingering in the shadows of Jokertown, staying away from strangers and hoping to find someone he knew, someone he felt halfway safe approaching. There weren't too many on that list, but seeing the walrus-shape of Jube lumbering by on an otherwise-empty street was a relief. Jube knew everybody and everything. Jube could help him.