Dead Man's Hand

  His voice trailed off. Hiram Worchester looked down dully at his hands, resting on his knees. The fingers of his right hand closed slowly into a fist, then opened again, just as slowly. “I tried to make her sit back down,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I just wanted to talk to her, that’s all. I swear it. She was going to walk out on me, and I couldn’t stand it. So I made a fist and tried to slam her back down into her chair. I’d done it dozens of times, hundreds … just hold her there with my power, that’s all I wanted to do, make her talk to me, make her tell me the truth … tell me who the assassin was, so we could stop him. I just wanted to make her sit down and listen … but…”

  Hiram broke down, choking on his own words, his immense body shaking with dry sobs. But Jay didn’t need to hear any more. He remembered Chrysalis as he had found her. Her chair splintered beneath her, her bones shattered. He could imagine the rest. A fist closed in fury, a mind blinded by rage … How much had she weighed in that second? A thousand pounds? Two thousand?

  “You left out the last part,” Brennan said. “After she was dead, you weren’t through. First you gathered up her cards, all except the ace of spades, which you dropped on the body to make them think it was me. But that wasn’t quite enough, was it? An autopsy would show how she died, and that would point right at you. But the broken bones, the shattered furniture, that suggested a fight, so you did a little more damage to the office. And then, just to make sure, you knelt down and made your fist heavy so that when you hit her, it would look as though her head had been crushed by someone with superhuman strength.”

  Hiram sagged. “I … I couldn’t let myself be caught. Without the kiss … I couldn’t face that. And there was the campaign … I was an ace, a Hartmann delegate, if it got out, it could destroy everything. Barnett might even win the nomination. So much was at stake, I just … panicked.” His thick fingers pulled nervously at his beard. “It wasn’t like you said … so cold … calculated.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Brennan said. “You commit murder, try to pin the crime on someone else, and now you say it was all a mistake. I didn’t notice you confessing when you thought you’d walked away clean.” His gun was aimed at the center of Hiram’s chest. “You were willing to let me pay for your crime, and when the cops grabbed Elmo instead, you didn’t say a word.” Brennan’s voice was flat and calm, but Jay could hear the fury behind the words, implacable and deadly.

  Hiram dropped his head again. “No,” he muttered, low under his breath. “No, I didn’t.” His shame was written all over his face. “If you’re going to kill me, get on with it.”

  That was when Jay Ackroyd made up his mind and stepped between Hiram Worchester and Daniel Brennan.

  “Get out of the way, Ackroyd,” Yeoman said.

  “Daniel, Jay, please,” Tachyon said weakly from the chair where he sat huddled in pain and misery. Both men ignored him.

  “You claim Chrysalis was your friend,” Yeoman said. “Why are you trying to shield her killer?”

  “It was an accident,” Jay said. “You heard him. You heard how it happened. Have a little goddamned mercy.”

  “Mercy is God’s business,” Brennan said. “Mine is justice.”

  “Tell me about it,” Jay said scornfully. “Better yet, tell all those guys you’ve killed. Tell their widows and girlfriends. Tell their parents. Tell the kids some of them may have left behind.”

  “They knew the risks they were taking. The men I’ve killed would have killed me just as fast if I’d given them half a chance. I’ve never murdered an innocent woman.”

  “Chrysalis was a lot of things,” Jay said, “and one of them was my friend, no matter what you think. But she was never innocent.”

  “I knew Chrysalis,” Brennan said. “She did what she had to.”

  “Fuck that,” Jay said. “She did what she chose to. What she chose to do was send a hired assassin to Atlanta. By last count, two Secret Service agents, a hotel manager, and a journalist are dead as a direct result, and we came that close to adding Jack Braun’s name to that list. I’m not defending what Hiram did, but in my book, his hands are one hell of a lot cleaner than yours.”

  “Jay,” Dr. Tachyon interjected softly, “Brennan’s killings are an affair of honor. A blood feud. On Takis—”

  “That’s Georgia outside the window, not Takis,” Jay said. “Why the hell are you defending this homicidal loon?”

  “I owe him a life,” Tachyon replied.

  “You owe him a life,” Jay repeated with disgust. “Real good. Well, you owe Hiram a life, too, remember? Not to mention the life you owe me. Come to think of it, you owe fucking Gregg Hartmann a life, if it really went down in Syria the way the papers said. Then there’s the Turtle, Golden Boy, Straight Arrow … is there anyone you don’t owe a life?”

  “I owe Brennan two lives,” the little alien said feebly. “I could never betray his trust.”

  Ackroyd wanted to scream. Instead he turned back to Yeoman. “Well, I don’t owe you shit,” he said. “You want justice? Fine. We’ll take Hiram to the police, and he’ll go on trial. But let’s make it a two-for-one sale, shall we? You’re great at serving up justice, how about you try a nice big spoonful yourself. Turn yourself in along with Hiram. Stand up in front of a fucking judge and tell him about your war.”

  “I answer to my own conscience, Ackroyd, and frankly, I don’t give a damn what you think about it,” Brennan said. “I’m not turning myself in. Now, for the last time, get out of the way.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Jay stared at Brennan. Brennan stared back. Tachyon looked helplessly from one to the other, then struggled to rise from his chair. With only one hand, it was a painful, clumsy process.

  “I can get a finger up pretty damn quickly,” Jay said to Brennan.

  “The moment you even start to lift that hand, I’m going to squeeze this trigger,” Brennan told him. “What are the odds on you being able to teleport a bullet in flight?”

  “A million to one,” Jay admitted. “But only if you don’t hesitate. A split second of indecision, and you’ll be shooting through the bars in the Tombs.”

  “Do I look like the hesitating sort?” Brennan asked quietly. His hand was very steady.

  Jay thought about that one and didn’t much like what he came up with. He risked a quick glance back over his shoulder. Hiram sat slumped on the corner of the bed, staring off into space, completely out of it. Whatever the hell was about to go down, it didn’t look like the huge ace was going to be much of a factor.

  “There’s someone else,” Tachyon said softly. His head moved slowly from side to side, searching. “Another mind. In the wall.”

  “Real good,” Jay said sourly. He felt ill, but he should have seen it coming. “The phantom bimbo, right?”

  “Changes the odds a little, doesn’t it?” Brennan said, smiling.

  Jay flexed his fingers and stared down the barrel of Brennan’s Walther. It reminded him how much he hated guns, and the kind of assholes who carried them around. From the look in Brennan’s cool gray eyes, he had just about run out of time. There was nothing left but to go for it.

  Brennan felt a vise clamp down on his brain. For a panicked moment he thought he was having a seizure of some kind, but then he realized that it was Tachyon. Tachyon’s mind control. He raged against it, pushing with all the strength he had in mind and body. But it was useless. The only part of his body that he could move was his eyeballs. He glanced around the room and saw Jennifer walk woodenly out of the walls.

  “Nice work, doc,” Ackroyd said. “Now—”

  “No.”

  “Look, goddammit—”

  “Decisions must be made. Discussed and made.”

  “I’ve made my decision.”

  “And I don’t agree,” Tachyon said flatly. “Grant me a little consideration in this, Ackroyd. I stand between three friends.”

  The detective stared at Brennan. “Friends,” he snorted.

  Tachyon lowered himsel
f slowly back into his chair. Brennan could see the strain on his face, but the mental vise he’d placed upon Brennan’s mind still held. “We will talk,” the alien said, “but peace will lie upon this room.”

  Bending, Tachyon pulled his dagger from its boot sheath and dropped it on the carpet at his feet. Jennifer walked woodenly toward Tachyon and dropped her gun next to the knife. Tachyon turned to Brennan. “Daniel, will you lay down your weapon?”

  There was no sense being stupidly stubborn. There was no way he could break Tachyon’s mind control, and there was no way anything further would happen if he insisted on keeping his gun. He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  “And Ackroyd?” Tachyon asked. “What about you?”

  “I hate this Takisian bullshit.”

  “I could take control of you and make you a dummy in these talks. I would prefer not to.”

  “Yeah, well, okay.”

  “Hands in pockets, please.”

  Tachyon released Brennan. He stepped forward and dropped his gun at Tachyon’s feet. He looked at the alien with anger and bitterness in his eyes. “You betrayed me,” he said.

  “I prevented murder,” the alien snapped.

  “Self-defense—”

  “Oh, please! We bandy with words. Killing, it’s all killing! You kill Jay because he attempts to put you in the Tombs. You kill Hiram because you get to mete out justice. The end result is all the same—death! And it’s got to stop!” Tachyon pressed the heel of his hand against his head as if trying to push back agony. He turned to Worchester, who had been a mute witness to this all. “Hiram, what do you intend to do?”

  “That’s already been decided,” said Jay. “We’ll take—”

  “Shut up! Hiram?”

  “I’ll return to New York and turn myself over to the authorities.”

  “I’ll accept that,” Brennan said. It was a reasonable end to their difficulties. It was a solution Chrysalis would understand.

  “I don’t recall him asking your fucking opinion,” Jay gritted.

  “He’d better take it into consideration,” Brennan said. He turned to face Worchester. “If you get to the airport and change your mind, if you decide to run, you’d better know now that you’ll never have another day’s peace. I’ll be coming for you.”

  “You utterly amaze me, Daniel, with your rigid, self-righteous certainty,” Tachyon said. “Who made you God? Who gave you the right to place your judgment above all others?”

  Brennan barked a short, harsh laugh. “That’s funny coming from you, Tachyon. Release Jennifer.”

  “No,” Tachyon said, shaking his head.

  “Why not?” Brennan asked, flaring with anger he could no longer suppress. “We have an agreement.”

  Jay plunged forward. “We’ve agreed to nothing. Hiram stands trial and maybe goes to prison for a mistake, while this guy walks free? Fuck that! If his little war excuses him, then Hiram should be completely exonerated.”

  “Jay,” Tachyon said, shaking his head, “you’ve allowed your anger to replace your brains. Elmo stands accused of a crime he did not commit. Hiram has confessed to it. He must stand trial.”

  “Yeah, but we’re talking involuntary manslaughter here. Voluntary manslaughter, tops. Hiram may walk out of that courtroom with probation.” Jay jerked a thumb at Brennan. “How’s Danny Boy gonna take that?”

  “We’ll all have to see, won’t we?” Brennan said coldly.

  “To hell with that,” Jay said. “Why don’t we let Hiram write out his confession and then get on a plane to Tibet or wherever the hell he wants to go?”

  “He’ll die before he ever reaches that plane,” Brennan said softly.

  “Not if you’re behind bars.”

  Hiram stirred and got off the bed. He no longer looked lost, victimized. It seemed as if he’d made a decision and was determined to carry it through. “You can talk until you’re both damned,” he said. “This is my decision to make, and I will go to New York and stand trial because I choose to.” He looked directly at Brennan. “And not because I’m afraid of you. I’m not.”

  And Brennan could see that that was true. Hiram had been through the fire and emerged cleansed. He looked as if he feared nothing now.

  “Hiram—” Jay began.

  “Jay, your friendship warms me, but I must do this. I’ve been a puppet for too long. First with … him … then with Ti Malice. Well, it’s all over. I’m through being a puppet.”

  “Hiram’s right,” Tachyon said passionately. “Don’t any of you understand? Hiram’s trial is critical, not only for Elmo or Hiram, but for all of us. The law is the witness of our moral life. Its history is the history of the moral development of your race. But my race upset the balance. We created superhumans, and the result has been a growing chaos. The Turtle assaults with impunity because he is armored literally and figuratively with the secret of his identity. I invade people’s minds. You, Jay, violate their civil liberties. And Daniel, you kill them. If we don’t demonstrate our willingness to abide by the rule of law, then we are everything Barnett says we are. We are dangerous and heedless and deserve to be controlled since we are unwilling or unable to abide by the rules of civilized society.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Brennan said dryly, “but you missed something. I’m not a wild card. I’m just a nat.”

  Jay whirled on him. “You bastard. Tachyon, all you’ve done is convince me that I’m right, and that this killer should be behind—”

  Jay cut off in midsentence. Brennan looked at Tachyon, pale and shaken, who had half risen out of his chair.

  “Yes,” Tachyon said wearily. “I am once again playing God. Go, Daniel. Take your lady and go. Never return. If you do, know that I will not aid you.”

  Jennifer swayed drunkenly when Tachyon released her. Brennan caught her, supported her. He looked back at Tachyon once before he left the hotel suite, and Tachyon looked back.

  Neither parting glance was kind.

  When Brennan and his girlfriend were both gone, Tachyon finally released his iron grip on Jay’s body and mind. The alien was trembling, his brow beaded with sweat.

  Jay ran to the door, jumped out into the hall, looked up and down. There was no one waiting for the elevators. He made a dash for the stairwell, slammed through the fire door, breathing hard. The stairs were empty, silent. They were gone.

  Swearing loudly with disgust, Jay turned on his heel and stalked back to the room. He slammed the door shut behind him. The noise made Tachyon wince. Jay pointed at him, his arm trembling with tension. “I hope you realize what you’ve done,” he said bitterly. “You’ve just let another Demise out onto the streets.”

  Tachyon looked at him for a long moment. Then the wide lilac eyes rolled up into his head, and the little alien fainted dead away.

  “Oh, hell,” Jay said. The perfect ending to a perfect week. He gave Hiram a weary look. “C’mon,” he said, “help me tuck the little fuck into bed.”

  10:00 P.M.

  Sometimes, Brennan thought, duty was never ending.

  He and Jennifer had left Atlanta immediately. They retrieved Brennan’s van from the airport parking lot and drove to where the Crystal Palace used to be. Brennan got out and walked over to the ruins.

  It was dark. There were few pedestrians on the street. There was nothing to bring them here now that the crystal lady was dead and her palace was gone. Brennan stared at the wreckage for a long moment. The stench of burning was still in the air, the tide of memories still flowed in his mind. He turned and stood before one of the piles of debris that had been around since the Jokertown riot. He waited until he saw eyes blinking inside it.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Sad. Our lady is gone and our home is burned.”

  “I didn’t want that to happen,” Brennan said.

  “But it did,” the voice replied accusingly.

  “Yes,” Brennan said, “it did. Have you found anyplace else to go?”

  The tiny head shook no.
r />   “Yes, you have,” Brennan said softly.

  11:00 P.M.

  Digger Downs was typing furiously on a laptop computer, so engrossed that he didn’t notice when Jay stepped into his apartment. “You forgot to lock your door,” Ackroyd announced loudly.

  Digger glanced up from the screen, startled, and stared at Jay with a guilty look on his face. The reporter was four feet tall, going on five. He looked like a child playing with a Speak ’n Spell. “You,” he said.

  “Me,” Jay admitted. “You really ought to lock your door. Never can tell when someone might break in and trash all your stuff.” He looked around pointedly. Digger’s apartment was just the way that Mackie Messer had left it.

  “You have a hell of a lot of nerve showing up here,” Digger said. “I could of died in that goddamned cat box. They sent me all the way to Alaska.”

  “Alaska, Atlanta, hey, that’s close enough for government work,” Jay said. He smiled. “At least you don’t have to eat that airline food.”

  “It’s not funny! I ought to sue you,” Digger bitched. “By the time I finally got to Georgia, I was so big they had to cut me out of the goddamned box.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t have a whole lot of fun myself,” Jay said. He crossed the room, stepping gingerly over the debris. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a shitty housekeeper?”

  Digger scowled. “I’m not touching a thing, not till the photographer’s been here.”

  Jay sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say something like that,” he said. “What are you writing?”

  Digger hurriedly hit a key, storing the file he’d been working on, then slammed down the top of the little laptop computer so Jay couldn’t read the file names off the screen. “None of your business,” he said. “How’d you know I came home?”