talent worked, Jack couldn't say. Barnett had to be able to affect things at a distance: make TV producers cut to commercial when he needed it, compel candidates like Hart and Biden to self-destruct, make his followers love him and give him money, maybe erase the wild card from his own military record, erase Tachyon's impotence and give him a letch for Fleur, maybe even give long-distance orgasms to the faithful. The twisted leather boy with the buzz saw hands could be someone Barnett had promised to heal of the curse of his wild card, provided he did the Lord's bidding first.
Jesus, Jack wondered. Had anyone really looked at these videos? Had anyone at all been able to tell how important they were? They were like a flaming Biblical hand in the sky, its index finger pointing at Leo Barnett.
Barnett. The secret ace had to be Barnett.
And now Jack gnawed his lower lip and looked at Hartmann, wondering whether or not to tell him. Hartmann was still staring with a peculiar intensity at Billy Ray, who sat riding shotgun in front of him. Was he blaming Ray for what happened to Ellen? Jack wondered. Ray, from what others had told Jack, was certainly blaming himself.
Jack started to say something to Hartmann, then choked the words down. Somehow he couldn't interrupt Hartmann's thoughts, not after the events of the day.
He'd talk to Tach about it first, he thought. Show Tachyon the clues, the videos. Between the two of them, they'd be able to figure out a response.
All this long-distance mind-control stuff was more in Tachyon's bailiwick, anyway.
5:00 P.M.
Spector sat in the hospital reception area and paged through a copy of Reader's Digest. The couch was made of hard, red vinyl and had been repaired with silver duct tape. A dying fluorescent light flickered and buzzed overhead. The hospital stank. Not just the usual smell of antiseptic and disease, but jokers. The deformed had a stink all their own. But it was probably the only place in town that had bed space for them.
A young, rail-thin nurse with tired eyes walked over. "You can see him now. Room 205." She walked away without looking up from her clipboard.
Spector stood, stretched, and walked down the scuffed linoleum hallway. He'd decided not to fill the contract. There was no way in the world he was going to help Barnett and his shithead followers into the White House. He'd keep the money, of course. It'd stake him to a new start somewhere else. He'd go back to Teaneck first and get his things together, then take off. Maybe just spin a globe and go wherever his finger landed, like in the movies. There were bound to be plenty of places where his talents would be marketable. If his current employer wanted to try to track him down, they were welcome to give it their best shot. He wasn't really worried about it. But first he wanted to check on Tony and make sure he was going to be okay. After that, he was bouncing back to Jersey on the next plane.
He rapped the door to 205 open and poked his head in. Tony opened his eyes and smiled. It wasn't the same with so many broken teeth. "Come on in."
Spector sat down in a chair next to the window. Tony had gauze over one eye and an ugly mouse under the other. They'd taken stitches along his cheekbone and in his forehead. His lips were puffy and discolored.
"Want me to spring you?"
"Maybe tomorrow. The doctors said I had a couple of seizures secondary to the concussion. Nothing serious, but that's why they won't be transferring me out until this evening."
"I'll be staying at the same hospital as ..." He closed his eyes. Spector nodded. "Hurt to talk?"
"Hurts to blink, even. You okay?" Tony lifted himself up. "Those guys take it easy on you, or something?"
"I'm fine. They always want to mess you pretty boys up. Figure us ugly guys got enough trouble already." Spector shook his head. "You're going to make some dentist very happy. He's going to look at your mouth and see a new home entertainment system."
Tony was quiet for a moment. "You heard about Ellen?"
"Yeah." The news about Mrs. Hartmann's miscarriage had been the day's top news story. "A shitty break. Sorry."
"From a personal standpoint, I am, too. But this is going to put the man over the top at the convention." Tony reached up and scratched his nose, then winced. "I