cab as it cruised slowly through them. Spector had given the driver an extra c-note to get him within a block of the hotel. Judging by the grumbling from the front seat, the cabbie was having second thoughts in spite of the money.
The driver's license had been easy. He'd doctored them before. After removing the lamination, he'd carefully razored out the reporter's photo and replaced it with one of his own.
Then he'd used a laminating machine at the airport to finish the job. The reporter, his name had been Herbert Baird, was close to the same height, weight, and age as Spector. Right now, though, getting caught with fake ID was the least of his worries. Spector just wanted to get to the Marriott in one piece.
A joker with huge folds of wrinkled, pink skin jumped onto the hood and waved a sign that said "NATS ARE RATS" on one side and "WHAT ABOUT US?" on the other. There was chanting up ahead. Spector couldn't make out what they were saying.
"Far as we go, mister," said the cabbie. "I ain't playing joker-bait for a hundred dollars or a hundred thousand."
"How far to the hotel?" Spector had his luggage in the back seat with him. He'd figured it would be a mess downtown, and he didn't want to spend any more time than absolutely necessary picking through a crowd of pissed-off jokers.
"About two blocks straight ahead." The driver looked around nervously as one of the taillights was kicked in. "I'd move it if I were you."
"Right." Spector opened the car door carefully and stepped out onto the crowded sidewalk. Some of the jokers made faces at him or raised their fists, but most didn't give him any trouble. He moved forward slowly, unhappily aware that his new suit and luggage would make him conspicuous, and a likely target.
After about ten minutes of pushing and shoving, the hotel was just across the street. Spector was covered in sweat and starting to smell like the freaks around him. A joker with needle-like fingernails stepped in front of him and took a swipe at his suitcase, shredding one side. Spector caught his eye and fed him just enough death-pain to make the joker collapse. He didn't want to risk stirring up this mob with a killing. Hot as it was, these bimbos wouldn't think twice about someone passing out.
The crowd was beginning to break up, doubtless to re-form somewhere else, as he stepped into the hotel lobby. It was open all the way to the roof. The building's curves reminded him of the inside of something dead. Spector took a breath of cool air and walked over to the security area. Herbert Baird, you're Herbert Baird, Herbert Baird, he thought.
There were several uniformed cops and suited men with earpieces waiting for him. "Identification, please," said one of the cops.
Spector pulled out his wallet, trying consciously to relax, and handed over the driver's license. The cop took it and passed it over to a man sitting at a computer terminal. The man typed for an instant, his fingers blurring on the keys, then paused, and finally nodded.
"Can I have your luggage, Mr. Baird?" The officer looked at the claw marks on the side. "A bit rough out there, eh?"
"Plenty more than what I'm used to." Spector smiled. They were bored and not paying much attention to him. He was going to get in.
The officer set the suitcase onto the x-ray machine and pointed to a metal detector. "If you'll please walk through, sir." As he stepped under, the metal detector's alarm beeped. Spector stopped dead and reached slowly into his pocket. He could feel at least twenty people staring at him. He pulled out a fistful of change and handed it to the cop. He'd needed it for the laminating machine. "Mind if I try again?"
The cop motioned him forward with a slow sweep of his hand. Spector stepped through noiselessly and sighed. The officer reached around and handed him his change. Spector pocketed it and smiled again.
"Your bag's right there." The cop pointed and then turned back to the hotel entrance.
Spector picked up his suitcase; it was heavy and almost slipped out of his sweaty palm. He walked slowly across the lobby to the registration desk. There weren't many suits that didn't have bulges under them. Getting his room took longer than it should have. The clerk was a fat officious prick who gave him the fish-eye when he said he'd be paying in