paying in cash. The little creep was trying to impress the Secret Service boys or something equally stupid. It was probably his once-in-alifetime chance to be a big cheese. Spector would come back some day and drop the guy. He snatched the key when the clerk finally offered it, and headed quickly for the elevators.
He was almost there when he heard someone call out. "James. James Spector. Hey, Specs." The voice sounded familiar, but that wasn't necessarily good. He turned around slowly. The man walked up to him smiling and held out a hand. He wore an ash-gray suit and had carefully styled hair. He was a couple of inches shorter than Spector, but much more muscular.
"Tony C." He let out a breath and relaxed his shoulders. "No way this is happening." He and Calderone had grown up together in Teaneck, but Spector had lost track of him years ago.
Tony reached down, grabbed Spector's hand, and gave it a firm shake. "My main man. The pick-and-roll prince. What are you doing here?"
"Uh, lobbying." Spector coughed. "What about you?"
"I work for Hartmann," Tony replied. Spector opened his mouth; shut it quickly. "Hard to believe, I know. But I'm his top speech consultant." He rubbed his palms together. "I always did have a good line."
"Especially for the girls." Spector shuffled uncomfortably. Apparently, none of the cops who'd checked his ID card had heard Tony, but he still felt exposed. "Look, it's great to see you, but I'd like to get settled in. It's a real zoo outside, I tell you."
"If you think it's a zoo out there, you should see what's going on inside." Tony slapped Spector on the shoulder. There was real warmth in the gesture, the kind Spector hadn't been exposed to in years. "What's your room number?"
Spector held up his key card. "1031."
"1031. Got it. I want to have dinner while you're down here. We've got plenty to go over." Tony shrugged. "I don't even know what you've been doing since high school."
"Fine. I've got plenty of time to kill while I'm down here," Spector said. The elevator pinged behind them. Tony backed away and waved. "See you later." Spector tried to sound like he didn't dread the idea. This was turning out to be weirder than Freakers on New Year's Eve.
Hiram was hosting a reception in his suite at the Marriott. Gregg was supposed to put in an appearance, so the rooms were packed with New York delegates and their families. Most of the suites Tachyon had entered stank of cigarettes and old pizza. This one stank of cigarettes, but the trays dotted strategically through the rooms held tiny quiches and piroshki. Tach snagged one, and the flaky pastry exploded in his mouth, followed quickly by the rich flavor of its mushroom filling.
Brushing crumbs from his fingertips and the lapels of his coat, Tach reached up and patted Hiram on the shoulder. The big ace was dressed with his usual flair, but circles hung like bloated bruises beneath his eyes, and his skin had the unhealthy look of moist dough.
"Don't tell me you had time to slip down to the kitchens and cook all this," teased Tachyon.
"No, but my recipes . ."
"I suspected as much." Tach bent and flicked a crumb from the top of his patent leather pump with the edge of his handkerchief. When he straightened, he had gathered his courage. "Hiram, are you all right?"
The word exploded in a sharp puff. "Why?"
"You iook unwell. Come to my room later, and I'll check you over."
"No. Thank you, but no. I'm fine. Just tired." A smile creased the broad face as if it had been abruptly painted on by a cartoon animator.
Tachyon expelled a pent-up breath, shook his head as he watched Hiram bustle away to greet Senator Daniel Moynihan. The alien circulated, smiling, shaking hands-it still struck him as an odd custom even after all these years. On Takis there were two extremes: limited contact because between telepaths casual touching was repugnant; or between close friends and relatives the full embrace. Either choice caused problems on Earth. The light touch seemed snobby, and the full embrace raised homophobic reactions in the males of this planet. So Tachyon mused, and watched his gloved hand being swallowed again and again by the eager clasping fingers of the humans who engulfed him.
On a sofa set beneath one of the windows a man sat surrounded by three laughing women. The youngest sat on his knee. Behind him her sister leaned