"I'd say you're a lucky man, but that would seem less than apt when you're being framed for murder. Is that what brought you back?"
"Partly. Mostly I'm here to find who killed her."
"And bow are you progressing?"
"Not too well."
"Any theories?"
"I thought Kien might have done it."
Tachyon shook his head. "That makes no sense. We had a deal that took you out of the city and ended the war. Why would he risk restarting the whole killing cycle?"
"Who knows? I'm just going to keep poking until something jumps."
Dryly Tach said, "Just make sure it doesn't jump on you. I wish I could aid you, but I must return to Atlanta. You will keep in touch?"
"No. Once I finish this, Jennifer and I are leaving New York, and this time it will be for good."
"If you won't keep in touch, at least be careful."
"That I can agree to."
1:00 P.M.
Piedmont Park was packed. Spector shouldered his way through the crowd toward the podium. He felt like an idiot in the tight black-and-white outfit. His skin was suffocating under the greasepaint. He'd barely made it to the park on time. The costume shop had been wall-to-wall bodies, mostly jokers. Luckily, the gathering in the park had emptied the streets. He'd left his clothes and other belongings in a locker. The key was tucked under the wrist of his leotard.
He was still a good hundred yards from the podium. They'd done a mike test, but so far, no Hartmann. A shadow moved slowly over the crowd. Spector looked up, shading his eyes from the glare, and saw the Turtle gliding noiselessly over them toward the stage, which was being prepared for the senator's speech. There was applause and a small cheer. The crowd was mostly jokers, although there were a few groups of nats clustered at the edges.
"Look, Mommy, a funny man." A young joker girl pointed at Spector. She was sitting in a beat-up stroller, holding a flower. Her arms and legs were rail-thin and knobbed up and down. They looked like they'd been broken twenty times each.
Spector gave a weak smile, hoping the greasepaint around his lips made it seem bigger than it was.
The girl's mother smiled back. Patterns of blotchy red pigment crept across her skin. As Spector watched, one of the circles closed into a small dot and erupted blood. The woman wiped it away in a quick, embarrassed motion. She took the flower from her daughter's hand and held it out to Spector. Spector reached out and took it, being careful not to touch her flesh. Being a nat in a crowd of jokers, even dressed as a mime, gave him the creeps. He turned away.
"Do something funny," the little girl said. "Mommy, make him do something funny."
There was a murmur of approval from the crowd. Spector turned slowly and tried to think. Funny was something he'd never been accused of being. He tried balancing the flower on the tip of a finger. Amazingly, he was able to. There was dead silence. Sweat dripped over his painted brows and into his eyes. He was breathing hard. It was still very quiet.
A gloved hand flashed before Spector's face, snatching the flower. It placed the stem between painted lips and struck an affected pose. Laughter from the crowd. The other mime bowed low and raised up slowly.
Spector took a step back. The other mime quickly grabbed him by the elbow and shook his head. More giggles from the crowd. This was the last thing Spector needed. Not only was he the center of attention, but he was still a long way from where he needed to be. Hartmann might start up any second and Spector wouldn't be able to get through in time.
The other mime looked down, made a face, and pointed at Spector's feet. Spector glanced down instinctively and saw nothing there, just as the mime's hand came up under his chin and popped his head back. This got the biggest laugh of all. The mime clutched at his sides and laughed noiselessly. Spector rubbed his mouth; he'd bitten his tongue. He gritted his teeth under the painted-on smile.
The other mime placed a finger on the top of Spector's head and danced around him like a maypole. He stopped in front of Spector, tugged at his cheeks.
Spector had put up with enough. It was time to get this fucker out of his hair. He stepped in close and made eye contact. He locked in and