Dead Man s Hand Page 0,19

to giggles again. "Oh, yes," he said. "Kisses, oh, kisses sweeter than wine."

Jay stood up, frowning. "Kisses," he repeated sourly. Ezili was real good in bed, but if this is what a long-term relationship with her did to you, he'd settle for a one-night stand. "Sascha, I don't give a damn about your love life, I just need to find Elmo. He knows me well enough to know I wont turn him in. I just want to talk. He might know something that could help me figure out who killed Chrysalis."

Sascha stroked his little pencil-thin mustache in a motion that was almost furtive. "But we know who killed her, don't we? He left his calling card, didn't he? Yes, I see you remember, I can see the picture in your head right now"

It made Jay feel a little creepy to have Sascha fooling around in his mind. "Someone dropped an ace of spades on the body," he said, "but I'm not convinced it was Yeoman, he-"

"It was him!" Sascha interrupted. He surged to his feet angrily. "Yeoman! That's who it was! There's your murderer, Popinjay, oh yes. He's back in town. I just saw him."

Jay was unsure. "You saw him?"

Sascha nodded rapidly. "Out at Brighton Beach. My mother's place. He came looking for me. He's after Elmo, too."

"Why?" Jay demanded. "Why would he kill Chrysalis?" Sascha looked around the room, as if to make sure that no one else was listening, then leaned forward and whispered, "she knew his real name." He giggled. "Would you like to hear it? If I tell you, will you go away and leave me alone?"

"You know it, too?"

Sascha nodded eagerly. "She never said it aloud, but sometimes she thought it. I picked it right out of her mind one day. If Yeoman knew, he'd kill me, too. Do you want it?"

"Tell me," Jay said.

"You promise you'll go away? You won't bother me anymore? You won't pry into my affairs?"

"I promise," Jay said impatiently.

"Daniel Brennan," Sascha said. "Now get out."

Jay looked back once on the way out as he pulled the door of the apartment shut behind him. Sascha was kneeling by the bedroom door, eyeless face pressed up against the wood, pleading for a kiss.

11:00 P.M.

Chickadee's was located in the heart of the Bowery. Its exterior was plain, almost severe, greystone, with no sign, canopy, or doorman to announce its existence. Chickadee's didn't have to advertise. Word of mouth was enough.

Brennan went up the steps empty-handed, having stashed his bow case in a rental locker, and was met in the bordello's anteroom by a joker with the approximate size and musculature of a male gorilla. The joker gave him the once-over, and sniffed, a little put off by Brennan's jeans and T-shirt. Nevertheless he open the antechamber's inner door, leading, as Chickadee's thousands of satisfied customers thought, to paradise.

Twelve-Finger Jake was playing the piano in the corner of the greeting parlor, pounding out the complicated chords of the super-syncopated music he called j jazz joker jazz that took all twelve of his fingers to play properly. Johns, dressed mostly in expensive-looking three-piece suits, were sitting on the parlor's comfortable chairs and sofas, drinking and chatting with the girls. The women of the house ran the gamut of races and colors. All were beautiful, but since this was Jokertown some of them had decidedly unusual attributes.

A nat hostess met Brennan at the door. At least she looked like a nat, and the garter belt, nylons, and high heels she wore could have done very little to conceal joker deformities. It was true, though, that some of the girls at Chickadee's were different in very subtle ways.

"Hello, Joe," she said. "I'm Lori. Want to party?" Brennan smiled. "I'm looking for a man," he began. "Wrong place, Joe. We got all kinds of girls-white ones, black ones, brown ones, ones like you never seen before, but if you want a man-"

"A friend, I mean," Brennan added hastily. "Lazy Dragon-"

"Oh." Lori nodded. She linked arms with Brennan and drew him toward her. Her sleek hip pressed against Brennan's, her long, lean silk-covered thigh brushed against his as they walked.' "I should have guessed with the mask and all. Marilyn Monroe, right? She's one of my favorites. I'll take you up myself. I can use another taste."

"Sure."

Brennan followed, somewhat mystified, but satisfied that his minimal disguise was doing its job. They went through the parlor area, raucous with the j -jazz flowing from Twelve Finger Jake's nimble digits and