Dead Man s Hand Page 0,98

Worchester said.

"Even though it is inadmissible in a court of law?"

"Yes."

Tachyon danced around to face Jay. "As for you, Mr. Ackroyd, take the jacket. Destroy it."

Fleeting visions of the world of shit he'd lived through to find the jacket passed through Jay Ackroyd's mind, and he protested. "Hey, that's our only proof!"

"Proof? Are you really suggesting that we publicize this? Think. What we hold could spell the ruin of every wild card in America."

Stubbornly, Jay said, "But he killed Chrysalis, and if we don't nail him, Elmo takes the fall."

That was too much for the alien. All of a sudden Tachyon started pulling at his hair in something that looked perilously close to a hysterical frenzy. "Damn you, damn you, damn you. "

"Look, it's not my fault," Jay said, scared that Tach was about to burst into tears. "But I'm damned if I'm going to agree to some sleazy. little deal that lets Chrysalis's murderer walk."

"I swear to you upon my honor and blood that I will not let Elmo suffer."

"Yeah? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet!" Tachyon switched off the electron microscope, removed the slide, washed the incriminating scraps of fabric down the sink. Hiram moved to follow when the alien started to leave, but Tach stopped him. "No, Hiram. I must do this alone."

Jay pointed out the obvious objection. "And if he's got Buzz Saw Boy waiting for you?" he asked.

"That's the risk I must take."

7:00 P.M.

"It's all," Brennan told Jennifer grimly, ",just a matter of patience."

For what was perhaps the tenth time in the last hour one of the Freakers patrons cruised their table, eyeing Brennan and Jennifer speculatively. For the tenth time in the past hour, Brennan gave a cold stare that made the cruiser move on without lingering.

"But," he added through gritted teeth, "I'm about all out."

He'd made it back to Freakers about an hour ago and had told Jennifer about his nautical adventures and Tripod's wise decision -to go on vacation in Florida until things quieted down. He'd had quite a bankroll to finance it, because Kien's Asian Princess had brought a nice sum from Tripod's boatbroker acquaintance, which they'd split fifty-fifty.

A cocktail waitress with a Medusa head of twitching blind worms came up to their table.

"We're waiting for someone," Brennan said.

She smiled. "Someone in particular," she asked, "or will anyone do?"

Brennan ground his teeth together. He started to answer her, stopped, and gripped Jennifer's arm while nodding toward the bar. "Here," he said, giving the barmaid a twenty without looking at her. "Go away."

She took the bill, slipped it into her ample cleavage, and went off on her rounds.

"It's him," Jennifer whispered. Brennan nodded. "Wait here."

Kant was at the bar. Even from across the room Brennan could see that he was highly agitated. He was questioning one of the bartenders as Brennan came up quietly behind him. The bartender was shaking his head.

"She ain't been in for a couple of days."

Kant was disheveled and had a rank, reptile-house smell about him.

"You don't understand," he told the bartender. "I need her. I need the kiss!"

A woman sitting at the bar swiveled toward him, her face hidden by a cheap, glittery mask. "You sound like you need it bad, doll."

Kant turned to her. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath was a husky rattle.

"I'll kiss you, honey," the woman said. "Anywhere you want."

Kant growled wordlessly and struck her backhanded across the face, knocking her from the bar stool. She gazed up at him in terror as he towered over her, glowering like a madman.

"I don't need a filthy whore!" he screamed. He pounded his fist on the bar, then shuddered all over like a dog throwing off water. He brought himself under control with great effort and hissed, "I need the kiss!"

He whirled and almost trampled Brennan as he lunged toward the door. No one tried to stop him. Brennan turned to signal Jennifer and saw that she was already at his side. He took his bow case from her and said quietly, "Let's go."

It was the easiest tailing job Brennan had ever done. Kant left a trail of disgruntled pedestrians in his wake as he obliviously slammed through them. The biggest problem Brennan had was keeping up with him. Kant wasn't exactly running, but he was moving with the urgency of a man who had to find a bathroom.

They followed him for half a dozen blocks to a shabby five-story apartment building. It was solid and functional looking, with no pretense toward