elegance or security. Kant went in the lobby and after a moment Brennan and Jennifer followed him. They heard him pound up the stairs and then followed at a more sedate pace all the way to the top, meeting no one else on the way.
Brennan and Jennifer reached the top floor just in time to peer around the stairwell and see Kant take a key ring from his pocket and unlock the door. He entered the apartment and slammed the door so hard that it rattled in its frame.
"He's off the deep end," Brennan whispered. Jennifer nodded. "Let's find out why."
Brennan unzipped his bow case and took out the longbarreled air pistol that had been snugged down next to the bow. It was loaded with tranquilizer darts. He didn't want to hurt Kant, and he wanted the joker able to answer his questions.
They went down the corridor and stopped in front of the door. It had rebounded out of its latch when Kant had slammed it, so that it was open a crack. Brennan nodded at Jennifer, who blew him a kiss, and then he went in fast and low, dropping the bow case and rolling to a crouch.
The living room was decorated with obvious expense, but it was not to Brennan's taste. It was brightly lit with numerous bulbs blazing in track lighting set in the ceiling, and even though it was summer, the heat was on and cranked up to the max. The furniture was all shiny leather and polished chrome. The image of a lizard sunning himself on a smooth rock flashed through Brennan's mind.
The room was empty. Brennan closed the door as Jennifer ghosted through the wall and joined him. It was quiet but tense, as if an angry beast were waiting in ambush somewhere in the apartment.
Brennan motioned down the hallway that led to the apartment's interior, and Jennifer nodded. He crept forward, passing a kitchenette that was also empty, then a hall closet whose sliding door was half-open. Brennan looked into it to make sure it wasn't hiding a crazed joker cop. It wasn't, so he moved on toward the doorway to the bedroom, listened for a moment, then cautiously peered in.
The room was dominated by a huge four-poster water bed with mirrors on the canopy and headboard. A bigscreen television stood against the wall opposite the bed.
Next to the television was what looked like a child's wading pool filled with sand. A pair of sunlamps were focused on the pool and Kant was in it, naked, with his eyes closed. He was rooting in the sand, mumbling aloud as he dragged himself through the grit as if he were frenziedly trying to wipe himself clean.
"Kant," Brennan said quietly.
The joker turned slowly. His face was a frozen mask of madness. There was an ugly oozing sore on his lower neck. He stared at Brennan, his mouth working wordlessly, and then he screamed and sprang, his hands outstretched, his fingers hooked into talons.
Brennan calmly shot him.
The pistol whooshed and a feathered dart flew through the air, struck Kant's naked chest, and bounced off the hard, scaly skin.
Shit, Brennan thought. Then the maniac was on him.
"So close," Hiram said. He sighed hugely, got up from the couch, and went over to the wet bar to mix himself a drink. They were in Tachyon's suite at the Marriott, waiting for his return and watching the convention on television.
"Too damn close if you ask me," Jay said. Down on the floor of the Omni, another inconclusive ballot had just been tallied. A wave of sympathy voting had pushed Gregg Hartmann to 1956 votes of the 2082 needed to nominate. Jackson and Dukakis had both lost support, and the tiny Draft Cuomo movement had melted away entirely. Only the Barnett forces were holding firm.
Hundreds of Hartmann supporters, with victory so close they could taste it, were dancing in the aisles, waving their green and gold placards, chanting, "Hart-mann, Hart-mann," over and over while the chair gaveled for order. The convention floor was a sea of Hartmann green and gold, surrounding a few stubborn islands of Jackson red, Dukakis blue, and Barnett white.
David Brinkley had just predicted that Hartmann would go over the top on the next ballot when one of Leo Barnett's people rose and moved to suspend the rules "to allow the Reverend Leo Barnett to address the convention." All of a sudden half of the hall was on its feet, screaming at the podium. The couch whuffed