Jokers Wild Page 0,138

probably. "Help. I need a doctor. Point your light at my foot." He had to get the guard close enough to see his eyes. The watchman shifted his light to Spector's feet. His bad foot was black and purple where the books had landed on it. "Jesus. What the hell happened to you?"

He was close, but his eyes still weren't visible. Spector pulled the lighter out of his pocket and flicked it. The watchman's eyes were ice blue, pretty in the light of the flame. Spector locked eyes. The man whimpered softly. Spector's death assaulted him with swift and sure results. He fell and was still. Spector searched the guard's body, taking his flashlight and keys. If he could get into one of the dressing rooms, he might find something to wrap his foot in. He could certainly find some kind of crutch, and maybe even a change of clothing. He limped up the ramp into the bleachers and down the steps toward the field.

"The best bets," said Bagabond, "are the rats. I'm pulling in impressions from as many of them as possible-and there are a lot."

"A rat's-eye view of the Big Apple," Jack said. "That's something the tourist commission hasn't done much with." He tried to keep the words light.

Down the block there was a snake dance-jokers or normals dressed as jokers, Jack couldn't tell. The dancers had set fire to several derelict cars parked in loading zones. Or maybe they hadn't been derelict when the torches were set to them. It was hard to tell. At any rate, now they blazed merrily, smoke curling greasily.

Jack and Bagabond had stopped at a Terrific Pizza for takeout drinks. Both of them were parched. "Your syrup's low," said Jack to the counterman. He grimaced at the taste of his drink.

"Tough titty," said the counterman. "You don't like it, try the immigrant soda jerk down the block."

"Let's go," said Bagabond, mentally urging six hundred rats from the alley in back to slip into the back of the Terrific Pizza and check out the dough and cheese storage.

Out on the sidewalk, Jack said, "Oh my God!"

"What's wrong?"

"Come on." Jack led her toward the snake dancers. The line had started to break up. Apparently misshapen dancers, some of whom wore even more grotesque costumes, straggled toward them.

Jack confronted one of the dancers. The man was tall and dark, skin virtually blue-black in the mercury-vapor glare and the flickering fire-scatter. He wore a parody of tribal gear, beads and feathers in profusion. His skin was covered with a sheen of sweat. The droplets running down his face, however, were beads of blood from slashes runnelled into his cheeks. The slashes were cut in regular chevrons, slanting down along the planes of his cheekbones. His eyes were infinitely deep caverns ringed by white makeup.

He wore a red Bozo the Clown nose. "Dieu!" Jack said. "Jean-Jacques? Is it you?"

The dancer stopped and stared at Jack. Bagabond came up to them and watched.

"You recognized me," said Jean-Jacques sadly. "I am sorry, my friend. Now that I am not human, I thought no one would know who I am."

"I recognize you." Jack reached out tentatively, checked the motion. "Your facewhat have you done?"

"Do I not look more like a joker?"

"You're not a joker," said Jack. "You are my friend. You are ill, but you are my friend."

"I am a joker," said Jean-Jacques firmly. "I have a sentence of death laid across me."

Jack stared at him mutely.

The black man looked back at him, then brushed the tips of his fingers across Jack's face. The motion was fleeting and tender. Others of the dance line had gathered around them.

Jack saw they were all normals dressed in outlandish garb, some bright and desperately garish, others muted and more subtly grotesque.

"Good-bye, friend Jack. I shall miss you." Jean-Jacques turned away and started to chant the letters, "H, T, L, V!" The others took it up: "H, T, L, VI" roared along the street.

"HTLV?" Bagabond said to Jack as the pair stood there while Jean-Jacques and the other dancers whirled frenetically away.

"The AIDS virus," said Jack flatly.

"Oh." Bagabond looked at him strangely. "Jean-Jacquesthat's his name?"

Jack nodded.

"You and he?... "Friends," said Jack. "Very good friends." More than just friends?"

He nodded.

"We need to talk," said Bagabond. "We'll talk when this is over."

"I'm sorry," said Jack, starting to turn away.

"For what?" She took his arm again. "Come on. I mean it. We'll talk." She reached up and touched him as Jean-Jacques had. His face was rough with