profanity. "Jesus fucking Christ," he said now. "Nerve toxin. Jesus fucking Christ."
"It don't make sense," one of the dishwashers said. "Man, it don't make no fucking .sense, man, that fucker could scream down walls, I saw him do it, man, I saw him."
Then everybody started talking at once.
Curtis tapped Hiram's shoulder, gave him a questioning look and nodded toward the door. Hiram rose and followed him. The floor seemed cavernous and empty now with everyone jammed into Hiram's office.
"Outside," Hiram said. They went out onto the Sunset Terrace, and stood looking down over the city. The Empire State's public observation deck was on the floor above them, and above that was the old mooring mast that had once been intended for zeppelins, but except for that, there was no higher spot in New York City, or the world. The sun shone down brightly, and Hiram found himself wondering if the sky had looked as blue to Jetboy on the day he died.
"The dinner," Curtis said simply. "Do we go ahead, or cancel?"
"We go on," Hiram said, without hesitating.
"Very good, sir," Curtis said. His tone was carefully neutral, neither approving nor disapproving.
But Hiram felt he needed to explain. He put his hands up against the stone parapet, gazed off blindly to the west. "My father," he said. His voice sounded strange and halting, even to himself. "He was, ah, a robust man. As large as myself, in his later years. He was a man of, ah, healthy appetites."
"British, wasn't he?" Curtis said.
Hiram nodded. "He fought at Dunkirk. After the war he married a WAC and came to America. A male war bride, he called himself, not that he wore white. He'd always add that, and my mother would always blush, and he would laugh. God, but that man could laugh. He roared. He did everything in a large way. Food, liquor, even his women. He had a dozen mistresses. My mother didn't seem to mind, although she would have preferred a tad more discretion. He was a loud man, my father."
Hiram looked at Curtis. "He died when I was twelve. The funeral was ... well, the sort of function my father would have loathed. If he hadn't been dead he never would have attended."
"It was grim, and pious, and so quiet. I kept expecting my father to sit up in the casket and tell a joke. There was weeping and whispering, but no laughter, nothing to eat or drink. I hated every second of it."
"I see," Curtis said.
"I have it in my will, you know," Hiram said. "A certain sum has been set aside, a rather handsome sum I might add, and when I die, Aces High will open its doors to my friends and family, and the food and drink will keep flowing until the money is gone, and perhaps there will be laughter. Perhaps. I don't know Howler's wishes in that regard, but I do know that he could eat and drink with the best of them, and he was the only man I ever knew who laughed louder than my father."
Curtis smiled. "He shattered several thousand dollars worth of crystal with one of his laughs, as I recall."
Hiram smiled. "And wasn't the least bit abashed, either. Tachyon was the one who'd made the witticism, and of course he felt so guilty I didn't see his face for almost three months." Hiram clapped a hand on Curtis's shoulder. "No. I cannot believe that Howler would have wanted us to cancel the party. We go on. Most definitely."
"The ice sculpture?" Curtis reminded him gently.
"We will display it," Hiram said firmly. "We're not going to try and pretend that Howler never existed. The sculpture will remind us that... that one of us is missing tonight." Somewhere far below, a horn was blaring. A man was dead, an ace, one of the fortunate handful, but the city went on as always, and as always someone was late for something. Hiram shivered. "Let's get it done, then." They went back inside.
Peter Chou was crossing the floor in their direction. "You have a phone call," he said to Hiram.
"Thank you," Hiram said. He went back into his office. "I know all of you are interested in the news," he told his staff. "So am I. But in a few hours, we'll be feeding a hundred and fifty-odd people. We'll pipe in the latest bulletins, rest assured. Now let's get back to work."
One by one they filed out. Paul LeBarre put a hand on Hiram's