Jokers Wild Page 0,63

office.

Bagabond shook her head, realizing angrily that she was blushing.

"Uh huh. Why the outfit?" Rosemary closed the door behind her. "Have a seat."

"Business." Bagabond sat down and kicked off her shoes with an inaudible sigh.

"Does that translate to 'I really don't want to know'?" Rosemary received only a bland stare from Bagabond. She continued, "The Butchers dead. 'Car accident. I can't say I'm tremendously distraught, but I'm not buying the accident theory. Know anything about it? Happened in Central Park a little after twelve noon." Rosemary sat on the edge of her desk and leaned back, stretching her neck and arching her spine. "As resident expert on the Families, everybody's been asking me about it. I was hoping maybe a squirrel or one of the cats saw something ."

"Sorry. Their memories are much too short for-" Bagabond gasped and broke off: "Jack!" Her body spasmed. "Suzanne, what's going on? Should I call a doctor?" Rosemary grasped Bagabond's hand only to have it jerked away. Bagabond saw the end of her snout, a bright flash of flame; she saw a hand holding a packet of small books wrapped in clear plastic, another hand waving the pistol; another flash--

She still looked sixteen to Fortunato, though she was obviously old enough to be serving drinks. She wore jeans, sneakers, and T-shirt under her apron, and her red-brown hair was pinned up in a loose mess on top of her head. She had a row of dishes lined up on one arm and a fat tourist grabbing the other. The tourist was shouting at her about something and she was starting to sweat.

Her sweat was an event. Water began to condense out of the air all around her. The fat tourist looked up, trying to figure out how it could be raining inside.

"Jane," Fortunato said quietly.

She whirled around, eyes as wide as a gazelle's. "You!" she said, and the dishes hit the floor.

"Relax," Fortunato said. "For god's sake."

She pushed her hair off her forehead. "You wouldn't believe the day I've had."

"Yes," Fortunato said, "I would. I want you to not ask any questions, just come with me, right now. Forget your purse or sweater or whatever."

Obviously she didn't like the idea. She looked at him for a couple of seconds. She must have seen something there, seen the urgency in his eyes. "Uh... okay. But this had better be important. If this is some stunt, I'm not going to be amused."

"It's life or death. Literally."

She nodded, and wadded her apron into a ball. "Okay then." She threw the apron in a heap with the broken dishes. "This job really sucked anyway."

The fat tourist stood up. "Hey, what the hell is going on around here? You her pimp or something, buddy?" Fortunato never got a chance to react. The girl gave the fat man a look of pure hatred and the light drizzle pattering around him turned into a sudden five-second torrent that soaked him to the skin.

"Let's get out of here," Water Lily said.

"Good Lord, and how many times have you been robbed?" she exclaimed as her eyes roved about the immaculate living room with its plush white carpet, maroon vertical blinds, white baby grand piano, and maroon sectional sofa.

"Too many. I do wish you humans would have the sense to legalize narcotics. It would make life so much simpler for so many people."

"Some of us humans wish that too. It would make such a nice cash crop for developing nations," she answered, drifting over to fondle the petals of an elaborate gardenia-and-orchid bouquet resting atop the glass coffee table. The air conditioner chattered away, pouring cold air into the room, making it less than comfortable.

The gardenias breathed their fragrance into the room mingling with the smell of coffee, which still lingered from the morning, and the pungent scent of incense. The rest of the table was swept clean but for a large photo book. All Those Girls in Love With Horses by Robert Vavra. Roulette rested the book in her lap, and turned the pages.

"And which do you love? The girls or the horses?"

"Which do you think?" Tachyon responded with an impish smile. He was playing back his phone messages, most of which seemed to be from women. The final message ended, and he switched off the machine and unplugged the phone. "So we can have at least a few hours of privacy." She found herself unable to meet the hunger in his gaze, and she dropped her eyes back to the book.

"Would