Jokers Wild Page 0,76

shot. What you have to do is wait for it. Be ready. Don't even think about saving yourself, because you're already lost. What you have to do is kill him. Whatever it costs you, you have to kill him, or die trying.

His hands were shaking. Not fear, not really. More like sick, helpless rage. He made them into fists. He was squeezing so tight he thought he was going to hurt himself. Before he knew he was going to do it he had turned around and put his fist through the back window of one of the squad cars. Chunks of safety glass rolled across the back seat like uncut jewels.

"Jesus Christ, Fortunato!" Altobelli ran to the car and then looked back at Fortunato's hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Christ, how am I gonna explain this window?"

"Say one of the kids did it. I don't care." He flexed his fingers, went through a couple of calming mantras in his head. "Forget the window, okay, Altobelli? Tell me why you wanted me here."

"Gangs," Altobelli said, turning reluctantly from the car. "Nobody went to the Cloisters after you guys trashed the place, so the kids moved back in. PC thinks to grab some head lines from the jokers by rounding up the kids. Only what happens, there's all these tunnels under the place. And there's bodies down in there."

"Show me."

Altobelli took him past the barricades to an EMS wagon. There were two bodies on gurneys, side by side. Fortunato pulled the first sheet down. It was one of the kids, with long black hair and a rolled-up bandanna around his head. He looked vaguely familiar. There was a wad of cotton where his throat should have been. "He was some kind of runner for the Masons," Fortunato said. "That's all I know"

Altobelli nodded him to the next body. This one had been handsome when he was alive-bright golden hair, sharp nose and chin. He'd been there at the Jokertown lockup, the night Eileen died. He'd decided Fortunato wasn't worth killing.

"Roman," Fortunato said. "I think his name was Roman. He was one of them. He was in jail last I heard. Must have got out on bail or something."

"There were half a dozen other kids-we already carted 'em off. Parts of either two or three girls, it's hard to say which. The ME can sort that out. Hookers, probably." He glanced up quickly. "No offense. And something else that looked like it had been a wooden statue, except it was mostly splinters when we found it. The weird thing was, it had clothes on."

"Probably another ace," Fortunato said. "Some kind of wood man or something."

"There's one more," Altobelli said. "This one's still alive."

He searched through the garbage that littered the alleyway for something heavy. Spector was tired and unsteady. It was probably some kind of hangover from what that Insulin bitch had done to him.

The Astronomer had to be using up power fast. That was the only reason Spector was still alive. The Astronomer needed him to help recharge his powers, which he'd do later with For tunato's girls. When they got together to ofF somebody, there was something about the way Spector killed people that made it easier for the Astronomer to eat their energy, or whatever the hell it was he did to get his power. The Astronomer always channeled some of the juice to him. It made Spector feel great, and not many things could anymore. He might have a chance to kill the old bastard before then if the Astronomer was weak enough. Otherwise, the Astronomer would get charged to the limit and then nobody could stop him.

He dug into a dumpster and pulled out a broken marble paperweight. It was shaped like a rearing horse, only the head was gone. Spector knelt down and set his mangled arm against the asphalt. He positioned the paperweight over where the bones had been broken and practiced bringing it down several times, then raised his arm as high as he could. He closed his eves and pictured the Astronomer's head under his raised hand. Spector brought the paperweight down as hard as he could. There was a snap. He ground his teeth together to keep from screaming and did it again. Another snap. He dropped the headless horse and pulled his bones into line. After a minute or two he let go. His arm was fairly straight, but he still couldn't rotate his wrist. The bones were knobbed and didn't slide over each other