the violence in his mind leaking out like molten lava.
"Stop!" I shouted, and the fury in my voice caused gunbolts to click back. Blaise radiated a sudden fear. I could feel the heat on my face as I continued to shout. "You damn well do need permission. I am the Rox. Me. Without my Wall, the nats'll be swarming on this place like maggots on roadkill. They'll bury you here. I hear your thoughts. You think I'm weak. `Bloat doesn't kill, he can be pushed around.' I hear you."
I looked at the jokers watching the confrontation. I listened to their thoughts. They were as violent as the jumpers. I knew I had to end this now or someone would do something really stupid.
"Kafka," I said. "Blaise needs to bow to me before he leaves. I want to hear him thank me for taking the time to judge this case." I paused. "And if he won't do it, blow him away."
Blaise was confused. His mouth gaped. He thought for a minute of mind-controlling my jokers, but there were a lot of us around, and he suddenly wasn't sure he could handle us all. He sputtered. "You're bluffing. You ain't gonna do that. That ain't your way." It was just mind static.
I giggled at him. "Try me. Go ahead. Hey, if you die here, the only thing that's going to happen is that K. C. or someone else will take over for the jumpers. Why, I'll bet K.C. might even be happy to have the competition thinned out." K.C. gave me a dangerous look; I ignored it. "You'd be no loss to me at all, Blaise. None at all."
Blaise hesitated, his thoughts all jumbled. I really wasn't sure what he'd do. My jokers waited, patient and a little too eager. I think it was their faces that decided him more than anything else.
He took a step back toward me and ducked his head stiffly.
I giggled. "You do that very nicely. And what else?" Scowl. Frown. Pucker. "Thank you." The words were almost understandable. Inside, he was fuming: Fuck you, you bastard.
"I'm not really into boys," I told him. "Not like Prime. Now if you were as good-looking as Kelly..."
Blaise's face colored nicely; so did Kelly's. Blaise spun angrily on his toes and stamped away to the laughter of the joker onlookers. K. C. followed with a last look back at me;
Kelly gave me a long stare (poor thing) and went after them. Slimeball was laughing, too, until Peanut took him by the arm and pointed him toward the mounds of bloatblack. "Start shoveling," Peanut said.
And then we all laughed at Slimeball. Jokers are allowed to laugh at jokers.
Kafka looked up at me. Children. You all argue like such children. The insectlike man sighed. He told me something that sounded like wisdom. Maybe it was.
"Bluffing is a very dangerous game," he said. "Especially with Blaise."
I would remember those words, later.
And Hope to Die
by John J. Miller
But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, Who is neither tarnished or afraid....
-RAYMOND CHANDLER
1.
Brennan woke suddenly, though the night was quiet and Jennifer was sleeping undisturbed beside him. He wondered what had woken him. Then he caught again a faint whiff of grease and gun oil, and sat up as the night was split by thunder and fire.
He pushed Jennifer off the right side of their futon and rolled to the left as a bullet seared his side and another ripped through his upper thigh. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the agony that lanced through his leg as he dove naked through the darkness. His first thought was to draw the fire away from Jennifer. His second was to get the bastard who was doing the shooting.
There was a problem with that. Brennan no longer kept weapons in the house. They were all locked away in the backyard shed as a repudiation of the life he'd once lived. He regretted this decision as a stream of bullets tracked him while he hurtled through the bedroom door into the interior of the house. There was the sound of smashing glass, and a stabbing winter wind struck Brennan as the assassin crashed through the bedroom window and followed him.
Brennan headed for the kitchen, stopped, and reversed his field as he heard a second hit man breaking down the front door. He turned for the door that led to the backyard. His only hope, he suddenly realized, was to get outside where he