"Chop-Chop, she's Fleur van Renssaeler. Her daddy is Henry van Renssaeler, the Congressman."
"He is? Uh — do you know where they live?"
Jube didn't know, but he was able to find out. I suppose it might have been in the society pages of an old paper or something. He told me to meet him back there on the corner in fifteen minutes, which I did. Henry van Renssaeler lived with his daughter and her two older brothers, Brandon and Henry, Jr., in a penthouse apartment. I never did find out why Jube bothered to help me. Looking back, I suppose he resented her father's attitude toward the wild card.
I wasn't going to go after Flo — Fleur — alone, though. First I hurried over to Biff's. Cheetah and Troll were hanging around there at that hour as usual. Tonight the place was full of other jokers, though, all talking about the fire. After last night, Cheetah and Troll were up for more adventure. Even back in those days, Troll had a sense of what you might call joker identity. When I got them aside, I told them I had to visit the home of a well-to-do nat girl and was real scared. They agreed to come along. So we headed uptown on the subway.
The apartment building was in just the kind of fancy area of New York you might have expected. In those days, you know, even rich people didn't have the kind of security you see nowadays. They didn't need it then.
We just walked inside and went over to the elevator. This young guy in a gray uniform was sitting there on a stool, reading a comic book. His eyes got real wide when he saw us, but he just took us up without a word.
I was nervous when I knocked on the penthouse door. The little peephole darkened as someone looked out. Then I heard a muffled gasp and footsteps and voices inside.
Finally the door was yanked open. This stiff, arrogant man in a suit and tie was glaring down at me. He had to be Fleur's father, Henry van Renssaeler.
"Is Fleur here?" I sounded like a kid who wanted her to play.
"Get out of here!" He jerked his head toward the elevator door. "You filthy…." When he looked up and saw Troll behind me, his mouth just dropped open.
Behind him in the foyer, I could see a uniformed black maid and a couple of other servants staring at us. Then Henry swung the door to slam it in my face. Before it shut, though, Troll reached over my head and gripped the doorframe with one giant, warty hand. The door banged off his hand and bounced open again.
I felt another very large hand shove me forward, inside the apartment. Cheetah, laughing loudly, danced past me to a small table and ripped a telephone cord out of the wall. The servants huddled in a corner, where Cheetah held them by showing his teeth, waving his arms, and making his favorite chimp noises.
I turned. Troll ducked inside the doorway, slammed the door shut, and leaned down toward Henry, trapping him against the wall with a green arm as thick as my waist. Henry was sweating heavily, speechless.
"Where's Fleur?" I demanded.
Her father glanced down at me, but he didn't speak. I couldn't tell if he was being defiant or was just too scared. Anyhow, I turned around and yelled her name.
"Here!" Her voice was distant and muffled, but a knocking sound was much sharper.
I rat down a long carpeted hallway. "Fleur! It's Chuck!"
"I'm locked in! Over here!" She pounded on her door again.
I fumbled with the knob, but it required a key. "Troll!"
His footsteps pounded down the hall toward me.
"Look out, Fleur! Back up!" I stepped aside and Troll simply crashed into the door, smashing it down.
Fleur stood in the middle of the room, staring at Troll in horror.
"Cone on!" I darted inside and grabbed her arm. "Have you got the money? For tonight?"
"No I couldn't get to the bank." She snatched up her purse.
I dragged her out and pulled her down the hall.
Chetah was still jumping around in front of the servants, but Henry had started toward us. He stopped, though, when he saw Troll coming back. Fleur looked away from him as I drew her past him toward the front door.
"Whore!" Henry yelled. "Filthy whore — joker's whore!"
We stopped at her bank in the neighborhood. She acted like she was in a trance, quivering and sweating but doing everything she had to do. Once she had the cash, we took Fleur back to Jokertown on the subway, of course. I kept an eye on her wristwatch. We would just barely make her appointment.
Back in Jokertown, I thanked Cheetah and Troll. They took the hint and got lost. I led Fleur quickly up the sidewalk in the waning light. She clung to me, crying quietly.
"What happened? Did your father find out?"
Her voice was tight. "Not exactly. But he was real mad that I was out the other night — he checked up on me and found out that I wasn't at my girlfriend's after all. When I started to leave yesterday, he locked me in."
"Now I've really done it — he saw you with jokers."
When we reached the rear of the club, Waffle was pacing restlessly by the back door. He looked like a human-shaped cookie cut-out of a waffle in both texture and color, and in his very flat shape. He wore a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his brown, waffled shoulders, and blue dungarees with the cuffs rolled up over white socks and dirty tennis shoes.
"Gimme the dough," said Waffle.
She handed me five one-hundred dollar bills. I held them out.
Waffle snatched them. "All right, follow me."
We followed him. He led us up a back alley and then opened a small unmarked door. He went inside first. This door opened on a narrow hallway. I shut it behind us.
Waffle opened an interior door. "They're here, Doc."
The elderly man who appeared was of Chinese descent, short and stocky like Peter Choy, with receding black hair and a deeply lined face. He wore a long white lab coat. His otherwise human face had a long duck beak. "I'm just Doc," he said calmly. "My nickname is Peking Doc. You don't need to tell me your name."
"Hi," said Fleur, in a whisper, as she stared at his beak.
Doc turned to me. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, young man. Now, don't worry. I'll give your friend something to make her drowsy and everything will be fine. But it will be an hour before she wakes up and two hours before she's herself again. I'll have to ask you to remain in the next room." He pointed.
"All right," I said, turning to Fleur. "Uh — good luck."
"She'll be fine." Doc held open another door and gestured for Fleur to precede him.
She gave me a terrified glance and stiffly walked through it.
Waffle slipped past me and left by the back door. I went into the room Doc had pointed out. It was dark until I switched on a corner lamp. Then I picked up copies of Reader's Digest to look for the funny stuff.
Nearly an hour passed. Suddenly I wondered if Matt Rainey had accomplished anything today. I decided to find out, despite what Doc had said, and slipped outside, making sure that the door would not lock behind me. Then I ran to the nearest newsstand and snatched up a copy of the New York Mirror, tossing coins onto the counter. I hurried back to the clinic.
Doc was standing in the hall, glaring at me.
I swallowed, too scared to speak.
"Your friend will be fine," Doc said finally. "She has asked to see you, but she should not try to walk for another hour or so. I'll be in my office until then."
"Yeah, okay."
Doc showed me into a room where Fleur lay on an examination table under a sheet. Only a small lamp was on. Doc closed the door after me.
"How are you?" I whispered.
"It's over," she said quietly, blinking back tears.
"He said you'll be okay."
"Yeah."
"He said you still have to rest. I'll go back out — "
"Don't go. Please." Her voice cracked and she started to cry.
"All right." I sat down on a small wheeled stool.