Brennan nodded. Lazy Dragon was a free-lance ace who worked part-time for the Fists, often directly for a Shadow Fist lieutenant named Philip Cunningham, who was fairly high in the organization. Cunningham, who was also called Fadeout because of his ability to turn invisible, would know if Kien had put out a contract on Chrysalis. Brennan had once worked for Fadeout himself when he'd joined the Fists undercover in an attempt to bring them down from within. In fact he'd saved Fadeout's life when the Mafia had attacked his headquarters. Perhaps they could come to some kind of accommodation.
"Okay,"' Brennan said. He gestured with his knife. "That the model the Werewolves are wearing this week?"
"Huh?"
"Your mask."
"Sure."
"Give it to me."
Brennan watched the Werewolf carefully. The common mask the gang wore was their symbol, their badge of belonging. Some fanatic Werewolves would kill before giving it up.
This one visibly tensed, then sighed and relaxed. He obviously knew Brennan's reputation, and despite his size and ferocious appearance had no wish to tangle with the man who had decimated Shadow Fist ranks the year before.
He slipped the mask off and gave it to Brennan, turning his face down and away. Brennan took the mask, glanced at the man's face, and said nothing. He'd seen worse, a lot worse, though he could understand why the fierce-looking Werewolf was ashamed of his face. It looked as if it had stopped growing during the man's first year. It was a baby's face, soft and beautiful, perched grotesquely in the middle of his oversized head. It contrasted weirdly with the joker's savage, metal-and-leather appearance.
Brennan stepped back and the Werewolf edged around him and backed away, face still averted. He started off down the alley.
"Your fly's still undone," Brennan called out after him.
"Sleep," Ezili whispered to him, afterward.
He was very drowsy. He felt as though he could just surrender, settle slowly into the deep soft pile of the carpet beneath him, close his eyes, and drift peacefully. Until this moment, he hadn't realized how exhausted he was.
Ezili was smiling down at him, the soft weight of her breast against his arm. They'd never even bothered to turn on a light, but he could see her dimly by the light from the street lamp outside, filtering through softly blowing curtains. Her nipples were large and dark, the color of bittersweet chocolate. He remembered the taste of them. He reached out a hand, stroked the soft skin on the underside of her breast, but this time her fingers caught his wrist and gently took his hand away. "No," she whispered, "just sleep. Close your eyes, little boy. Dream." She kissed his brow. "Dream of Ezili-je-rouge."
Some part of Jay realized how crazy this was, but the rest of him didn't care. He wondered if Ezili was going to try and hit him up for money. She was supposed to be a hooker, after all. He didn't care. Whatever she charged, she was worth it. "How much for all night?" he whispered drowsily.
Ezili seemed to find that amusing. She laughed a light, musical laugh and began to stroke his forehead with languid, knowing fingers. It was incredibly soothing. The room was warm and dark. He closed his eyes and let the world begin to drift away. Ezili's fingers touched and gentled. Far off he heard her talking to herself, murmuring, "All night, all night," as if it were the funniest thing anyone had ever said. There were other noises, too, more distant, a door opening somewhere, a rustling of clothing, as if there were someone else there with them, but Jay was too tired to care. He was floating, sinking into a warm sea of sleep, and tonight he knew his nightmare would not come.
Then the outer door slammed open with a loud bang, and someone screamed, "Where is he?"
Bright light from the hallway fell across Jay's face, jolting him awake. He sat up groggily and put a hand in front of his eyes. Through his fingers, he saw a man outlined in the doorway, indistinct against the glare. "Shit," he complained, before he quite remembered where he was.
Ezili was on her feet, screaming at the intruder in French. Jay didn't speak a word of French, but he could tell from her tone that you wouldn't find many of those words in your basic French-English dictionaries. He heard a muffled noise behind him and turned just in time to glimpse a dark shape vanish through a bedroom door. A child, he thought, with some kind of humpback or twisted spine, but in the dim light it was hard to be sure. Whoever it was slammed the door behind them.
"I couldn't help it," the man in the doorway said. His voice was hoarse and shaky. Ezili spat more venom at him in French. "I didn't know," he pleaded. "Please, I can't wait. Ezili, I need the kiss, I need it bad. Listen to me."
Jay knew that voice. He got to his knees, bumped into the edge of the couch, fumbled for a lamp, and turned on some light.
"You don't understand what I've been through," Sascha said.
"Shut up, fool," Ezili said in English. "You have a visitor.", Sascha's head turned slowly, until it faced Jay. "You." Jay suddenly remembered that he was naked. His clothes were scattered all over the room, pants over the back of the couch, boxer shorts dangling from the lampshade, socks and shoes God knows where. Ezili was just as naked.
Of course, Sascha had no eyes. Somehow Jay didn't think it mattered. "Me," Jay admitted, a little sheepishly. He snatched his boxer shorts off the lamp, climbed into them, and tried to think what else to say. Pardon me, Sascha, I came here to talk to you, but wound up fucking your girl on the living-room carpet, and by the way, she is one terrific piece of ass… No, he couldn't say that. Of course, he'd just thought that, and Sascha was a telepath, which meant that he already…
"Coward," Ezili snarled at Sascha. "Weakling. Why should you have the kiss? You don't deserve it."
Jay looked at her, a little shocked. This was a whole different side to Ezili, and she sure as hell didn't sound like a hooker talking to a well-heeled customer. She stood with her fists balled on her hips, naked and furious, and Jay noticed for the first time that she had a big, crusty brown scab on the side of her neck. He thought of various venereal diseases, then of AIDS, remembered that she was supposed to be Haitian, and felt like a total idiot. "Where the fuck is my shirt?" he said angrily, louder than he'd intended.
Ezili and Sascha both looked at him. Ezili muttered something in French, spun on a bare foot, and stalked off toward the bedroom. She slammed the door behind her. Jay heard it lock.
Sascha looked as though he was going to cry, although Jay wasn't at all sure you could cry, without eyes. He sagged into an armchair and lifted his head to favor Jay with his eyeless stare. "Well?" Sascha said bitterly. "What do you want?"
Jay, struggling into his pants, felt at a certain disadvantage, but he tried not to let on. "I'm looking for Elmo," he said, zipping up his fly.
"Everyone's looking for Elmo," Sascha complained. He looked like shit, Jay thought, except that he'd never seen shit look as pale and sweaty and trembly as Sascha looked right now. "Well, I don't know where he is. He went off to run an errand and he didn't come back." Sascha giggled. It was a thin, high, frightening sound, on the edge of hysteria. "The dwarf who never returned, that's Elmo. Good for him. They'll hang him for it, you know. Wait and see. He's only a joker."
Jay couldn't find one of his socks. He shoved the other one in a pocket and sat on the edge of the couch to lace up his shoes. The couch was new, expensive, upholstered in plush wine-colored velvet. Jay gave the apartment a good once-over, really seeing it for the first time. The floors were covered by deep-pile wall-to-wall carpeting, as white as snow. On the far side of the pass-through was a modern kitchen where rows of copper-bottomed pots hung between a towering bronze refrigerator-freezer and a microwave that could double as a hangar for small planes. The living room was full of weird but expensive-looking primitive art that Jay figured must be Haitian. Elaborate painted symbols covered the walls. Off to his left, the loft had been subdivided into a maze of smaller rooms; it looked like there could be five or six bedrooms back there.'