There was silence, then he heard light footsteps.
“Yes?” It was a woman’s voice.
“I’m looking for Ben Choy,” Ray said.
The door opened. A dark-haired, dark-eyed Asian woman stood in the doorway. Ray glanced past her. The tiny apartment beyond was empty. It was, he noted in approval, spotlessly clean. He focused on the girl. She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties, cute without being beautiful, serious and somehow disapproving as she looked silently at Ray.
“You Choy’s girlfriend?”
“His sister,” she said. She looked like him, Ray thought.
“Where is he?”
She shook her head. “He’s not here. I don’t know where he went.”
Ray nodded. Ben Choy, also known as Lazy Dragon, was an ace who frequently worked on the wrong side of the law. He wasn’t wanted for any specific crimes, but he’d been associated with the Shadow Fists when they were the preeminent criminal organization in New York City. But, as Dragon’s dossier indicated, he sometimes disappeared for long periods of time. This looked like one of those times.
“I’m from the government,” Ray told the girl. “Special Executive Task Force.” She looked at him blankly. He didn’t know what that meant either, but it sounded as impressive as hell. “It’d be to your brother’s advantage to get in touch with me. I’m prepared to offer him a full executive pardon for all crimes he may have committed.”
“Why?” the girl asked.
“What’s your name?” Ray asked, flashing his best lopsided smile.
“Vivian.”
“Well, Vivian, it’s a secret actually. A secret mission you might say.”
She nodded her head, apparently unconvinced. “A full pardon?”
Ray handed her his card. “That’s right. But there isn’t much time. He has to call tonight, before midnight.”
Vivian still looked doubtful.
“By the way,” Ray said, “you busy next Friday? The new Bruce Lee movie is opening. It’s supposed to be great.”
That she was busy she had no doubts at all.
Daddy’s body was flabby and out of shape, pale little gut pressing against the buttons of his shirt. The way the air felt against the bald head made the bodysnatcher feel vulnerable, and when he tried to move, he found he was slow and clumsy.
The restaurant pissed him off too. Aces High was supposed to be this high-class place, with four-star service and famous aces at every other table. It was all hype. They’d been hanging around for more than a hour, spending Daddy’s money, and the only thing scarcer than aces were waiters.
“Where’s the fat guy?” Molly-Mommy wanted to know. “This is his place. He’s supposed to be here.”
“Maybe he’ll come in later,” Bluebaby said in a little Shirley Temple voice.
The waiter finally appeared with their drinks. One Chivas straight up, one extra-dry martini, one tall glass of milk. “So where are all the aces?” Molly-Mommy asked him. “The guidebook says this place is always full of aces.”
“Some days are slow,” the waiter said, like he could give a shit. He nodded toward two men at the far end of the bar. “You got a couple right there.”
The bodysnatcher glanced over in that direction. The aces didn’t look like much. An average-looking white guy drinking beer, and a slender black guy in a gray suit and an orange domino mask. Except for the mask, they could have been a couple of insurance agents. “Are they famous?” the bodysnatcher asked.
The waiter shrugged. “This is New York. Everybody’s famous. That’s nine seventy-five.”
The bodysnatcher pulled a ten out of Daddy’s wallet and gave it to the waiter. “Keep the change.”
The waiter made a sour face and moved off. Molly-Mommy leaned across the table. “I think the white guy is Pulse.”
“So?” the bodysnatcher asked.
Bluebaby picked up the Chivas and took a sip. The tumbler looked huge in the tiny three-year-old hand. “Jesus, Zelda, don’t you know nothing? He was in the Swarm War, I read about him in Aces. Guy can turn himself into a fucking laser.”
“Even better than Hiram,” Molly-Mommy said. Her eyes sparkled. She took the olive out of her martini with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. “This is more like it.” She opened Mommy’s purse, took out one of Patchwork’s eyes, and dropped it into the martini in place of the olive.
The bodysnatcher sipped his milk. He had too much respect for the human body to pollute it with alcohol. He glanced over casually at the aces. “What about the other one?”
“Beats me,” Molly-Mommy said. She put the martini glass under the drooping leaves of a potted plant, where the busboy wouldn’t spot it. From there, Patchwork ought to have a good clear view of the whole room.
The bodysnatcher wiped milk off Daddy’s upper lip with the back of his hand. “I’ll find out,” he said, rising.
The aces were deep in conversation. Even up close, Pulse didn’t look like much. He had little love handles bulging out above his belt, and his dark hair was going gray.
“Sony to bother you, Mr. Pulse,” he said, “but we’re big fans, and well, we don’t get to New York real often, you know. My little girl would sure like your autograph.”
“No bother,” Pulse said, smiling. He put down his beer and scrawled a signature on a cocktail napkin.
“She’s just going to be thrilled,” the bodysnatcher said. He looked at the black man. “Say, don’t I know you too? You’re somebody famous, right?”
“Wall Walker,” the black man said. He had an accent. Jamaica, maybe.
“Really?” the bodysnatcher said. “And what do you do? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“I walk up de wall.” Wall Walker didn’t seem nearly as friendly as Pulse.
The bodysnatcher bobbed Daddy’s head up and down and grinned like an idiot. “This is terrific,” he said when Pulse handed him the cocktail napkin. “Say, I was wondering… would you mind posing for a picture with the wife?”
“Not at all,” Pulse said. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to Wall Walker.
“Got to be going anyway,” Wall Walker replied. “Good luck, mon. By and by, you going to be needing it.” The black ace tossed some change on the bar and left.
“Why doesn’t he just walk down the side of the building?” the bodysnatcher asked Pulse.
“The Good Lord gave some of us super powers,” Pulse replied, “but He also gave us elevators.” The bodysnatcher decided he was really going to enjoy killing this asshole. He led him over to their table. “Honey, this is Mr. Pulse, the man we read about in Aces.”
Pulse extended a hand. “Cy.”
Molly-Mommy twinkled at him. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry your friend had to leave.”
“That was Mr. Wall Walker,” the bodysnatcher told her. “He walks up walls. Sometimes. When there’s no elevator.” Everyone chuckled happily. It would have made a great Norman Rockwell scene, so long as he left out the eyeball in the martini glass.
“So where do you want to take this picture?” Pulse asked in a genial tone of voice.
“Let’s go outside,” Molly-Mommy suggested. “Then we can get the view.”
Aces High was eighty-six stories above the street. You could see all the way to the Rox. “Magnificent,” Molly-Mommy said when they stepped out onto the terrace.
“Jesus,” Bluebaby said as her hair whipped around her face. “What’s with this fucking wind?”
The bodysnatcher shot her a look, but Pulse didn’t seem to notice. He looked up, shaded his eyes, smiled. “You’re in luck, folks,” he said, pointing. “See there.”
The bodysnatcher looked up, glimpsed a parachute falling toward them, white against the deep blue sky. But it was moving wrong, circling the building in a graceful spiral instead of coming straight down. Then he realized it wasn’t a parachute at all. It was a woman, dressed all in blue, riding the winds on a huge white cape.