No, impossible to speak such words. But would Des ever speak? While Tachyon, of course, respected the old joker's desire for privacy as he prepared to die, it nonetheless hurt that he maintained his silence.
How am I to say farewell to you, old friend? And soon it will be too late.
The cognac exploded like a white-hot cloud on the back of his throat, banishing the lump that had settled there. Tachyon set aside the glass and said, "You never answered my question."
"What's to answer?"
"Des, I'm your friend. I've drunk in this bar for over twenty years. When I enter and find it busted all to hell, I want to know why."
"Why?"
"Maybe I can do something!" Tachyon tossed down the rest of his drink and frowned up into Des's faded eyes.
Des swept away the glass and refilled it. "For twenty years I've been paying protection to the Gambiones. Now this new gang is muscling in, and I'm having to pay off two of them. It's making it a little tough to meet overhead."
"New gang? What new gang?"
"They call themselves the Shadow Fists. Toughs out of Chinatown."
"When did this start?"
"Last week. I guess they waited until they knew I was back in town."
"Which means they made quite a study of Jokertown." A shrug. "Why not? They're businessmen."
"They're hoodlums." Another shrug. "That too."
"What are you going to do?"
"Keep paying both sides and hope they let me live in peace."
"However long that's going to be," Tachyon muttered, and drained the fresh cognac.
"What?"
"Oh, hell, Des, I'm not a blind man. I'm also a doctor. What is it? Cancer?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
The old man sighed. "For a lot of complicated reasons. None of which I want to go into right now."
"Or ever?"
"That too is possible."
"I count you a friend."
"Do you, Tachy? Do you?"
"Yes. Can you doubt it? No! Don't answer that. I've already seen it; in your eyes and your heart."
"Why not my mind, Tachyon? Why not read it there?"
"Because I honor your privacy, and-" His face crumpled, and he sucked in a sharp breath. "Because I can't bear to face what I might read there," he concluded quietly. He tossed more bills on the bar and started for the door. "I'll see what I can do to make your hope a reality."
"What?"
"That you end your days in peace."
It had been the same story at Ernie's and Gobbler's Delicatessen and Spot's Laundry and so many others that he dreaded to even recall them all. Frowning, Tachyon tore the skin from an orange, the juice stinging briefly as it hit a hitherto unnoticed paper cut. Goons out of Chinatown. Goons from the mob, and him with his big mouth promising to do something about it. Like what?
He finished peeling the orange and popped a segment into his mouth. A light breeze ruled his curls and brought the sound of Blaise's delighted laughter. A rumbling call from Jack Braun sent the little boy scampering across the park, his red-stockinged legs a blur of motion. Braun leaned back the football cradled in his big hand and threw. He looked like a movie star; sun-bleached blond hair falling across his forehead, tan sinewy legs thrusting out from a pair of safari shorts, a very attractive, brilliantly colored Hawaiian shirt.
Tach threw crusts of bread to some interested pigeons. How ironic, Sunday in the park with Jack. Hated enemy transformed into… well, perhaps not friend, but at least a tolerated presence. It didn't hurt that Jack's visit had been prompted by a desire to see Blaise, which raised him in Tach's estimation. To love Blaise was to find favor. And this outing had at least pulled Tachyon out of the brown study that had held him for days since his visit to the Funhouse.
The orange segment finally slipped down, and Tach's stomach rebelled. With a moan he rolled onto his back on the blanket and fought down nausea. The wages of worry. Over the past few days his stomach had closed down into a tight and painful ball. He began a litany of problems.
The fear that lay like a palpable shadow over Jokertown. Leo Barnett offering to heal jokers with the power of his god, and if they failed to respond, then clearly it was an indication of the depth of their sin. What if he became president?
Peregrine. In a month her child was due. The ultrasound he'd run two days ago still indicated a normal, viable fetus, but Tach knew with soul-deep horror what the stress of the birth experience could do to a wild card babe. Blood and Line, let this little one be normal. If it wasn't, it would destroy her.
And he still hadn't been by the Jokertown precinct to work with a police artist on the preparation of a drawing of ames Spector…
A girl went jogging by, an Afghan hound loping at her heels. A sheen of sweat brought a golden glow to her skin, and several strands of long black hair lay plastered on her bare back. Tach watched the play of muscles in her legs and back, studied the ripe breasts bouncing beneath the halter top, and felt his mouth go dry and the urgent thrust of his penis against his zipper. It was a bitter and tantalizing glimpse of wholeness, for he knew after countless hopeless encounters that the power would fade when the moment came upon him.
Furious, he rolled onto his stomach and beat his fists on the ground-furious at his impotence, and at his flighty, undisciplined mind that could be distracted from concern over an ace killer by the sight of female flesh.
A toe nudged him in the ribs, and he shot to his feet. "Hey, hey." Braun held up his hands placatingly. "Take it easy."
"Where's Blaise?" Tach stared anxiously about. " I gave him some money for ice cream."
"You shouldn't have let him go alone. Something might happen… ."
"That kid can look out for himself." Braun dropped crosslegged onto the blanket, lit a cigarette. "Mind if I give you some advice."
"Yes."
"You're not on Takis now. He's not a prince of the blood royal."
Tachyon gave a bitter little laugh. "No, far from it. He's an abomination. On Takis he would be destroyed."
"Huh?"
The alien swept up the scattered orange peels and carried them to a garbage can. "The greatest penalties are reserved for those who mingle their seed outside their class. How could we rule if everyone possessed our powers?" he tossed back over his shoulder.
"Charming culture you come from. But it supports my point."
"Being what?"
"Stop driving him crazy. You're laying way too much pressure on him. You expect him to abide by rules of behavior that have no correlation on Earth, and you're also spoiling him rotten. Music lessons, karate lessons, dance lessons, tutoring in algebra and biology and chemistry-"
"Well, you're wrong there. His third tutor quit days ago, and I haven't been able to find a replacement. And that is why I have to expect so much of him. His power and his breeding make him special. At least to me."
"Tachyon, listen to me. You can't give a kid every toy and every gimcrack he desires, tell him he's special, special, special, and then expect him not to be an arrogant little bastard. Let him be a kid. Take his clothes."
"What's wrong with his clothes?" There was a threat in the husky voice.
"Get him out of the knee britches, and the lace, and the hats. Buy him some blue jeans, and a Dodgers cap. He's got to live in this world."
"I have not chosen to conform."
"Yeah, but you're a crank. It's a big flamboyant act with you. You're also an adult, and one incredibly arrogant son-ofa-bitch, and you could care less what people say about you. You don't want Blaise to abuse his power, but you've almost guaranteed that he'll have to. There's nothing crueler than kids, and he's going to be tormented until he lashes out. Then you'll be disappointed and disapproving, and he'll be resentful, and what a perfect vicious circle you've created."