Later, there is still time.
The lobby was crowded with reporters. They lay like a seething lake before the elevators, and when Tachyon entered they become a tsunami rushing forward to accost him. Microphones thrust rapier-like into their faces, a babble of overlapping questions-"Any comment on the death of Kid Dinosaur, and the Howler?"
"Are you working with the authorities on this case?"
"What's this about you being kidnapped?" -blended with the whine of high-powered cameras. Tachyon, looking thunderous, waved them away, and when that failed, shouldered through them toward the express elevator.
A handsome man in a rumpled gray suit pushed up close to Roulette, and she shied back.
"Hey, Tachy, givin' our eyes a rest or what, or just trying to match your lady love?" The reporter's eyes swept ironically across the white breeches, tunic, and cloak, and white boots, the heels inset with moonstones, and ended on the small white velvet hat with a moonstone and silver brooch pinned to its upturned brim.
"Digger, step aside."
"Who's the new ace? Hey, babe, what's your power?"
"I'm not an ace, let me be." Agitation made her breath ragged, and she looked away from those too-piercing eyes. "Tachyon," Digger said, tone suddenly very serious. "May I speak with you?"
"Not now, Digger."
"It's important."
"Tachyon, please get me out of this crowd." Her fingers plucked at his sleeve, and he pulled his attention from the journalist.
"See me at my office."
The elevator doors sighed closed behind them, and her heart began to slow. "I've never known Digger to be wrong. Are you quite sure-"
"I am not an ace!" She jerked his hand from her bare shoulder. "How many times do I have to tell you!"
"I'm sorry." His tone was low, the hurt evident in his lilac eyes.
"Don't! Don't be sorry, don't be solicitous, don't care!" He moved to the far side of the elevator, and they completed the ride in silence. The elevator deposited them in the large outer lobby of Aces High. Roulette glanced about, curiosity submerging agitation. She had never been to the restaurant. Josiah had considered the entire ace/joker phenomenon vulgar and more than a little frightening (witness his response when he discovered that he too carried the alien virus), and had avoided this ace mecca.
Celebrity photographs lined the walls, and in the center of the room stood Hiram, smiling, urbane, polite, but implacable in his refusal to allow the tall scarecrow figure in the purple Uncle Sam suit to enter his restaurant.
"But I'm, like, a friend of Starshine's," the gangling blond hippie was protesting, "and Jumpin' Jack Flash too, man."
"I'm sure you are," Hiram said. He went on to gently explain that well-known aces had a great many friends, far more than the restaurants seating capacity, and while Aces High would be delighted to have the Captain's patronage on any other night of the year, tonight was a private party; he was sure that the Captain would understand.
Tachyon grasped the situation in an instant, and put a hand on Hiram's broad shoulder. "I know what it looks like," he said, "but Captain Trips really is an ace, and a good man too. I'll vouch for him, Hiram."
Hiram looked surprised, then relented. "Well, of course, if you say so, Doctor." He turned to Trips. "Please accept my apologies. We get a great many would-be gatecrashers and, ah, ace groupies, often wearing outlandish costumes, so when someone cannot demonstrate an ace talent, we… I'm sure you understand."
"Yeah, sure, man," Trips said. "It's cool. Thanks, Doc." He put on his hat and entered the restaurant.
"Just because you're wearing a mask doesn't mean you can just waltz in, lady," the big man wearing a tuxedo in the foyer of Aces High told Jennifer.
She smiled at him, ghosted her arm, and put it through the wall. She wanted to do something more box-office, like sink through the floor, but didn't want to have to dress again in front of all the people waiting to enter the restaurant.
"Yeah, okay." The man in the tuxedo waved her in, looking faintly bored.
Aces High was a dream. Jennifer felt small, insignificant, and decidedly underdressed. She wished that Brennan had brought her an evening gown rather than jeans, but realized with a sigh that that would have required supernatural foresight on Brennan's part.
There were over a hundred people in the main dining area, drinking cocktails, nibbling on delicious-looking hors d'oeuvres, and talking in small groups and large parties. Jennifer headed for the buffet table, her stomach rumbling at the sight of so much food. There was pate de foie gras, caviar, slices of Danish ham, twelve kinds of cheese, and a half-dozen varieties of bread and crackers. She spread pate on a cracker and looked around the room, feeling like a celebrity hound as she watched scores of famous people pass by her.
Hiram Worchester, Fatman, looked harried. Probably the strain of orchestrating the dinner, Jennifer thought. She recognized Fortunato, even though he was an ace who had never sought publicity. He was talking to Peregrine. He looked earnest, she looked amused. She felt the playing card that she'd tucked into her back pocket, but was hesitant to go up to him and present it. It looked like he had his own worries, and besides, she could take care of herself.
She snagged a glass of champagne from a tray of a waiter circulating around the room, and drained it, washing down pate de foie gras and cracker.
"I knew it, I just knew it." The voice was masculine and drawling, with an undercurrent of excitement in it. "I just knew she'd show up here."
Jennifer turned, champagne glass in one hand and half a cracker smeared with pate in the other. Hiram was standing behind her. With him was the man she had seen get out of the cab, the man in the white battle suit.
"Are you talking to me?"
"You bet your sweet butt, honey," the man in white said. There was something wrong with his face. He looked her over with an annoying intentness that made Jennifer feel naked, but that was only part of what made Jennifer feel uncomfortable. His features, individually, were all right, perhaps even handsome, but taken together were utterly unmatched. His nose was too long, his chin too small. One of his intense green eyes was higher than the other. His jaw was canted, as if it had been broken and then healed crookedly. He licked his lips in an agitated, excited manner.
Hiram sighed. "Are you sure, Mr. Ray?"
"She's the one, I know she is. I knew she couldn't stay away from this goddamn party. Damn if I wasn't right."
"Very well then. Do your duty." He sighed again and made wringing motions with his hands, as if he were washing them of the matter. The man he called Ray nodded, then turned to Jennifer.
"My name's Billy Ray. I'm a federal agent and I'd like to see some
ID."
"Why'?" Jennifer asked with a sinking feeling.
"You look like someone who robbed the home of a prominent citizen this morning."
Jennifer looked at the fragment of cracker she still held in her hand. She hadn't even begun to take the edge off her appetite.
"Damn," she said, and the cracker and champagne glass slipped through her hands as she ghosted through the floor. Ray moved like a cat on speed. He leaped upon her, but only grasped her shirt which was crumpling to the floor. "Ah, Jesus, Worchester," Jennifer heard him say before she slipped entirely through the floor, "you should've let me coldcock the bitch."
Tachyon's small form had vanished into the milling aces in search of alcohol. Alcohol she badly needed. The rumble of voices, the tinkle of ice in crystal glasses, and the energetic efforts of a small combo all combined to form a drill that was digging ever deeper into her head.