Nobody Does It Alone
by Walton Simons
It was past midnight, and Jerry was about to call it a night. He was in his car across the street from the building housing Latham/Strauss when they carried the body out. Jerry could hear their shoes scraping heavily on the pavement through his directional mike. He pushed the earpiece in and quieted his breathing.
"What did you say her name was?" The voice was female but didn't mean anything to Jerry.
"Veronica. Old acquaintance. Not much of the hero type when I knew her." This voice Jerry did recognize. He'd gotten to know most of the jumpers, and Zelda scared him even more than the rest of them.
"Where do you want to do her?" he asked.
"Let's take her to the Rox and give Bloat or Blaise something to play with,"
Zelda said. "She's damn sure no interest to me."
Jerry reached into the front seat and picked up one of three guns. This one had an infrared scope and fired rubber bullets. The other two were a high-powered rifle and a tear-gas launcher. Almost any weapon could be gotten hold of if you were a millionaire who could impersonate anyone. He took a deep breath and sighted in on the larger of the two figures. Zelda had Veronica under the armpits and was walking backward. Jerry centered the cross hairs on her throat, then lowered a bit to her chest. He pulled the trigger. The gun kicked noisily in his hands.
The bullet knocked Zelda backward and free of Veronica. She clutched her chest and went to her knees. Jerry heard her gasp and moan. The other woman looked at Zelda and was gathering herself to move when Jerry nailed her in the back with his second shot. She fell to the asphalt, screaming. Jerry loaded the tear-gas launcher and fired it. Moments later, the canister exploded in a cloud by Zelda.
Jerry pulled on his mask and trotted across the street. He saw a car round the corner and began changing his shape, making his features more angular and his hair pure white. He moved slowly into the cloud, groped around on the sidewalk, and found a motionless female body, which he figured had to be Veronica. Jerry bent down close enough to recognize her and picked her up under the arms. She was heavy and hard to move. He began dragging her back out of the cloud. A hand grabbed his ankle and squeezed hard. Jerry turned around and brought his booted heel down on the wrist. There was a crack, and he heard Zelda scream, but she couldn't jump what she couldn't see. Jerry hoisted Veronica onto his shoulders and staggered out into the street.
Two cars had stopped, and the people inside stared at him as he opened up his backseat and laid Veronica inside. She was in bad shape, one side of her head bruised and swelling, her eyes watering from the tear gas. Jerry jumped in behind the wheel and started the car, then whipped out into the street and swerved through the parked cars. Someone was sure to get the license-plate number, but he'd ditch them and nut on another set. He'd done it before.
Veronica moaned from the back seat. It was ten blocks to the nearest hospital.
Jerry hoped she wasn't as bad off as she looked. Jerry had been in love with her back when she was one of Fortunato's geishas, or at least he'd thought it was love. He was focused on driving now and couldn't let his heart distract him. All he could do was drop her off and hope for the best. Latham was still his main concern. If Veronica died, that would be just one more reason to see him dead.
One way or the other.
Except for a drunk snoring on a nearby bench, the park was quiet. Jerry crouched behind a row of half-dead shrubs with Jay Ackroyd. Jay had done E I. work for Jerry in the past, and they got along. Ackroyd was expensive, but then, he was a projecting teleport. His power had inspired the nickname "Popinjay."
"You sure she comes home this way?" Jay asked, shifting his weight uneasily.
"Every night I'm aware of, for the past three weeks," Jerry said. "She's been to the Rox at least three times, so I figure she must be a jumper by now."
"She have anything to do with what happened to Veronica?" Jay's eyes glimmered in the moonlight.
Jerry shook his head and pointed. A teenage girl was walking quickly toward them, her sneakers squeaking slightly on the walk. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of her worn denim jacket. Her straight brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
"Now," Jerry whispered. "Don't let her see us."
Jay pointed his first finger toward the girl like the barrel of a gun. The girl disappeared. There was a loud pop. The drunk sat up on his bench and looked around, then lay carefully back down.
"Let's go," Jay said.
Jerry had spent two months and a bundle of cash getting the basement ready. He could see her pacing around inside, but she couldn't spot him through the unbreakable one-way glass. There were handprints smeared on the glass where she'd been looking for a seam. Jay was waiting upstairs. He would probably be better at interrogation, but Jerry wanted to keep the information to himself.
Jerry flipped a switch. "You're in trouble," he said. His voice was electronically distorted to sound like aliens from a fifties science-fiction film.
She took a step back and looked around.
"The speakers are in the ceiling, but there's no way out," Jerry said. "Unless we let you out. And that won't happen unless you tell us what we want to know"
"Who the hell are you?" She rubbed her nose. "Someone with enough on the ball to trap a jumper." Jerry was enjoying intimidating her, then remembered what had happened to make her into one of Latham's bodyswitchers. "We don't want to hurt you."
She continued to look around the mirrored room, her eyes hard. "I've been hearing that all my life."
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Valerie." She sat down. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Let you go=" Jerry paused, "as soon as you tell us what we want to know."
"And if I don't?" Veronica started picking at her fingernails. Jerry sighed audibly. The distortion made it sound spooky. "Then we'll turn you over to the government. They're offering a fortune, under the table, of course, for a live jumper. They need to do some experiments to try to isolate the genetic abnormality that produced you. They sew your eyelids together to make you harmless. At least, that's what I hear." Valerie's eyes got big, and she bit her lip. "Bullshit. You're feeding me bullshit."
Jerry knew the only way to get anything out of her was really to scare her. "You just don't know about our government, little girl. I hope you get old enough to wise up some. But if that's the way you feel, there's no point in talking."
Jerry left it at that and waited.
Valerie's shoulders slumped. "Are you still there?" Jerry paused for effect.
"What is it?"
"Tell me what you want to know"
"What do you know about Latham?" Jerry asked. "Who?" Valerie looked genuinely puzzled.
Jerry shook his head, mad at himself for making a mistake. "Prime."
Valerie hugged herself. "He did that thing to make me one of the gang. I've only been in it for a couple of weeks. Zelda and Blaise are the ones you need to talk to."
"You must know something. Plans he might have. Anything." Jerry rubbed his palms together.
Valerie shook her head, then tilted it. "I don't know if this is what you mean, but he likes blond boys. Not to be in the gang, but for other things. At least, that's what Molly says."
"Does the name David Butler sound familiar?" Jerry asked. "I think so. I don't know" Valerie got up and started pacing. "Please let me go."
Jerry pushed a button, a signal to Jay to come downstairs. "So you can go back to them."
"I can't do that now. You know that." She went back to worrying her nails.
"Bloat would know I told." She clutched her hands over her chest. "You don't know what they'd do." Ackroyd opened the door and stepped into the room. Jerry cut off the audio to the mirrored cage. "Get what you needed?" Jay asked.
"Nah. But it was worth a shot." Jerry pointed to Valerie. "I guess you can send her back to the park now."
Jay shook his head. "I think you'd be better off telling me everything, but you are the one who signs the checks." He made his hand into the familiar gunshape.
"Trust me," Jerry said.
Valerie disappeared. There was a muffled pop. "Mrs. Ackroyd didn't raise any boys that stupid."
"The check is in the mail," Jerry said, smiling.
"You going to be at the memorial service tomorrow?" Jerry stopped smiling. He'd been trying not to think about it. "Yeah," he said. "Want a lift there? I could use the company." Jay nodded.
People were taking turns speaking, remembering the man who had been their friend. It had rained off and on all morning but was dry enough inside the tomb.
Jerry looked up at the replica of the JB-I. Jerry hadn't ever been much interested in Jetboy, even after he drew the wild card, and had never felt much about the young flier's death. It was impossible to think about a world without Tachyon, though. Jerry was still trying to get his mind around the idea. If it weren't for the Takisian, Jerry would still be a giant ape. He hadn't been able to help Tachyon any more than he'd been able to save Kenneth. Latham was responsible for the deaths. He had to be made to pay.
The clothes of those attending were a stark contrast to the gray weather. Almost everyone had dressed in outrageously colorful outfits because "Tach would have wanted it that way." Jerry was wearing a lime-green suit with a paisley-print shirt and rainbow scarf. Ackroyd had dressed in an everyday suit. "A man in my line of work can't afford to look stupid, even for a minute," he'd said.
Father Squid stepped forward to speak. "I cannot claim to have understood all that he did, but his was a great heart, full of compassion and understanding."
Jerry glanced over and saw Cody. He eased his way through the crowd toward her.
Her bad eye was to him, but she turned just as he reached her side. "Mr.
Strauss," she said. "I haven't seen you recently. I suppose I should have expected to today, though."
Jerry fished a twenty-thousand-dollar check from his pocket and slipped it to her. "I know. It's hard to go near the clinic, now that he's gone."
Cody took the check and tucked it away. "Thanks. Hard as Finn and I have been working to raise funds, we don't seem to be getting anywhere."
"Bad times," Jerry said.
Cody nodded. There was a strain in her face he'd never seen before, something that didn't have anything to do with being a doctor.
"How could Tach get jumped?"
Cody shook her head and looked down. "They jumped me first. Used me as a Judas goat. Tach never could think straight when there was a woman involved."
Jerry could understand that well enough. "I guess there's no chance that somehow he's still alive?" He had an almost blind faith in Tachyon's ability to work miracles.
"He's gone," Cody said, her voice flat, weary. "But how can you be sure?"
"Blaise used to visit me once a week. He wanted me to know what he was doing to his grandfather. He told me everything. He kept moving Tachyon from body to body. All jokers, each more twisted than the last. He brought me obscene pictures. Is this what you want to fuck? he'd ask me. Is this what turns you on?
But finally he got bored with the game. That was when he killed Tachyon." She looked away. "He brought me pictures of that, too."
"Maybe he was lying," Jerry said. "Trying to hurt you."
"The nrisoners were all kept in the warehouse," Cody said. "If he was still alive, he would have been freed in the raid, along with the rest of us. He's dead, Mr. Strauss. Denying it only prolongs the pain."
Jerry figured she was right. He put his hand on her shoulder, then walked back over to Ackroyd.
"Trying to pick up Cody at Tach's memorial service is a gesture he'd probably understand," Jay said, smiling. Jerry's shoulders slumped. "I wasn't trying to pick her up."
"I know, I know," Jay said. "What is it about tombs that makes people lose their sense of humor? Let's get out of here before someone asks us to make a speech."
Jerry sighed. "How about dinner?" He didn't feel like being alone.
"Now you're talking," Jay said. "Being morose gives me an appetite."
The pair made their way to the edge of the crowd and out onto the rain-slicked concrete. A rainbow arced over Staten Island. Jerry wondered if there would be a pot of gold on his doorstep when he got home. It was the last thing he needed.
Jerry sat alone in the private room of the Haiphong Lily. Half the Gambione family had died in this room, and he wasn't happy about the apparent thinness of the walls, but he could live with it. His look was burly, middle-aged, and Italian. The person he was meeting thought he was a Mafia kingpin from Vegas.
He'd been laying the background for the disguise for several weeks.
The door slid open, and the Lily's owner ushered in a young man in a pressed dark gray suit. The man looked more Greek than Italian. His eyes and mouth were impassive and deadly. Jerry studied his face and build. Never could tell when it might come in handy.
The door closed. "Sit down," Jerry said.
"Thank you." The man unbuttoned his coat and quietly took his seat. Jerry passed him the menu. "No, thanks. I'm not here to eat."
"Whatever." Jerry ran a finger cautiously along his lower lip. "You come highly recommended."
The man shrugged. "There aren't many of us left. To still be around, you have to be the best."
Jerry nodded and pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket, then slid it across the table. Inside was everything he'd managed to find out about Latham's habits and associates in the past months and twenty thousand dollars in cash. He'd removed his fingerprints when handling the paper and didn't have any now either.
"How soon can you start?"
The man opened the envelope and slowly went through the contents. "Soon as I'm out the door."
"He's heavily guarded most of the time," Jerry said. "Watch out for the kids especially."
"I'll want another twenty when I'm done." The killer carefully tucked the money back into the envelope.
Jerry nodded.
The man stood and took a step toward the door, then turned and smiled. "Want any souvenirs? I do that for free."
"No," Jerry said. "I'll save the news clippings."
The man nodded and left.
Jerry sat in the Tomlin International Airport, fidgeting in one of the plastic chairs. A newspaper was folded across his lap. Mafia Killer Found in East River was a front-page headline. Next to the story was a picture of Alex "Buttons"
Parylos. Jerry should have known Latham would be too tough for one man, even a professional.
"Delta Flight twenty-three now arriving from Chicago at gate nine," came a soft voice over the public address.
Jerry bounced up from his chair and shouldered his way through to the front of the receiving area. Latham would have to wait; this was more important.