Lowball: A Wild Cards Novel (35 page)

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to need to take those into evidence, if you don’t mind.” He winced. Maybe afraid he was going to have to argue with
DB
, which would make anyone wince.

“Why?”
DB
said.

“Part of an ongoing investigation.”

“Having to do with the kidnapping? What the hell is going on, really?”

He hesitated, as if debating how much he could share. “It’s early yet, I’m afraid I can’t discuss details. But getting those disks would really help.” Ana nudged
DB
’s shoulder, and the joker pulled
DVD
s out of his copious coat pockets without further prodding. He’d managed to stash a dozen or so.

“Thank you, Mr. Vogali, I really appreciate this,” Black said. The detective sorted through them, looking at titles, and nodded in satisfaction. “You’ll be free to go just as soon as you give statements to Officer Michaelson. Thanks again, and please—try to stay out of trouble. We really don’t need any more paperwork.” Offering a weary smile, he turned away.

Michaelson appeared with a stack of clipboards and forms. “You need to fill out reports and contact info. Are you willing to testify if this goes to court?”

Testifying in court seemed like the easy part at this point. At least Michaelson had stopped threatening to arrest them.

In the middle of filling out her statement, Ana’s phone rang, and she fumbled in her pocket for it. Caller
ID
said Lohengrin. Great. She couldn’t avoid this, only delay it, so she went ahead and answered. “Yeah?”

“Earth Witch,” he said, his accent making the name sound lilting and exotic. “You’re in the news this morning. What happened?”

Already? She groaned. “It’s a very long story. Can I tell you later?”

Then
DB
’s phone rang. Then John’s. Then Kate’s. The story must have hit the papers, the Internet, the morning talk shows, and everything in between, all at the same time. Ana caught sound bites of conversation.

From
DB
: “No, Marty, I’m fine. Everything’s fine … what do you mean, doing something stupid? I didn’t do anything stupid!”

From John: “Mom, I wasn’t trying to cause trouble … can we talk about this later?”

And Kate: “I’m fine, Tyler, really. No … yes … yes, it was kind of stupid, but I’m not going to apologize. See you tonight?”

Lohengrin was still talking, and Ana didn’t really care that she’d missed half of what he was saying. “… return to the office, right now.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? It’s really loud in here.”

“I’ve arranged a press conference in two hours. You need to state on the record that your actions last night were in no way associated with the
UN
, and the Committee is not operating on American soil. I need you here for a briefing. After the press conference, I’m sending you to Mexico while this clears up.”

Oh, for God’s sake. She really wanted to feel like she was doing good—but did there have to be quite so many hoops for her to jump through? She pressed her St. Barbara medallion through her shirt and concentrated on being polite.

“I’m at the Jokertown Clinic right now—”

“Are you hurt?” To his credit, he actually sounded concerned.

“No, I’m just tying up a few loose ends. I’ll get there as soon as I can, but it might take a while.”

“Two hours, Earth Witch.”

She hung up.

DB
finished his conversation next, clicked off his phone, and regarded Ana. “How much trouble are you in?”

“Don’t ask,” Ana said, frowning. “You?”

“That was my manager,”
DB
said. “The record label’s threatening legal action if I don’t get back in the studio. I need to go to
LA
and sort it out.”

“I guess getting sued makes recording another album not sound so bad?” Ana asked.

“For now. But I’m thinking it may be time to go indy. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Just keep an eye out for Bugsy, yeah?” They both looked over their shoulders at that one.

The others had finished their calls and caught the last bit of the conversation. “
LA
, huh?” John said. “I’m heading that way, too, looks like. I have a job interview.”

Kate’s eyes grew wide. “Not for
American Hero
—”

“No. Mom’s charitable foundation needs a new manager. I told her I’d only consider the job if I applied for it just like everyone else.”

“Great,” Kate said. “I think.”

“Hey Ana, can I put you down as a reference?”

“Sure, but a letter from Lohengrin might sound more impressive,” she said.

“I think I’d rather have one from a friend.”

They looked at Kate next, with expectation. She blushed. “That was Tyler. Just, you know. Checking in.”

Ana tensed, expecting a jab from one or the other of the guys, and Kate’s defensive reaction. But it didn’t happen.

“Cool,”
DB
said thoughtfully, and that was that.

John looked down the row of them, and wonder of wonders, he was smiling. It had been a while, Ana realized.

“You guys have an hour before we all go flying off?” he said. “I want to show you something.”

An hour after returning to Ana’s flat to wash up and retrieve some cash, they ended up standing in a row, staring at the newest waxworks diorama at the Famous Bowery Wild Card Dime Museum.

They’d caused a scene at the ticket booth on the way in—how could they not? The four of them together, for the first time since before the famous press conference when Drummer Boy quit the Committee. Tourists snapped pictures on cell phones, and Ana cringed because the photo would be all over the Internet in seconds, and she’d get a million phone calls, and yet another summons to the office of Lohengrin to explain herself. But that didn’t matter.

The joker at the ticket counter, a girl in her late teens with green scales and a sagging throat sac, wouldn’t let them pay, no matter how much they argued about it. They finally let her give them tickets, but Ana shoved forty bucks into the donation bucket in the front lobby out of spite. Then John led them to a display that was so new it still had signs announcing its grand reveal. They’d stared at it for five minute before saying a word, when Michael declared what they were all thinking.

“That’s fucked up,” he said flatly.

They, or rather waxworks versions of them, battled the Righteous Djinn in Egypt. Seven feet of Drummer Boy stood in the back, mouth open in a scream, all six arms flexed, some mythological creature captured in sculpture. Curveball braced, as if on a pitcher’s mound, her arm cocked back, ready to throw the stone she held. John Fortune held a commanding hand upraised; the smooth gem of Sekhmet was still imbedded in his forehead. And there was Earth Witch, her expression a calm contrast to the others, kneeling on the ground, lock of black hair falling over her face, pressing her hand down where a realistic-looking crack in the rock opened under her touch. The Djinn hovered above them all, laughing. His features were too plastic to make Ana think he was real. The wires suspending him from hidden rafters were visible. She could look at the image, detached, impassive, and not flash back to the scene as she remembered it, the sounds of screaming, blood soaking into sand, bullet ripping through her own gut. She didn’t remember it hurting so much as she remembered falling, and fading as the world turned upside down around her. She pressed a hand to her side, where the scar lay under her shirt.

They were all there: Rusty, Bubbles, Bugsy, everyone who’d made the trip to Egypt to try and save the world. An “In Memoriam” section featured Simoon, Hardhat, King Cobalt. It all felt like it had happened to someone else, in another life.

Two different artists had worked on the figures, and one had clearly been less talented. The Drummer Boy figure was uncanny, every flexed muscle accurate, the rictus of his scream exact in its lines and tension. On the other hand, Earth Witch might have been positioned to be partially hidden because her face was unnaturally smooth, the bend of her body slightly awkward. Ana imagined that not too many people would notice, distracted by special effects:
LED
s in Curveball’s hand, John’s forehead, and the Djinn’s arms seemed to bring their powers to life. From hidden speakers, the sound of a desert sandstorm hissed. The smell of baking, sandy air came back to her, and Ana couldn’t tell if her memory generated the sensation, or if the museum really was piping in the chalky, throat-tickling smell.

Kate tilted her head, her brow furrowed. “Are my boobs really that big?” The figure’s chest bulged inside a too-tight white T-shirt.

“No,” John said.

Everyone looked at him. Kate crossed her arms, and if she’d had any ace power at all in her gaze, John would have been flayed.

Ana laughed. Then laughed some more, hand clamped over her mouth, gut spasming in her effort to stop. They were probably thinking she was crazy. She’d had a lot of surreal things happen to her, even by the standards of wild card Manhattan. But this had to win the prize. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to catch her breath, hiccupping. “It’s just … it’s just … never mind.”

They didn’t have much time left and cruised quickly through the rest of the museum. The Great and Powerful Turtles’ shells suspended in procession, the depictions of history that had been old before any of them were born. There was a curtained-off “Adults Only” exhibit, one of the classic dioramas that had been here for decades. John stopped there. “That’s … yeah. That’s the one on my dad. I’ll pass.”

Put it like that, Ana decided she’d pass, too. They all did.

Outside, the bright afternoon sun gave her a headache. She had to be at the
UN
in half an hour, when what she really wanted was a glass of water and sleep. But she didn’t really want to leave the others. She wasn’t ready for the night to be over—even though it was the middle of the next day.

John said, “This is going to sound really weird—but I’m glad we could do this. You know—get together.”

“Drink some margaritas, fight a little crime,” Kate said.

DB
added, “Like what, ‘Team Hearts catches muggers for old times’ sake’?” He scoffed, but Kate bowed her head and smiled.

At least nobody died this time, Ana thought, but didn’t say it. She didn’t want to ruin the mood. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

They exchanged phone numbers and called cabs. Having reached a compromise with his mother that didn’t involve
American Hero,
John agreed to return home for a visit before moving on.
DB
’s manager had arranged a flight back to
LA
. Everyone managed hugs. Even Kate and John, though theirs was fleeting. Still, if those two could be civil to each other, maybe world peace had a chance.

Before folding himself into his cab,
DB
leaned over Ana—his immense body filled her vision—rested a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her on the cheek. His other hands pattered a beat. Straightening, he smiled. She was shocked, and embarrassed to notice she was blushing red hot. “Call me next time you’re in town?” she said.

“You bet.”

His cab drove off, and Kate stared at Ana. “What was that about?”

She couldn’t even make a guess.

Ana and Kate shared a cab. Kate would stay at the apartment—catching up on sleep, if she knew what was good for her—while Ana went to work to try to talk Lohengrin off the ceiling. Not likely she’d succeed, but she’d try. “I’m sorry the night didn’t really go the way I planned it.”

“Maybe not,” Kate said, and her smile was bright. “Still, it was a hell of a party.”

Ana couldn’t argue with that.

Galahad in Blue

Part Five

HE HAD MET CURVEBALL
and Drummer Boy. And he’d been a complete zero, a modern day Joe Friday, just the facts, ma’am. He could have done something to make an impression … but no. At least he’d managed to take custody of the
DVD
s that Drummer Boy had grabbed.

By the time he got back to the Five, Joe Rance, small-time hood with a lot of arrests and a lot of pleas, had already lawyered up. Franny studied the multi-limbed joker in his cell. “Has he said anything?” Franny asked Sergeant Vivian Choy.