Wild Cards: Death Draws Five by John J. Miller & George R. R. Martin

Author:John J. Miller & George R. R. Martin [Miller, John J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction - General, Contemporary, Fiction - Fantasy, Heroes, Fantasy - Contemporary
ISBN: 9781596872974
Publisher: Ibooks
Published: 2006-01-29T05:00:00+00:00

New York City: Saint Dympna’s Home For the Mentally Deficient And Criminally Inclined

The Cardinal was furious. He slammed the cell phone down on the oubliette’s floor and it shattered into miscellaneous bits of plastic and unidentifiable electronics. He was in the basement of St. Dympna’s with Usher, Magda, and Nighthawk, and the Witness, examining the damage that the big break out had caused when the call came from upstate. The old pile of stones was pretty much intact, though the same could not be said for the credenti who had been manning it. Some of the released prisoners had chosen to take revenge and they’d come out of the oubliette mad and armed with looted weaponry. Such a copious amount of blood had not been spilled in the old asylum in over fifty years. Then came the phone call from the younger Witness relaying the news from upstate. It wasn’t good.

“The reception is terrible!” the Cardinal swore furiously. “How do they expect me to even hear, let alone condone their whining excuses?”

Nighthawk only shrugged. He knew better than to interrupt the Cardinal in mid-rant. The Witness—the Asshole, as Nighthawk thought of him—tried to catch Nighthawk’s eye, but he refused to look at him.

“How many of those morons does it take to capture one boy?” Contarini asked rhetorically. “Even if he is the Anti-Christ?” He turned his gaze directly on Nighthawk. “It took only you to capture a girl after the idiots here let her escape. Just you! How many men do they have with them?”

“Twenty-six,” the Asshole answered.

Ass-kisser, Nighthawk thought. The man would sell out his own brother to gain favor with the Cardinal.

Contarini took a deep breath, struggling to control his fury. “Can those fools do nothing right? Must I handle everything, personally?” He glanced at Nighthawk. “Cameo was not as you promised, but at least you took care of her.”

Nighthawk kept silent, and only nodded, half to himself. He had taken care of her. He had given her sixty thousand dollars in cash and personally escorted her to the station where he put her on a train headed west. He had told her to go somewhere, anywhere. To get out of the city and stay out until she saw from the news that it was safe to return. She was a sensible girl. She took his advice.

She even gave him the silk choker from around her neck without hesitation when he asked for it. After he saw her off safely, he searched a couple of pawn shops until he found a cameo that was quite similar to the one that she’d worn, mounted it on her choker, stained the silk with some blood he’d gotten off a juicy beefsteak he’d purchased at a grocery store, and presented it to the Cardinal as proof that he’d handled the Cameo problem.

Contarini, if not delighted, had at least been mollified.

That was all right with Nighthawk. The Cardinal was never going to treat him like family. It wasn’t, Nighthawk realized, so much that he was black, though that was probably part of it.

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