Wild Cards V by George R. R. Martin

Author:George R. R. Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466824379
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Friday, 6:10 P.M.

“So all the rumors are true. You are back again.”

The voice came from behind him, in the shadow of an overflowing trash container. Gimli whirled, scowling. His feet kicked up oil-filmed water pooled in the alleyway, the remnants of the afternoon’s showers. “Who the fuck are you?” The dwarf’s left hand was fisted at his side; his right stayed very close to the open flap of the windbreaker he wore despite the warm night, where the weight of a silenced .38 hung. “You’ve got about two seconds before you become gossip yourself.”

“Well, and as temperamental as ever, aren’t we?” It was a young man’s voice, Gimli decided. Streetlight flowed over a figure beside the trash. “It’s me, Gimli,” the man said. “Croyd. Move that damn hand from the gun. I ain’t no cop.”

“Croyd?” Gimli squinted. He relaxed slightly, though his squat, muscular body stayed low. “Your ace sure screwed up this time. I’ve never seen you look like that.”

The man chuckled without mirth. His face and arms were a shocking porcelain white, his pupils dull pink; the tousled dark brown hair only accentuated the pallor of the skin. “Shit, yeah. Gotta stay out of the sun, but then I’ve always been a night person. Dyed the hair and started wearing sunglasses, but I lost the shades. Still got the strength this time, though. It’s a damn good thing too,” he added reflectively.

Gimli waited. If this guy was Croyd, fine; if he wasn’t, Gimli didn’t intend to give him a chance to do anything. Being in New York again made him edgy. Polyakov wouldn’t meet with them until Monday, when Hartmann was rumored to be making his bid; the fucking Arab woman was a joker-hater who spouted religious nonsense half the time and had “visions” the other; his old JJS people had lost their fire while he’d been in Europe and Russia; and with the Shadow Fist/Mafia wars and Barnett’s rabble-rousing, no one felt safe.

Yet staying cooped up in the warehouse made him edgy. He had told himself that taking a brief night walk would take some of the edge off.

Another fucking bad idea.

Gimli was seeing enemies in every shadow—that was the only way to stay alive and free. It was bad enough that Hartmann had the federal and state authorities digging up the old JJS network and hassling everyone. With the joker-nat underground skirmishes, it seemed like every fucking cop in New York was in Jokertown and Gimli was too recognizable to feel comfortable on the streets, no matter what precautions he took. He wasn’t going to pretend that Hartmann wouldn’t prefer Gimli was shot “resisting arrest” than jailed—he wasn’t that damned stupid.

Better to be cautious. Better to be furtive. Better to make a mistake and leave someone else dead than to be noticed. “Look, Croyd, I’m just a little paranoid at the moment. I’m real uneasy about people I don’t know seeing me…”

Croyd took a step closer. Crooked teeth snagged his lower lip—the albino’s gums were a startling bright red.

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