Wild Cards [05] Down and Dirty by George R.R. Martin Page B

of it, headed straight for the bottom of the river. Even if I'd been conscious, which I wasn't, there would have been no way to get to the hatch and open it manually before I drowned. That's assuming I could even find the hatch with all the fucking lights out and the shell filling up with water!"
    "I thought you didn't remember this shit," Joey said.
    "I don t," said Tom. He massaged his temples. "Not consciously. Sometimes I have these dreams ... fuck it, never mind about that, the point is, I was a dead man. Only I got lucky, incredibly lucky, something blew the goddamned shell apart, blew me right out without killing me, and I managed to make it to the surface. Otherwise I'd be down in a steel tomb on the bottom of the Hudson, with eels slithering in and out of my eyes."
    "So?" Joey said. "You're not, are you?"
    "What about next time?" Tom demanded. " I been breaking my back trying to figure some way to finance a new shell. Sell my share of the business, I thought, or maybe sell the house and move into some apartment. And then I thought, well, great. I sell my fucking house, build a new shell, and then the goddamned Takisians show up again, or it turns out the Astronomer had a brother and he's pissed, or some other shit goes down, the details don't matter, but something happens, and I wind up dead. Or maybe I survive, only the new shell gets trashed just like the last two, and I'm right back where I started, except now I don't have a house either. What's the fucking point?"
    Joey was looking into his eyes, Joey who had grown up with him, who knew Tom better than anybody. "Yeah, maybe," he said. "So why do I think there's something you're not saying?"
    "I used to be a pretty smart kid," Tom insisted, turning away sharply, "but somehow I got pretty dumb as I grew up. This double life shit is a crock. One life is hard enough for most people to manage, what the hell made me think I could juggle two?" He shook his head. "The hell with it. It's over. I'm wising up, Joey. They think the Turtle is dead? Fine. Let him rest in peace."
    "Your call, Tuds," Joey said. He put a rough hand on Toms shoulder. "It's a damn shame, though. You're going to make my kid cry. The Turtle's his hero."
    "Jetboy was my hero," Tom said. "He died too. That's part of growing up. Sooner or later, all your heroes die."

    Concerto for Siren and Serotonin
    by Roger Zelazny

    I
    Sitting shade-clad in a booth at Vito's Italian, odd-hour and quiet, lowering a mound of linguini and the level in a straw-bound bottle-black hair stiff with spray or tonic---the place's only patron had drawn attention from the staff in the form of several wagers, in that this was his seventh entree, when a towering civilian with a hand like a club came in off the street and stood near, watching, also, through bloodshot eyes.
    The man continued to stare at the diner, who finally swung his mirror lenses toward him.
    "You the one I'm looking for?" the newcomer asked. "Maybe so," the diner replied, lowering his fork, "if it involves money and certain special skills."
    The big man smiled. Then he raised his right hand and dropped it. It struck the edge of the table, removed the corner, shredded the tablecloth, and jerked it forward. The linguini spilled backward into the dark-haired man's lap. The man jerked away as this occurred and his glasses fell askew, revealing a pair of glittering, faceted eyes.
    "Prick!" he announced, his hands shooting forward, paralleling the other's clublike appendage.
    "Son of a bitch!" the giant bellowed, jerking his hand away. "You fuckin' burned me!"
    "Fuckin' shocked,"' the other corrected. "Lucky I didn't fry you! What is this? Why you taking my table apart?"
    "You're hirin' fuckin' aces, ain't you? I wanted you to see my shit."
    "I'm not hiring aces. I thought you were, the way you came on."
    "Hell, no! Bug-eyed bastard!"
    The other moved quickly to adjust his glasses.
    "It's a real pain," he stated, "looking at two hundred sixteen views of an