Wild Cards [07] Dead Man's Hand by George R.R. Martin Page A

Elmo," he said, zipping up his fly.
    "Everyone's looking for Elmo," Sascha complained. He looked like shit, Jay thought, except that he'd never seen shit look as pale and sweaty and trembly as Sascha looked right now. "Well, I don't know where he is. He went off to run an errand and he didn't come back." Sascha giggled. It was a thin, high, frightening sound, on the edge of hysteria. "The dwarf who never returned, that's Elmo. Good for him. They'll hang him for it, you know. Wait and see. He's only a joker."
    Jay couldn't find one of his socks. He shoved the other one in a pocket and sat on the edge of the couch to lace up his shoes. The couch was new, expensive, upholstered in plush wine-colored velvet. Jay gave the apartment a good once-over, really seeing it for the first time. The floors were covered by deep-pile wall-to-wall carpeting, as white as snow. On the far side of the pass-through was a modern kitchen where rows of copper-bottomed pots hung between a towering bronze refrigerator-freezer and a microwave that could double as a hangar for small planes. The living room was full of weird but expensive-looking primitive art that Jay figured must be Haitian. Elaborate painted symbols covered the walls. Off to his left, the loft had been subdivided into a maze of smaller rooms; it looked like there could be five or six bedrooms back there.'
    "What is this place?" Jay said, a little baled.
    "It's a place you don't belong," Sascha said. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"
    "I will. As soon as you've answered a few questions." That made Sascha furious. "No!" he shouted. "Now. I told you, I can't wait, damn it, you get out of here, I need the kiss, I don't want you here, I don't want you bothering me." Jay had never seen Sascha this way. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked. "Sascha, are you hooked on something?"
    Sascha's rage suddenly changed to giggles again. "Oh, yes," he said. "Kisses, oh, kisses sweeter than wine."
    Jay stood up, frowning. "Kisses," he repeated sourly. Ezili was real good in bed, but if this is what a long-term relationship with her did to you, he'd settle for a one-night stand. "Sascha, I don't give a damn about your love life, I just need to find Elmo. He knows me well enough to know I wont turn him in. I just want to talk. He might know something that could help me figure out who killed Chrysalis."
    Sascha stroked his little pencil-thin mustache in a motion that was almost furtive. "But we know who killed her, don't we? He left his calling card, didn't he? Yes, I see you remember, I can see the picture in your head right now"
    It made Jay feel a little creepy to have Sascha fooling around in his mind. "Someone dropped an ace of spades on the body," he said, "but I'm not convinced it was Yeoman, he-"
    "It was him!" Sascha interrupted. He surged to his feet angrily. "Yeoman! That's who it was! There's your murderer, Popinjay, oh yes. He's back in town. I just saw him."
    Jay was unsure. "You saw him?"
    Sascha nodded rapidly. "Out at Brighton Beach. My mother's place. He came looking for me. He's after Elmo, too."
    "Why?" Jay demanded. "Why would he kill Chrysalis?" Sascha looked around the room, as if to make sure that no one else was listening, then leaned forward and whispered, "she knew his real name." He giggled. "Would you like to hear it? If I tell you, will you go away and leave me alone?"
    "You know it, too?"
    Sascha nodded eagerly. "She never said it aloud, but sometimes she thought it. I picked it right out of her mind one day. If Yeoman knew, he'd kill me, too. Do you want it?"
    "Tell me," Jay said.
    "You promise you'll go away? You won't bother me anymore? You won't pry into my affairs?"
    "I promise," Jay said impatiently.
    "Daniel Brennan," Sascha said. "Now get out."
    Jay looked back once on the way out as he pulled the door of the apartment shut behind him. Sascha was kneeling by the bedroom door, eyeless face pressed up against the wood, pleading for a kiss.

    11:00