Card Sharks

"'Til I Kissed You"

I was working for the Four Seas Seafood Delivery Service. On a very hot, humid day, I remember taking a breather at the rear doors of the refrigerated delivery truck I was unloading. I was working at a corner bay near the fence that separated the yard from the street.

A beat-up old radio blared from a shelf inside the bay. A news item about Bobby Fischer, the new U.S. chess champion, was followed by the melodic voice of Paul Anka singing "Lonely Boy": "I'm just a lonely boy, lonely and blue — ooh. I'm all alone, with nothing to do …" Out where I was, the music sounded thin.

It didn't matter. I hated Paul Anka.

I had one more undelivered wooden crate to return to the freezers in the back of the warehouse. Full of frozen shrimp, and caked with bits of ice, it weighed only twenty pounds, but these last few had felt like a ton. I put my arms around it, but motion on the sidewalk caught my eye, and I turned to look.

A teen-aged girl, a nat, had stopped on the sidewalk. She was looking at me through the gate of the chainlink fence.

I usually turned away from strange nats, being deeply embarrassed by my appearance. As you can see, it's a racial caricature of both the Japanese and the Chinese from World War II. I had stopped growing during the previous year at five feet in height, and kind of chubby. The only choice I had about my appearance was my haircut, which was a bristly flattop.

This time, I forgot about the crate. She was one of the most stunning girls I had ever seen. I just stared.

She looked like she was about my age. Rich sable hair was drawn back in a ponytail from her face, tied with a pink ribbon. Her skin was pale, flawless, and slightly flushed from the heat. Brown eyes studied me carefully from under long lashes. A short string of pearls lay on the swell of breasts that were unusually full, especially for a teenager; they strained against a very expensive-looking white blouse trimmed with lace. A small brown purse hung from her shoulder on a narrow strap. She wore a light blue skirt, long and full, shaped with crinolines I couldn't see but knew had to be there. Her bobby socks were spotless and her brown penny loafers shone in the sunlight.

She was at least four inches taller than I was.

"Are you a joker?" She spoke quietly, almost timidly.

At first I was stung by the fear that she was mocking me, but then I saw that she was sincere.

"Yeah." I grinned wryly. "Can't you tell?"

She missed the sarcasm. "I don't know where I am. I couldn't decide from looking at you. Is this Chinatown or Jokertown?"

"Both." Flattered that she was taking me seriously, I straightened to my full height and walked over to the gate. "This is the border. We're on the Chinatown side right here. My boss delivers seafood to Chinatown restaurants and grocery stores. But he hired me from the Jokertown side to load and unload for him."

She gazed down the block on the Jokertown side. "I wasn't sure … I got out of my cab on the Bowery and walked."

This was already the longest conversation I had ever had with a nat girl without being teased or ridiculed. "Can I help you find where you're going?"

She looked back at me through the chainlink as though seeing me for the first time. "Oh." Her face tightened uncomfortably. "I've never spoken to a joker before."

"What's your name?" I was afraid that if I was too forward, she would turn and run or else maybe get mad and start calling me the nasty names I already knew so well from other nats.

"Uh … I'm Flo."

"I'm Chuck." I looked her over again. She didn't look like a Flo. Maybe a Florence. More like an Annette or a Mitzi.

"Pleased to meet you," she said primly, as if by rote.

I tried to think of more to say. "Do you like chess? Bobby Fischer won the U.S. championship in January. He's only fifteen."

She was silent, still looking down the street.

"I'm sixteen," I added, lamely. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen." Her voice was distracted.

"I think it's great, having a teenager as chess champion."

"I bet Bobby Fischer is a secret ace." She turned back to me.

"You think so?" I had never thought about that before.

"All aces should be exposed," said Flo, sharply.

I had never considered that before, either. "I don't suppose it matters much. I think they do whatever they want."

"Do you live in Jokertown?"

"Yeah. My family lives right on the edge here." I hesitated. "We're Japanese Americans. We wouldn't be at home in Chinatown."

"How well do you know Jokertown?"

"Fine."

"I mean, really well?"

"Sure I do. I live here."

She nodded, looking up at the buildings.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh. …" She shrugged.

"I get off soon. I could take you there." I was sweating heavily again, now from tension as much as from the heat.

"I don't know exactly where I'm going."

That sounded like a brush-off. Disappointed, I expected her to say goodbye. I looked at her pretty brown eyes, waiting.

"And now," the radio blared faintly. "Here's a golden oldie from 1956! Here's Johnny Mathis! Chances are, if I wear a silly grin, the moment you come into view — "

Flo just stood there. It wasn't a brush-off after all. I got the idea that maybe she wanted me to take the initiative.

The door from the warehouse office squeaked. Startled, I turned to see my driver, Peter Choy, coming out. He was in his mid-twenties and had the short, stocky build common to many of the Cantonese in Chinatown. His khaki driver's uniform was stained with sweat under the arms.

"All finished, Chuck?" Peter asked.

"Uh — almost." Belatedly, I turned to get the last crate of shrimp. I had left it too long and it was starting to smell.

"Say, Chuck, this one's about to go bad! What have you been — " Peter stopped suddenly, seeing Flo. "Oh, pardon me." He winked at me and picked up the crate himself "Hey, not bad, pal. You go on. I'll punch out for you."

"Thanks!" I grinned. "Thanks, Mr. Choy."

"G'wan, get outa here!" Peter carried the crate back inside.

"He's not a joker, is he?" Flo asked softly.

"No!" I shook my head, still grinning. "He's a great guy. And he's the only one who calls me Chuck."

"What does everyone else call you?"

I paused, regretting that I had brought up the subject. "Aw, nothing. Look — you want me to show you around?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay." I looked down at my sweat-darkened t-shirt and faded blue dungarees with the cuffs rolled up, both of which emphasized how chubby I was. "Sony about the way I look."

She shrugged.

"Well … I'm getting awful hungry. Would you like to have dinner?" I opened the gate and stepped out.

She backed away, keeping her distance. "Um — in Jokertown?"

I knew of a little Chinese dive just up the street that I could afford. A girl dressed as she was might not like the atmosphere, but the only other choice within my budget was Biffs Burgers in the heart of Jokertown, where too many of my friends would be hanging around. I wanted to be alone with her.

"There's a Chinese place up the street, right on the border."

"Okay." Flo looked at my clothes pointedly. "Can you really take me out to dinner?"

"Aw, sure. Come on." I gestured and she came with me, walking well to one side. "I have money. I was planning to go to the hobby shop to look for some Slug Maligne baseball cards."

"Who?"

"Slug Maligne. He's the big, slimy joker who signed this spring as the Yankees' new backup catcher when Elston Howard got hurt. Somebody's got to spell Yogi. Slug's only got the one rookie card, but in Jokertown, it's real expensive already. A bunch of them would be a good investment."

"A joker? On the Yankees?" She grimaced.

"Aw, he'll do okay. Slug's not much on the base paths, but he can really block the plate."

"Oh."

I decided she wasn't a baseball fan.

The Twisted Dragon was only a narrow storefront, but I held the screen door open for her, watching her pretty face anxiously. I was afraid she would turn up her nose and leave. Instead, she stepped inside, clutching her little purse in front of her.

A couple of old, green ceiling fans creaked slowly over our heads. The hardwood floor had been worn clean of varnish years ago. None of the tables matched each other in shape or height, but they were covered with clean white tablecloths. The muffled sound of a t.v. came from the kitchen.

"Hi, Chop-Chop! How you?" The owner of the Twisted Dragon, a chubby little joker in a black suit that was too big, grinned broadly. His face was that of Chinese dragon, large and scaled and whiskered. Inside his baggy suit, his body was twisted and angled weirdly. He spoke with a heavy Cantonese accent. "You want early dinner today, eh? You come this way."

I winced at the use of my street name and glanced at Flo. She said nothing. I gestured for her to follow.

The owner limped to a small table under a ceiling fan, with straight-backed, wobbly wooden chairs. I sat facing the door. Our host handed us food-stained menus and started to leave.

"How's business?" I asked quickly. I wanted to prove to Flo that I was really part of this neighborhood.

"Business good! Really good, Chop-Chop. Couple year, maybe I sell out. Or, maybe move to bigger place, fix up real nice."

"That sounds good."

"Hokay, Chop-Chop. You decide, I send somebody back."

"I already know what I want," said Flo. She was holding her menu gingerly by the edges, as if it was a phonograph record.

"We'll order right away," I said. "What do you want?"

"Won-ton soup and sweet and sour pork," said Flo.

"Make it for two," I said.

The guy nodded, taking our menus, and hurried away.

Flo was sitting rigidly in her chair. Her dark brown ponytail quivered slightly from side to side behind her, betraying her tension. Her eyes shifted around the nearly-empty restaurant. "Are there other jokers here?"

"Uh — " I glanced around. "No, not yet. But it's early. The Twisted Dragon brings people from both sides of the street."

She nodded. Her face was covered with sweat. It wasn't that hot in here, especially under the fan.

"Do you like movies?" I asked, hoping to get the conversation going. "I want to see Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot, but I'll have to sneak out so my mother doesn't get mad. I think Marilyn Monroe is beautiful." I waited for Flo to say something. When she didn't, I went on. "Saturday, I saw I Was a Teenaged Joker, with Michael Landon. It was cool."

She shrugged, uninterested. "Is Jokertown … I mean, I know it's a neighborhood. But does it have all kinds of places?"

"Well … I guess so. What kind of places do you mean?"

She shook her head tightly and said nothing.

I watched her, puzzled. When a waitress thumped a heavy white porcelain teapot down on the table, I poured tea for Flo first. I was feeling protective.

"I'll help you, if you want," I said quietly.

"Suppose, um …" She looked down at the table for a moment. "Suppose someone wanted something that isn't normally available."

"Something illegal?"

She shrugged. "Can you really find everything in Jokertown?"

"Yeah. I think so." I waited, my heart thumping excitedly.

She was silent.

The screen door creaked. Flo didn't turn around, but I saw two jokers entering. One was a tall, slender man who had been divided down the middle by the wild card; the right side of his body was normal, but the left looked as though it had been made of candle wax, melted, and then solidified again. He walked with a slow, painful limp on his sagging, twisted leg and let his distorted arm swing freely. The other joker at least moved comfortably; he appeared to be normal, except for having the face of a teddy bear with a fixed, very happy smile.

The newcomers were seated across the narrow room. Flo glanced in their direction. Her eyes widened suddenly and she looked away, back down at our table.

"It's Jokertown," I said, puzzled by her reaction.

"It's so horrible," Flo whispered. "What that … alien … did. What he brought." The horror in her face was unmistakable.

I felt a familiar horror of my own, deep in my stomach, ruining my appetite. Maybe she was no different from other nats after all. In the same moment, however, I finally understood something I had never realized before: she was scared.

Yet she was here — with me.

I decided to sit there and enjoy the sight of her beautiful face and figure as long as I could. When our dinner arrived, we ate in silence. Even some of my appetite came back.

***

When we had finished dinner, I carefully counted out the customary ten percent tip that Peter had told me always to leave. As I paid the check, Flo stared straight down at her shoes, avoiding the sight of all the jokers who had followed us inside for dinner. Then we stepped outside and I found that the heat had finally begun to ease a little.

"Well," I said uncertainly, looking up at her.

Flo glanced up and down the street in the shadows.

"Would you like me to walk you to the Bowery or something?"

She shook her head again and suddenly peered straight down into my eyes. "Can we talk privately somewhere?"

"Sure. We can just walk. Nobody here will bother us."

"No, I mean, where we can't possibly be overheard. Inside."

"Okay. Both my parents work second jobs to get by. They won't be home till after midnight. I'll take you home."

"Good." Her voice was breathy with anxiety.

***

The walk was okay. We passed Jube the Walrus on the way, pulling his cart full of newspapers on his regular rounds. He looked very surprised to see Flo, I figured because she was so pretty. Flo looked away, as though he wasn't there.

My family lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment in a fairly small building. I closed the door and led her into the living room, where I switched on the lamps on each end table by the couch. The air was hot and stale, so I turned on the big standing fan in the corner, to sweep back and forth across the room. Then I opened the windows.

Flo paced nervously for a moment, looking around. Some framed pictures on the wall caught her eye, over the back of a pink canvas butterfly chair. "Is that your Dad?"

I came as close as I dared and raised up on tiptoe to see over her shoulder. Her perfume was light and sweet. She was looking at a posed studio picture of my father in his army uniform. A photograph of his whole platoon was next to it.

"Yeah, that's him."

"Is that the American army?"

"Yeah. 442nd Battalion."

"But they're all …" She trailed off.

"Nisei. Second generation Japanese Americans. He fought in Italy, among other places. I was born while he was in the army."

"Really? Where were you born?"

"In California."

"Where? San Francisco or Los Angeles?"

"Uh, no. A camp in Tule Lake."

"A what?" Flo turned to look down at me.

I backed away. "An internment camp for Japanese Americans."

Her brown eyes were puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it was a kind of prison camp. All the Japanese Americans on the west coast were put in them."

"Even if your Dad was in the army?"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah."

She searched my face. I felt she was actually realizing for the first time that I was more than a joker. My face grew hot.

"Want to sit down?" I gestured toward the wing-back couch.

Flo hesitated, then sat down on one end of the couch. I sat down on the far end, well away from her. I just waited.

Finally, looking down at her hands in her lap, she spoke almost in a whisper. "Do you know what an abortion is?"

"Yeah." I froze, staring at her.

"You do?" She glanced up in surprise, her ponytail swaying.

"Yeah, I've heard about them from guys on the street," I said softly. I could hardly believe this was what she wanted.

She spoke quickly. "Can I get one in Jokertown? Safely? And in absolute, total secrecy? And how much would it cost?" Her brown eyes were large now, watching me anxiously.

"I don't know," I said slowly. "But I can find out."

"Would you? Please?" Her voice was pleading.

"Sure." I got up and walked over to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter. A guy named Waffle was good for stuff like that. I dialed Biff's Burgers, but he wasn't there yet. I hung up. "A friend of mine will call back."

"Okay."

I sat down on the couch again. I wasn't going to tell her what a jerk Waffle was. "He's twenty, and he knows about … stuff like this. We'll just have to wait."

"How long do you think it will be?"

"No way to tell, but he goes by Biff's every night. When do you have to be home?"

She shook her head, then looked away. "I have to find out."

"Your parents don't make you come home on time?"

"My mother's dead," she said, almost in a whisper. Then she smiled cynically. "My father is … very important. Always busy. He thinks I'm at a girlfriend's right now." She closed her eyes.

"Your father's important?" I looked at her stylish clothes again, especially the pearls. Those weren't kiddie beads.

"He works for the government. And he has powerful friends. So I have to keep this a secret. I can't even tell you who he is."

I was getting a little scared. "Look, you want to watch TV? I'm not sure what's on — maybe Dobie Gillis."

She didn't speak or even look up.

"You know, The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, with Dobie and Maynard G. Krebs, the beatnik? Don't you like it?"

Tears seeped from under Flo's eyelids. She began to sob, fighting it quietly. Then she fumbled her purse open and pulled out some white tissues from a little plastic packet.

Before I even thought about it, I slid over to her on the couch. I guess if I understood anything deeper than baseball cards at that age, it was feeling scared and alone. When I slid one of my bright yellow arms across her rounded shoulders, under her ponytail, she leaned against me and really began to cry.

I put my other arm around her. Being shorter than she was, with short arms, made this awkward. She cried for what seemed like a long time, and I just sat there with my arms stretched almost around her, yellow against her white blouse.

Finally Flo took some deep breaths and used the tissues in her hand. Reluctantly, I withdrew the arm that was in front of her, but dared to keep the other over her shoulders. Then, with her tissues wadded in one hand, she turned toward me.

Her eyes were wet and red, her eye makeup running. She had put on more lipstick after dinner. It was bright red.

I had certainly never kissed a girl. With my immense front teeth, I wasn't even sure that I could kiss a girl, properly. I looked from her deep brown eyes down to her perfect lips.

You know, I don't know where I got the guts, but I just did it. I kissed her. If she had jumped up and slapped me, I wouldn't have been surprised, but she didn't. She kissed me back.

It lasted a long time. I couldn't tell if my teeth were a problem. Then I forgot about them.

Tears were still welling from her eyes. She took one of my hands and slid it to the front of her blouse. When I caressed her, she kissed me again.

This time she broke quickly and whispered in my ear, her breath hot. "Let's go to your room."

"But … I … don't have a, uh, you know. A rubber."

A tight smile altered her features for just a moment. "Chuck, I'm already pregnant, remember? Come on."

I got up, still clinging to her. I was certainly not going to argue very hard. Besides, it was her choice.

In my bedroom, we stepped over dirty socks and the wadded up dungarees I had worn to work yesterday. I turned on the little fan my parents had given me.

Flo stopped by the bed and stepped out of her penny loafers. Then she began to unbutton her blouse. I sat down on the bed and switched on the little portable six-transistor radio on the nightstand under the lamp.

"… Never knew what I missed until I kissed ya. …" It was the Everly Brothers' new release, quick and bouncy.

The only light angled in from the hall. Standing half in the light, she let her skirt drop to a puddle around her feet and then unfastened her white crinolines. She unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, letting her large breasts swing free. Then she bent forward and slid her white underpants down. Only the pearls still glistened on her body.

I watched as she sat down next to me. Then I tugged my t-shirt up over my head, revealing my fat belly. I really wished I had washed up a little after we had come back here.

She was the one who knew what to do. Slowly, on the narrow single bed, a girl with a gorgeous face, large breasts, and slender, shapely legs made all my wildest adolescent fantasies come true.

***

"They ran so fast that a hound couldn't catch 'em, down the Mississippi to the Gulf o' Mexico. …"

Johnny Horton was gleefully singing about the Battle of New Orleans on the little transistor radio. I opened my eyes and stared at a crack in the ceiling. "Oh … I must have dozed off."

Flo smiled at me. I wondered what she had thought of me. After all, I'd never done that before.

"I don't …" She was whispering. "I don't want you to think I — well, I don't always do this."

"I didn't think so," I said quietly.

Her face was close to mine. "My father hates the wild card. He taught me what it's done to people. He even … showed me."

"I don't have it so bad. Not when you look around Jokertown."

"My Mom wasn't … like him. You sort of remind me … not your looks, but I mean … you're real decent."

"Thank you." For me, the idea that the people who had always despised jokers could have nice daughters was a new thought.

"Jokertown … is going to be destroyed," she said suddenly.

"Hm?"

"Jokertown is going to be burned to the ground."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't think I ever realized how horrible that would be."

I sat up. "Jokertown is going to burn?"

She shook her head tightly. "I said too much."

"You can't just say that and stop. Come on."

"No! I can't!" She flung herself out of bed, turning away. Then she started crying again.

I was amazed at her abrupt shift in mood. Talking about a fire scared me, though. I jumped up and turned her by the shoulders.

"What are you talking about?"

She shook her head, trying to move away.

I stayed in front of her. "You can't just say that and quit! I live here! What about a fire?"

She was sobbing and shaking her head. After a moment, though, she swallowed and looked up at me. "All right! All right. Chuck, my father and some people he knows secretly made Jokertown, starting back in the late forties. They wanted it to be a magnet, where they could draw jokers together."

"What do you mean, 'made' it? Jokers just moved here 'cause it was cheap. Everybody knows that."

"That's right. Rich people bought the buildings here and provided the loans for businesses through their own banks. They did the same with places to live, setting up everything to be real cheap. Then, after drawing as many jokers here as possible, they're going to burn it all down."

"Aw, come on. Their own buildings?"

"The buildings are insured for lots of money. And if they have to, they'll take a loss in some cases. They can afford it."

It was starting to make sense.

"Even the fire chief is in on it. He'll make sure all the fire engines arrive too late, or never get there at all."

I truly felt like a kid. She was a year younger, but her manner was more mature, more sophisticated. She came from the real world, outside Jokertown. Her father was wealthy and powerful. Even the way she spoke sounded older than her years.

"How do you know so much about it?"

"My father still thinks of me as a little kid … between my ears." She smiled bitterly. "He doesn't try to keep this stuff a secret from me; he's always taught me that people with the wild card are the greatest danger to American society ever. He's never thought of me as a security leak."

I was silent a moment. "When is Jokertown going to burn?"

"I don't know exactly. But I think the wiring of fire-bombs is going to start any time."

"Look — can you tell me anything else? Any kind of a clue to what's going to happen?"

She paused. "The name 'Lansky.' He mentioned it over the phone to someone late last night, after I got home. I remember he said it before, too, when he was talking about Jokertown."

"What about it?"

"That's all I really have." Her tone was apologetic.

I looked into her brown eyes.

"I want to walk you home," Fats Domino sang on the little radio. "Please let me walk you home. …"

The phone rang. I hurried into the kitchen, stark naked.

"Hello?"

"Hiya, Chop-Chop; howsa boy?" Waffle's voice came through over Biff's sizzling grill and the roar of chatter behind him.

"Hi, Waffle. Look — you got to keep this a secret."

Flo came around the corner to listen. She had on her white underpants already. Now she was holding her bra, watching me.

I knew Waffle's information could always be bought, but I had no choice. "Where could a friend of mine get an abortion?"

"Damn! Way to go, Chop-Chop! Didn't know you had it in ya!" Waffle roared with laughter. "Haw! So, little Chop-Chop's got a girlfriend nobody knew about!"

I was glad Flo couldn't hear him. "Come on, Waffle."

Anyhow, Waffle came across. Since she was a nat, it would cost her three hundred for the doctor and two hundred for him. It would be done by a real doctor and we had to meet Waffle behind the Chaos Club in two nights at eight o'clock. I had to come with her. She okayed it on the spot.

I hung up. She liked the fact that this would be done by a real doctor. We had both heard about quacks in that business.

However, I told her to be down here by six o'clock. She couldn't risk getting slowed down in rush hour. If we were late, she might not get another chance. She agreed.

She had to go home now, of course. We got dressed quickly. Since she didn't want to flag down a cab in Jokertown, I agreed to walk her to the Bowery. Lots of nats came and went from the restaurants and bars there.

The night was cool and breezy. I walked with her in a glow of pride, aware that jokers were glancing at us in surprise as we passed. We stopped at the Bowery, where she hailed a cab.

"I won't go straight home," she said. "I'll go halfway home, get out, and take another cab from there. Just in case."

"Look," I said awkwardly. "Can you come back tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? You said the appointment is two nights away."

"Yeah. Just … well, if you want."

"Maybe, Chuck. Maybe. Tomorrow at the same time?"

"Yeah! Same place, same time — where I work."

"Maybe." As the cab swerved to the curb, she glanced quickly up and down the sidewalk before quickly kissing me on the mouth. Then she slipped inside the cab and slammed the door. It roared away again.

I gazed after the shrinking rear red lights of the cab, still only half believing that this night had happened.

In the breezy summer night, I walked home in a dreamy state, seeing Flo's flushed face and bare breasts against the backdrop of streetlights and shadows. With the Everly Brothers singing in my head, I never once thought about Slug Maligne's baseball card.

"… Never knew what I missed until I kissed ya. …"

The next day was just as hot and humid as yesterday, but I didn't care. Whenever the Everly Brothers came on the radio, I turned the volume way up. I smiled a lot, remembering her.

Thoughts about a big Jokertown fire wouldn't leave me alone, though. Sometimes I looked around at the buildings near me and wondered which ones might go up. I had to talk to someone about my only clue.

When I punched out at the end of the day, I still hadn't seen Flo. I hung around on the sidewalk for half an hour or so, but I guess I knew after the first ten minutes that she wasn't coming. While I was disappointed, I wasn't devastated. I knew she'd be back tomorrow night. Besides, I had business. I finally took off for Biffs.

Inside Biffs, Connie Francis was on the jukebox: "Lip stick on your col-lar … Told a tale on you — ooh. …"

At this early hour, the place was nearly empty. Behind the counter, Biff was making hamburger patties. His face and body were those of a furry brown chipmunk standing up on his hind legs, in a t-shirt and a stained bib apron. He glanced up, bored.

"Hi, Biff." I got a Coke from him and headed to a round metal table in the rear. Two of the regular joker guys were back there.

The song ended. No other song came on. The place suddenly seemed as quiet as a tomb.

Cheetah and Troll were two guys I had always kind of known, but not well. They had been involved in petty theft and break-ins of nat-owned businesses. I had always been a little afraid of them. Now I knew they might be able to help and that I could trust them to keep quiet about it, too.

"Hi, guys."

"Hi." Cheetah looked me over cautiously. I had never just walked up to them before. Cheetah had the head and neck of a chimpanzee, except for the power of human speech. Above the waist, he had the short, hairy body and long arms of one, as well, inside a white t-shirt. Below the waist, he had human proportions and wore ordinary, dirty dungarees and tennis shoes.

Troll was nine feet tall and had green, warty skin. His crooked yellow teeth stuck out in every direction and his red eyes peered out from under a heavy brow ridge. He was muscular but still slender with youth. In his huge hand, with nails like sharp, black claws, a greenish bottle of Coke had almost disappeared. He sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

"Sit down, Chop-Chop," Troll rumbled.

I sat down next to Cheetah. "You guys ever hear the name 'Lansky' before?"

Cheetah's eyes widened. Troll didn't react that I could see.

"Well, did ya?"

"Listen, keep your voice down about him," said Cheetah. "Meyer Lansky is one of the biggest racket guys ever."

"Yeah? What's he doing now? He must have something going."

"He's been seen around Jokertown lately. Word is, he came down personally in this big black Caddy to rent some warehouse space."

"Really? What's he keeping in it?"

"Chop-Chop, I wouldn't ask questions like that. He keeps his place guarded. You follow me?"

"Then where are these warehouses?"

"Chop-Chop! That kinda talk is dangerous."

"Why?" Troll asked, much more calmly.

"Well …" I felt I had to keep Flo out of my explanation, but the rest of it was joker business. "Look, I need some help. I might have to break into a place."

"What?" Cheetah's eye widened in surprise. "Little Chop-Chop's turning into a juvenile delinquent? What's the deal?"

"I can't go into it, but it's big."

"Jokers shouldn't hurt each other," Troll said firmly.

"Not jokers," I whispered. "A place is gonna burn."

"What place?" Cheetah shoved his Coke bottle aside.

"I got to keep that quiet. But I have to find out what Lansky's doing in jokertown."

"All right," said Troll. "He rented that red brick warehouse where we used to throw rocks through the windows. And the one just down the street from it, too. Take your pick."

Cheetah laughed, showing his large chimp's teeth. "Half the windows in that red one are still busted out."

"Will you help me?"

"You just want to see what's inside?" Cheetah asked.

"If I find what I'm looking for, I want a sample."

"Like what?" Cheetah studied my face.

"I don't know, exactly." I turned to Troll. "You in?"

"If a place in Jokertown is going to burn, I'm in."

"Okay. After dark, at nine, right outside."

"We'll be there," said Cheetah.

I went home for dinner. Then I told my mother that I was going back to Biff's, which was true. I met Troll and Cheetah on time.

They simply fell into step with me in the darkness outside.

"You guys know more about this than I do," I said.

"Who says?" Troll demanded, in his low rumbling growl. His belt buckle was higher than the top of my head.

Cheetah screeched with laughter. "Okay, Chop-Chop. We get the message. You just tag along."

We stopped in the shadows across the street from the red warehouse. Lights were on inside the front of the building. Pedestrians were still strolling nearby in the cool night air.

"This one or the one down the block?" Troll asked.

"Doesn't matter," I said.

Cheetah looked down at me. "This is your show."

"This one, I guess."

Cheetah led us down to the rear lot, with the loading dock. It was fenced and locked. None of the rear windows was lit.

Troll lifted Cheetah over the top rail of the eight-foot fence, then me. Last, he grasped the top of one of the steel fence posts and jumped. It bent slightly, but he was merely using it for leverage, not pulling with his full weight. At his height, the fence was just an annoyance.

Cheetah jogged quietly to the back of the building, craning his simian neck upward. He pointed with a long, hairy arm to a third story window that was almost completely broken out. Troll moved under the window Cheetah had chosen. He held Cheetah around the waist and lifted him. Cheetah's long arms stretched up to the top of the second story window, where his fingers found a hold lost in the shadows. Then Cheetah climbed upward out of his grasp to the open window and carefully moved through it, avoiding the bits of jagged glass still in the frame.

We waited in silence. Finally the rear door creaked open gently. Cheetah stuck his head out and gestured for us to follow him. "Just two guys down in the front," he whispered. "Playing cards. But they have guns."

I drew in a sharp breath. "Look, maybe — "

Troll gently shoved me forward. "Too late," he rumbled.

I followed Cheetah inside. At first the only light came from the streetlights behind us. Deeper inside, light came from the front of the warehouse, angling around tall stacks of wooden crates. I could hear the voices of the two men talking quietly to themselves, and then the rippling sound of cards being shuffled.

Troll, moving with a stealth that seemed impossible, moved over one aisle between stacks of crates. Cheetah slipped over to another aisle. I followed Cheetah, quivering with fear.

Near the end of the aisle, Cheetah turned and began climbing the stack of crates. I moved up close and simply watched. By now, I had no idea where Troll had gone.

"I'm sick of goddamned cards," said one of the men. "Three more lousy hours till we're off. You still got that flask on you?"

"Aw, come on. It's almost empty … hey, you hear somethin'?"

Suddenly Cheetah let out a shriek. I ran up to look around the corner. Cheetah was swinging on a rope that dangled from the ceiling on a block and tackle, toward the two men.

The two men were both in shirtsleeves, wearing shoulder holsters and narrow ties pulled loose. They had been sitting on crates, using a third one to hold their cards, an ashtray, and a couple of empty beer bottles. Now they looked up in shock, reaching for their guns. Jarring footsteps shook the floor as Troll ran toward them on his long, lumbering legs.

One man started to aim at Cheetah, then spun toward Troll.

"No! Not in here!" His companion screamed in terror and pushed his arm aside. "The whole joint'll go up!"

The first man hesitated, staring at Troll in astonishment. Then, ignoring his friend, he fired, apparently figuring he had nothing to lose. Two bullets ripped through Troll's shirt, careening off his hard, green skin.

The man fired again and again, backing away in horror. "Holy goddamned — "

Cheetah dropped onto his shoulders, still screeching insanely, and knocked his arm askew. As the man tumbled sideways from Cheetah's weight, Cheetah rolled and the gun skittered across the floor. The man leaped for the gun, snatching it up in both hands.

Troll was still chasing the other man, who was on his feet and backpedaling as he continued to fire. All the bullets ricocheted off Troll's skin, ripping up his clothes as they struck. Troll batted the gun out of his hand.

The first man was aiming for Cheetah.

I didn't realize I was running forward until I saw how close I was. Without thinking, I flung myself forward and collided with the man as he fired at Cheetah. The gun snapped twice in my ear as we rolled on the floor.

A much louder bang sounded high above us, but I couldn't turn to look yet. I knocked the gun away from the man, sliding it across the dirty floor. Then, before the man could recover, Troll stomped on his neck; it gave with a loud crunch.

The other man had escaped Troll, but was staring up over our heads someplace. A small fire had started in one of the crates up there. A stray bullet had hit something.

"It's gonna blow! The whole damn place!" The man screamed, looking around frantically, and tried to run past Troll.

Troll strode forward on his long legs. This time he slammed a fist the size of a volleyball into the side of the man's head. His neck snapped loudly and he collapsed to the floor.

"Never killed anybody before," Troll muttered, gazing down at the two dead bodies. "Hell, Cheetah. I didn't plan on that."

"Nobody tried to kill you before, did they?" Cheetah asked.

"Well … no." Troll grimaced and licked his crooked, yellow teeth. "Little.22 pistols. These racket guys like 'em."

"Look up there! He said it's gonna blow!" I pointed. "Come on, we gotta get outa here!"

"Aw, calm down, will you?" Cheetah demanded. "I thought you wanted to look inside one of these crates — "

A louder explosion came from high above us, by the fire. This time a couple of crates crashed to floor. Two more explosions came from them when they hit, scattering more fire.

"Come on!" I turned and ran. Behind me, I finally heard Cheetah's quick footsteps and Troll's pounding ones. Before I reached the back door, a roaring explosion shook the entire building. I stumbled through the door and ran toward the fence.

By the time I reached it, they had caught up to me. Troll grabbed a steel fence post and simply pushed it flat, shoving the entire fence down and out of our way. On the other side, I turned to look back at the warehouse.

Another series of powerful explosions thundered through the building. Red-orange flames raged in most of the windows now. Crates crashed to the floor. Smoke was pouring out through the broken windows.

"We got to call the fire department!" Cheetah yelled.

"They might not come — that's part of the deal," I shouted. "You go ahead and call! Troll, we have to find help! Come on!"

More explosions shook the building. Part of the roof collapsed. Fire danced out of the open space high above us.

While Cheetah ran for a phone, Troll and I crossed the street to an apartment building. I started inside, but he didn't bother. He looked in a second story window, where a couple of jokers were drinking beer and peering out to see what the noise had been. Troll shouted that it was a fire and to bring out the building's emergency firehose, fast.

I yelled for them to bring their neighbors. We would have to start a bucket brigade. Then Troll and I ran to the next apartment building, where we did the same.

Soon we had jokers of all shapes and sizes pouring out into the streets, running or limping or hopping or slithering. Some brought the hoses from their apartment buildings; others brought buckets from their closets or their places of business.

No one had a tool to use on the fire hydrants, but Troll was able to unscrew the protective nut with brute strength and hook up the hoses people brought out. He and some of the other strongest jokers held the hoses. I got people to line up in bucket brigades between the edge of the warehouse and some external spigots on the neighboring buildings.

Flo was right about the fire department, even with this accidental fire. They never showed up. The fire burned late into the night, and the explosions continued. None was big enough to level the building, though, and I figured out why. They weren't bombs in the sense of trying to destroy a building in one big bang. Instead, the stuff in the crates was intended to start fires that would spread afterward. All those small fires were pretty well lost in this great big one.

Actually, at first the bucket brigades didn't do much more than keep the fire from spreading on the ground. That was good, but nobody could get close enough to the building because of the heat and smoke to throw a bucket of water on it. Troll and the other big jokers holding the hoses made the real difference. With a couple of hoses on all three hydrants that were on streets by the warehouse, they kept up the spray.

It was long after midnight by the time the fire died down. Then the bucket brigades really moved in, but they were cautious because of the explosions. Finally the fire was under control and everybody cheered and ran around hugging everyone else. For that one night, all the jokers seemed to put their differences aside and work together to help their own part of town.

Most people started drifting away then. Troll and some of the others stayed until almost three in the morning to make sure the fire was out. Then he came up to me with this wet, heavy lump of metal in one hand and gave it to me. He also gave me a short piece of cord and a small lump of something that hadn't burned. I couldn't tell what any of it was, but I took it home with me. My mother had been too worried to be mad, but everything was okay when I told her I had been in the bucket brigade.

The next morning, I wrapped the unidentifiable stuff from the fire in a towel and took it to work. I stashed it on an empty warehouse shelf until lunchtime. Then, when Peter Choy sat down on a stool in front of the big freezer doors to open his lunchpail, I carried it over to him.

"Mr. Choy?"

"Hi, Chuck. You got your lunch wrapped up there?"

"Aw, heck, no. But, uh … look." I set it all down on the concrete floor and unwrapped it.

He laughed. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure. I got it from the fire last night."

"You were out there?" He leaned forward, looking closely. "I heard the explosions, but I went back to sleep."

"Mr. Choy, I'm afraid to go to the police. I don't think they'll listen to a joker — especially a kid like me. But somebody's got a whole bunch of these stashed away."

"More of them, Chuck?" His voice had suddenly grown serious.

"Yeah. Will you report it, if I tell you?"

"Tell you what. I'll go to the police with you."

"Aw, no. The fire chief is in on it. The cops might be, too."

He frowned thoughtfully. Then he closed his lunchpail and stood up. "I know where to go. No cops. Come on."

We hiked down to a little Chinatown dive on Mott Street. By the time I had carried the load through the noonday heat that far, I was exhausted and soaked in sweat. For a change, my boss was quiet, instead of friendly and joking all the time.

Inside, Peter walked up to one of the booths. A skinny, chain-smoking man with his brown hair in a buzz cut sat hunched over, alone. Wearing a baggy black suit, he was poking through a bowl of pork noodles with a fork.

"Matt? I'm Peter Choy. We used to talk sometimes when I had lunch here regularly. On my old route."

"Sure, I remember." He tugged his tie a little looser and glanced at me. "So, you want to sit, or what?"

"I might have a story for you." Peter slid into the booth and gestured for me to join him.

"Chuck, Matt Rainey here is a Chinatown beat reporter for the New York Mirror. I want you to show him what you have."

I set the bundle on the table. Then I pulled the edge of the towel back just a little. He watched Matt's face.

"Say, I haven't seen a mess like that since Korea." Matt's narrow eyes widened.

"You can tell what it was?" Peter asked.

He tapped the big piece of metal with a fingernail. "Magnesium case for an incendiary bomb. It should have been filled with thermite, only this one didn't detonate. The case melted down from heat on the outside instead. Properly detonated, it could generate enough heat to turn steel machinery into a molten puddle. This other thing is a piece of detonating cord. Wrap that around a five-gallon gas can and boom. And the last thing … maybe part of a container for phosphorous trioxide, the stuff in hand grenades." He looked at me. "What of it, kid?"

"I have to be anonymous," I said. "You can't use my name or what I look like or anything."

Matt blew smoke out to one side and grinned cynically. "You don't want your name in the paper? All that fame and glory?"

"You take it," I said.

"All right, then. Give."

"This was in the big Jokertown fire last night. Stuff like this helped start it. There's another whole warehouse full of these. And word on the street is, they belong to racket guys."

Peter turned and stared at me in amazement.

"Which guys? You got a name, kid, or just teenage gossip?"

"Lansky. He rented the warehouses."

Matt's eyebrows shot up. He puffed on his cigarette again and blew out more smoke. "That fire was real enough; I took a look this morning after I got the word. Where's the second warehouse?"

I told him.

"And you're giving me this tip free and clear? You won't come back later on, whining that I gypped you on this?"

"Aw, heck, no. I got to live around here."

Matt dropped the towel over the stuff. "Why not the cops?"

"He said the fire chief is in on it," said Peter. "Cops might be, too. And he's just a kid."

"And a joker. All right, I'll check it out. And I keep this. Now leave me alone, all right?"

I slid out of the booth, glad to get away from him. Peter thanked him. Out on the street again, though, even Peter let out a long breath of relief. Then we started to walk.

"In a sense, he's taking advantage of you," said Peter. "If that proves out, he'll get lots of credit that should go to you."

"It's okay with me," I said.

Tonight was the night. Before six o'clock, I started walking toward the Bowery on the route Flo had taken before, hoping to run into her on the way. I didn't see her. Starting to worry, I paced up and down the sidewalk, peering closely at every cab. Six o'clock passed. I paced more frantically.

When I saw Jube the Walrus down the block on his regular run, I ran after him. "Hey, Jube! Jube!"

"Evenin', Chop-Chop. Have you heard the one about — "

"Look, Jube, I'm in a hurry. That girl I was with yesterday — have you seen her?"

"No, Chop-Chop, I'm afraid not. You're expecting her, eh?"

"Yeah! And it's important — she wouldn't miss this!"

"No? Well, this isn't her part of town. I was surprised to see you with her. I never thought she'd come to Jokertown."

"You mean you know her?"

"Not personally, of course. From her picture in the paper."

"In the paper? Look — do you know who she is?"

"Whoa! Don't you?"

"Well — no. I just met her."

"Chop-Chop, she's Fleur van Renssaeler. Her daddy is Henry van Renssaeler, the Congressman."

"He is? Uh — do you know where they live?"

Jube didn't know, but he was able to find out. I suppose it might have been in the society pages of an old paper or something. He told me to meet him back there on the corner in fifteen minutes, which I did. Henry van Renssaeler lived with his daughter and her two older brothers, Brandon and Henry, Jr., in a penthouse apartment. I never did find out why Jube bothered to help me. Looking back, I suppose he resented her father's attitude toward the wild card.

I wasn't going to go after Flo — Fleur — alone, though. First I hurried over to Biff's. Cheetah and Troll were hanging around there at that hour as usual. Tonight the place was full of other jokers, though, all talking about the fire. After last night, Cheetah and Troll were up for more adventure. Even back in those days, Troll had a sense of what you might call joker identity. When I got them aside, I told them I had to visit the home of a well-to-do nat girl and was real scared. They agreed to come along. So we headed uptown on the subway.

The apartment building was in just the kind of fancy area of New York you might have expected. In those days, you know, even rich people didn't have the kind of security you see nowadays. They didn't need it then.

We just walked inside and went over to the elevator. This young guy in a gray uniform was sitting there on a stool, reading a comic book. His eyes got real wide when he saw us, but he just took us up without a word.

I was nervous when I knocked on the penthouse door. The little peephole darkened as someone looked out. Then I heard a muffled gasp and footsteps and voices inside.

Finally the door was yanked open. This stiff, arrogant man in a suit and tie was glaring down at me. He had to be Fleur's father, Henry van Renssaeler.

"Is Fleur here?" I sounded like a kid who wanted her to play.

"Get out of here!" He jerked his head toward the elevator door. "You filthy…." When he looked up and saw Troll behind me, his mouth just dropped open.

Behind him in the foyer, I could see a uniformed black maid and a couple of other servants staring at us. Then Henry swung the door to slam it in my face. Before it shut, though, Troll reached over my head and gripped the doorframe with one giant, warty hand. The door banged off his hand and bounced open again.

I felt another very large hand shove me forward, inside the apartment. Cheetah, laughing loudly, danced past me to a small table and ripped a telephone cord out of the wall. The servants huddled in a corner, where Cheetah held them by showing his teeth, waving his arms, and making his favorite chimp noises.

I turned. Troll ducked inside the doorway, slammed the door shut, and leaned down toward Henry, trapping him against the wall with a green arm as thick as my waist. Henry was sweating heavily, speechless.

"Where's Fleur?" I demanded.

Her father glanced down at me, but he didn't speak. I couldn't tell if he was being defiant or was just too scared. Anyhow, I turned around and yelled her name.

"Here!" Her voice was distant and muffled, but a knocking sound was much sharper.

I rat down a long carpeted hallway. "Fleur! It's Chuck!"

"I'm locked in! Over here!" She pounded on her door again.

I fumbled with the knob, but it required a key. "Troll!"

His footsteps pounded down the hall toward me.

"Look out, Fleur! Back up!" I stepped aside and Troll simply crashed into the door, smashing it down.

Fleur stood in the middle of the room, staring at Troll in horror.

"Cone on!" I darted inside and grabbed her arm. "Have you got the money? For tonight?"

"No I couldn't get to the bank." She snatched up her purse.

I dragged her out and pulled her down the hall.

Chetah was still jumping around in front of the servants, but Henry had started toward us. He stopped, though, when he saw Troll coming back. Fleur looked away from him as I drew her past him toward the front door.

"Whore!" Henry yelled. "Filthy whore — joker's whore!"

We stopped at her bank in the neighborhood. She acted like she was in a trance, quivering and sweating but doing everything she had to do. Once she had the cash, we took Fleur back to Jokertown on the subway, of course. I kept an eye on her wristwatch. We would just barely make her appointment.

Back in Jokertown, I thanked Cheetah and Troll. They took the hint and got lost. I led Fleur quickly up the sidewalk in the waning light. She clung to me, crying quietly.

"What happened? Did your father find out?"

Her voice was tight. "Not exactly. But he was real mad that I was out the other night — he checked up on me and found out that I wasn't at my girlfriend's after all. When I started to leave yesterday, he locked me in."

"Now I've really done it — he saw you with jokers."

When we reached the rear of the club, Waffle was pacing restlessly by the back door. He looked like a human-shaped cookie cut-out of a waffle in both texture and color, and in his very flat shape. He wore a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his brown, waffled shoulders, and blue dungarees with the cuffs rolled up over white socks and dirty tennis shoes.

"Gimme the dough," said Waffle.

She handed me five one-hundred dollar bills. I held them out.

Waffle snatched them. "All right, follow me."

We followed him. He led us up a back alley and then opened a small unmarked door. He went inside first. This door opened on a narrow hallway. I shut it behind us.

Waffle opened an interior door. "They're here, Doc."

The elderly man who appeared was of Chinese descent, short and stocky like Peter Choy, with receding black hair and a deeply lined face. He wore a long white lab coat. His otherwise human face had a long duck beak. "I'm just Doc," he said calmly. "My nickname is Peking Doc. You don't need to tell me your name."

"Hi," said Fleur, in a whisper, as she stared at his beak.

Doc turned to me. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, young man. Now, don't worry. I'll give your friend something to make her drowsy and everything will be fine. But it will be an hour before she wakes up and two hours before she's herself again. I'll have to ask you to remain in the next room." He pointed.

"All right," I said, turning to Fleur. "Uh — good luck."

"She'll be fine." Doc held open another door and gestured for Fleur to precede him.

She gave me a terrified glance and stiffly walked through it.

Waffle slipped past me and left by the back door. I went into the room Doc had pointed out. It was dark until I switched on a corner lamp. Then I picked up copies of Reader's Digest to look for the funny stuff.

Nearly an hour passed. Suddenly I wondered if Matt Rainey had accomplished anything today. I decided to find out, despite what Doc had said, and slipped outside, making sure that the door would not lock behind me. Then I ran to the nearest newsstand and snatched up a copy of the New York Mirror, tossing coins onto the counter. I hurried back to the clinic.

Doc was standing in the hall, glaring at me.

I swallowed, too scared to speak.

"Your friend will be fine," Doc said finally. "She has asked to see you, but she should not try to walk for another hour or so. I'll be in my office until then."

"Yeah, okay."

Doc showed me into a room where Fleur lay on an examination table under a sheet. Only a small lamp was on. Doc closed the door after me.

"How are you?" I whispered.

"It's over," she said quietly, blinking back tears.

"He said you'll be okay."

"Yeah."

"He said you still have to rest. I'll go back out — "

"Don't go. Please." Her voice cracked and she started to cry.

"All right." I sat down on a small wheeled stool.

She calmed down again. "What's that?"

"The final edition of today's Mirror." Unfolding it for the first time, I looked at the front page.

ARSON PLOT FOILED ran the headline in big, black letters. Under it, the byline added, "By Matt Rainey."

"He did it!" I started skimming the article. "He took what I found to the cops and they believed him! Yeah! And they hit the other warehouse early this morning — at dawn! Cool!"

"Really?" Her voice still came in a quiet whisper.

"And in time for the final edition — that's fast! Oops …"

"What is it?"

"Well … I'm sort of in here. He says he got some street directions from 'an alleged Jap joker.'" I winced at the phrase.

"My father's friends won't care about street directions."

"Wow — it says a mysterious black Cadillac turned a nearby corner and hit the brakes. It made an illegal U-turn and took off before the cops could get after 'em. I bet that was Lansky!"

I heard a loud knocking, actually a pounding, on the outside door. Doc's footsteps went from his office to the back door and the knob clicked as he unlocked it. I figured it was his next appointment. Then I heard scuffling out in the hall.

Fleur gasped and struggled to sit up. "What is it?"

I ran to the door. When I opened it, Doc was falling to the floor, holding his hands over his beak. Henry van Renssaeler, his fists clenched, strode toward me, wild-eyed.

"Where is she? Where is she, you joker scum?"

"Hey — " I blocked his way, but he smacked me aside.

He marched past me into the examining room. "Goddamn filthy joker's whore!"

I rushed after him, but I didn't know what to do.

"Thought you could escape me? You can never get away from me!"

Fleur was staring at him, speechless.

I overheard your little hero's question about going to the bank — and your answer! I sent one of the servants to catch up to you there and follow you. He tailed you here, then found a phone to report back to me at home. I was a little slow finding the place; I will not dirty myself asking jokers for directions. But you see, my darling daughter, you can't get away from me."

"You're too late!" Fleur spat back at him. "You're too late, Daddy. You can see what kind of place this is. You won't have another child — not through me, anyway!" She started sobbing.

I finally started getting the picture — the whole picture.

"Quiet! Quiet, you slut!" He started toward her.

"And he knows!" She pointed to me. "And now Doc has seen you — and the servant knows! Everyone will know, Daddy!" Fleur threw off the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the table. She jumped to the floor, but staggered dizzily.

Henry leaped forward to grab her.

I ran forward and hit his legs in a flying tackle. We both crashed to the floor. I grabbed one of his arms with both hands and tried to bite his wrist with my gigantic buck teeth.

Henry screamed and jerked himself away, falling again. I had hardly had a chance to nip him, but he was acting crazy. He scuttled away from me with a horrified look on his face.

Behind me, Fleur, who was still stark naked, snatched up her clothes, purse, and shoes in a bundle. She darted behind me. I backed out, still snapping idiotically at Henry.

When we were out of the room, I slammed the door shut to delay him. Fleur was already jumping over Doc, who was lying in a daze watching us, as she headed for the door. Then I followed her out and pointed down the alley. I pulled her down behind some old oil drums being used as trash cans.

While Fleur pulled her clothes on, I got down low and peered around the edge of an oil drum. Her father had stopped outside the door, looking around. He couldn't decide which way to go.

"You ready yet?" I whispered, glancing back over my shoulder.

"Almost. Gotta get my shoes on," she whispered back.

Suddenly bright headlights swung toward us as a car turned from the street into the alley behind Doc's door. A long, shiny black Cadillac pulled up to a stop. As one of the rear windows opened, Henry trotted toward it.

"It's Lansky," I whispered. "Or one of his lieutenants."

"Oh, no!" Fleur scrambled up next to me and looked.

As her father leaned down toward the open window, two loud shots snapped out, making the same sound as the guns in the warehouse last night. He crumpled to the ground.

The Cadillac backed quickly into the street, paused to reverse gear, then smoothly glided out of sight.

I got up, still in shadow, and looked at Henry van Renssaeler, U.S. Congressman. He was lying motionless on his back, his face a bloody mess. I thought Fleur might be upset, but she walked toward him, looking at him.

"Is he dead?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah." I came up next to her.

She let out a long breath and sagged against me, crying quietly. When she spoke again, her voice was oddly strong. "They did it. All those self-righteous, stuffy, prim and proper know-it-alls, so perfect and good."

"They had Lansky arrange it again."

"Yeah. He was already scared. This morning he came into my room and yelled at me. I never saw him that scared before."

"His own friends killed him?"

"He didn't have friends, Chuck. Not real ones. He had business associates. I bet they arranged his death, 'cause he was in charge of their arson plot. The police might find a lead to him. Now he's a dead end."

"Yeah."

"Those people move fast."

"Like I said, Lansky or his guys must have been in that Cadillac when they saw the cops breaking into the warehouse. So they knew the secret was out. But how did they find him here?"

"That servant my father mentioned. He's probably in their pay to spy on him."

For the first time, though, one mystery finally fell into place: why the daughter of a rich, powerful man had come alone to Jokertown for an abortion instead of seeking out the illegal abortionists available to the wealthy. Jokertown was the one place where her father had no business associates or social contacts who might have gotten word back to him.

Maybe she had taken a measure of revenge on her father two nights ago by having sex with a joker. After all, I was just the kind of person her father hated most. She could not have planned on finding someone to wind up in bed with, but I remembered that she had not hesitated.

Now it made a twisted kind of sense. I felt a sinking feeling inside. As I had suspected in the beginning, having a nat girl from her background truly like me was just impossible.

"What about … us?" I asked her timidly.

"I have to go back and deal with my brothers now. We'll be inheriting stuff and dealing with lawyers and who knows what. I don't even know who my legal guardian will be."

"I meant, uh, you and me."

Fleur hurried around the body of her father, her ponytail bouncing. I hurried after her in the breezy darkness. She was heading quickly for the street and didn't look sleepy now at all.

"Can't we talk?" I nearly had to jog to keep up with her.

She didn't say anything. In fact, she didn't even wait to reach the edge of Jokertown before trying to hail a cab. Suddenly her steps grew wobbly and she staggered to her right, dizzily. I grabbed her arm and steadied her. We stopped by the curb.

"I'll go straight home from here this time," she said quickly, still avoiding my eyes. She waved over my head and a cab suddenly swerved over to us.

"I, uh, I love you."

"Oh, Chuck." She finally turned her beautiful face toward me again. Tears came to her brown eyes as she looked at me. For one very long moment, she actually seemed to see me as a regular guy.

Maybe that was the only second in my entire life that I actually forgot what I looked like — just for a fleeting second.

Then Fleur broke the gaze. The cab had pulled up next to us. Without looking back, she yanked open the door and ducked inside the cab, slamming the door. The cab roared away up the street, taking her away forever.

"… Never knew what I missed until I kissed ya. …