Card Sharks

went away and you were living with someone you really didn't know all that well …

'David, I appreciate all that. I do. It's just — '

'Just what, Hannah?' He sounded more annoyed than concerned now. 'You want off this stupid fire, well, I can understand that. Malcolm's just pissed that I forced his boss to hire you. You don't want to deal with jokers; well, I'm not particularly comfortable with you prowling around in J-Town, either. I'll call Malcolm tomorrow.'

'David — ' Hannah began, wondering how he could be so blind as to say exactly the wrong thing. Don't you understand? You pulled the strings and they all resent it. I can sympathize with that. I'm finding lately that I'm beginning to resent it too. I hate that it's Jokertown. I hate that jokers are involved, but this one's mine and I need to show them that I'm competent. I should never have let you find me the job. I should have come to New York on my own, found my own place, found my own work instead of letting you arrange everything for me. But I was in love with you, and you were so convincing. …

But Hannah didn't say any of that. She tried to deflect the argument. 'I don't want you to call Malcolm, David. Thanks, but I can handle this. This is going to be big news, even if it is in Jokertown. It'll be good for me.' David shrugged at that; she knew he would. A city attorney with political aspirations understood power, after all. He understood publicity and career moves. Hannah took David's arm and pulled him down on the couch, snuggling next to him. 'Listen, I don't want to argue. I'm tired and beat and I'm saying things I don't really mean. I still smell like the inside of a chimney. I want to hug, cuddle a little, then take another shower and go to bed.'

'To bed?'

'Yeah,' she said. 'I'm not too tired, if you're not.'

The lines of David's thin face slowly softened.

'I love you,' Hannah said.

'You don't mind, then, if I record this?'

'Not at all, Ms. Davis. Go ahead. Please, I want to help you in any way I can.'

Hannah set the tape recorder down on the tray stand next to Father Squid's hospital bed. She checked the record light. 'Recording started on September 17, 1993, at 8:17 A.M.,' she said and stepped back again. The priest watched her with something close to amusement in his watery green eyes. The oxygen tubing ran through the wriggling mass of tentacles that were his nose. His skin was a pale gray. He greeted her with a fleeting, almost sad smile. There was webbing between his long fingers and round vestigial suckers on his palms, and when he spoke, the scent wafting from him reminded Hannah of vacations in North Carolina, wandering through the tidal pools along the beach. Behind him, monitors ticked and whirred.

'I want you to know that we're talking to all survivors and witnesses, Mr. … ummmm …' Hannah stopped. Her Catholic upbringing made it seem heretical to call him 'Father.'

'Father Squid, is what most people call me,' he said, and there was amusement under that voice. 'Even those who aren't of my church. If you're not comfortable with that, I understand.'

Hannah shrugged as if she didn't care. She didn't think the gesture convinced either of them. 'Father, then,' she said.

Father Squid coughed suddenly, sending the scent of tidal brine through the room. He wiped his mouth with a tissue. Hannah watched the tentacles wriggling around his fingers as he did so. 'I'm sorry,' he said afterward. 'The smoke in the lungs … Tell me one thing, Ms. Davis — will you catch him?'

'I will try … Father.' She stumbled over the word. 'To do that, I need you to tell me everything you can.'

'May I ask you a question first?'

Hannah shrugged.

'You're afraid of jokers, aren't you?' Father Squid held up a web-fingered hand, stopping her protest. His eyes, kindly and snagged in tidal ripples of skin, smiled gently at her. 'Please don't take offense. You seem to find the curtains and the bedspread a lot more interesting than my poor face. The only time you've approached my bed is to put your tape recorder down, and now you're sitting all the way on the other side of the room. You held your breath when I coughed. My guess is that you're new to the city, and you don't know that the virus can't be passed by a joker's cough.' Again, a soft, sad smile showed under the tentacles. 'And the way you're blushing tells me that you're sensitive enough to care that I've noticed.'

Hannah could feel the flush on her cheeks. 'I've been here three months,' she said. 'I'll admit that my contact with jokers and aces has been … limited.'

'Yet they gave you this assignment.' The smile touched the lips again. 'I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.'

The words stung. 'Father, I can assure you that I'm entirely capable of handling this. I was in charge of several arson investigations back in Cincinnati.'

'Fires like this one?' Father Squid asked, but the smile took away some of the edge.

'No,' Hannah admitted. 'Father, I won't gild the truth; even when a fire is so obviously arson, proving a case against someone can be very difficult — your evidence tends to literally go up in smoke. But I have a good team of investigators working with me, and I have the cooperation of the fire and police departments. If your firesetter can be caught, I'll catch him.'

He nodded, gently and sympathetically. 'I'm sure you'll try. Yet …'

'Yet?'

His gaze held her softly; after his comments to her, Hannah could not look away. 'Would your superiors have given this assignment to you if the Archdiocese of New York's cathedral had burned down, if the victims had included, let's say, a council member's family or two? What if a hundred of the Park Avenue wealthy had died instead of jokers? Do you think that you and your 'team' would be alone, or would the outraged hue and cry have mobilized every last department in the state, maybe even have brought in the federal agencies? Would you be the one interviewing the Archbishop in his hospital room?'

'I can't answer that,' Hannah said, but she could. No, it wouldn't be me. It'd be Myricks, or probably Malcolm himself. Not me.

'I know you can't,' Father Squid was saying. 'And it's not really fair of me to ask. I'm sure you'll do whatever you can. Behind your professional mask, you have a kind face.'

'Father — '

'I know, that sounds trite. But it's true. Forgive me for my meanness and pettiness, but I think they chose you because they think a young, attractive, and relatively inexperienced woman will fail and they don't think that matters. I think it's because a fire in Jokertown isn't deemed to be worth the effort of the best people in your department, because they really don't care if a murderer of jokers is ever found as long as they can show that they made some effort. I also think that they made the wrong choice if that was their thought. So … where do I start, Ms. Davis? What can I tell you?'

Hannah wanted to respond angrily, but she had found herself nodding inside to each of his arguments. She retreated into routine. 'Had you received any threats recently? Do you know of anyone with a grudge against you or your church?'

'My child,' he said softly, sounding for all the world like Bing Crosby in The Bells of Saint Mary's, 'I receive threats regularly, at least once or twice a month, and the list of those who might conceivably have reason to be annoyed with me is impossibly long. You don't have the manpower to check out each and every one of them. Besides, I'm a recognizable and easy target. I'm out in public every day. I never lock the doors to the church or to my house. If someone wanted to kill me, there were a thousand easier ways to do it. Ways that needn't … that needn't have killed — '

Father Squid's voice broke. Tears welled in his eyes, and he brought up a hand to wipe them away. 'My dear God,' he husked out, his voice quavering. 'All those poor, poor people …' He gave a great, gasping sob that pulled Hannah from her seat. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but she held back. She told herself it was only because she was being professional, not because she didn't want to touch a joker. After a few moments, Father Squid brought his hands up and knuckled his eyes with an embarrassed laugh. 'I'm sorry … All last night and this morning … every so often I would remember and find myself crying. Each time I think I've finally cried myself dry I find that there's still more grief underneath, layers and layers of it.' Father Squid looked at her with stricken eyes. 'Ms. Davis, what kind of monster would do a thing like this? Those innocents …' The tears