Card Sharks

began again; this time he let them fall unashamedly down his face and into the tentacles.

'Father, you said that you 'remember.' What do you remember?'

'It … it all happened so fast. It was Black Queen Night, after all, and so the church was full. …'

'Black Queen Night?'

Father Squid smiled at that, briefly. 'You are a newcomer, aren't you? September 15th is Wild Card Day, ever since that day in '46 when Jetboy failed us and let the alien virus loose. The world remembers on that day, but the 15th is the day for the nats and the aces — the ones the virus left untouched or the ones it made into something more than human. In a way, the 15th is a day of celebration. But the 16th, though … the 16th is for Jokertown. The 16th is for sadness. The 16th is when we remember the 90 % of those who are forced to draw from the wild card deck get the Black Queen — the killer. And we remember that in some ways they're the lucky ones, because almost all of the rest of us get the Joker, the bitter card. We became freaks.'

Father Squid spat out the last few sentences. His gaze had gone distant. 'When did you become aware of the fire?' Hannah asked, and that brought Father Squid's glance around to her again.

'I noticed a haze about the time I was saying the benediction. I remember thinking that I should have turned on the ceiling fans. Mighty Wurlizter …' Father Squid stopped again. Muscles knotted in his jaw. He swallowed hard. '… began playing and people started singing. There was a lot of coughing — I noticed that, too. I found myself clearing my throat. And then … I saw a flame … at the side door …'

The voice broke again. Hannah said nothing, letting Father Squid compose himself before proceeding. 'Then it was just chaos,' he said finally.

'You didn't see anyone, didn't hear anything from the basement, didn't smell anything?'

'No, I'm afraid not.' Father Squid smiled apologetically. 'I remember thinking that this was just like the movie. You know — Jokertown, with Jack Nicholson and Marilyn Monroe?'

'What do you mean, like the movie?'

'You've never seen it?'

'A long time ago. I remember something about a plot against the jokers, some rich guy …' Hannah shrugged.

'They wanted to burn down Jokertown. They wanted to burn everything, all of us.'

The slow voice came from Hannah's left, in the corner of the room. Hannah jumped, startled — she hadn't heard anyone enter and she couldn't imagine how anyone could have slipped behind her from the doorway.

Someone had. She recognized the humpbacked figure. 'Quasiman,' she said aloud, identifying him for the tape recorder. The joker glanced at her.

'Who are you?' he asked. 'Do I know you?'

'Don't you remember? You talked to me yesterday. Your … your right arm was missing then.'

'It was?' Quasiman shrugged as if he'd forgotten the entire incident, then went to Father Squid's side, looking down at the priest with an infinite tenderness on his strange, slack-muscled face. 'How are you, Father?' he asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, 'I'm sorry. I saw, but I didn't know … I couldn't get them all out. Only a few …'

Father Squid had reached up with his hand. He clasped the hunchback's shoulder. 'You did more than anyone else could have. I owe you my life.' Quasiman nodded, then he stiffened alongside the bed, looking off into distances only he could see.

'What's the matter with him?' Hannah asked. She hated looking at Quasiman even more than Father Squid. Something about him made her shudder in revulsion.

Father Squid shook his head. 'Parts of him just go away at times. Sometimes parts of his body will just vanish. Other times it's his mind or his memories — often he doesn't remember me or what happened yesterday or where he is. Sometimes — like now — he just shuts down entirely.'

'How long does it last?'

'A few seconds. Minutes. There's no way to tell.'

Hannah started to ask another question, but Quasiman's eyes came back into focus then, and he was staring at her. 'I remember you now,' he said. 'I needed to tell you — Father Squid is right. The fire was like the movie. You need to look into that. You ought to watch it.'

'Why? How's a movie going to help me?'

'It was real,' Quasiman insisted, and Father Squid's soft voice followed.

'Some of the events in the movie were based on facts,' the priest said. 'The script was written with the actual story in mind. There was a conspiracy, if not exactly one in the movie, back in the late '50s. '59, I think.'

'Yes,' Quasiman said. He was gripping the railing of the bed, and Hannah, fascinated, watched the metal bars bending under the pressure of the joker's fingers. Whatever Quasiman's other problems, he was incredibly strong. 'There's a lot we need to know. Start with the movie,' he said. 'You have to.'

'I don't think so,' she told him. 'I'm sorry, but we're not going to catch our torch by looking up a thirty-plus year old plot. I have a lot of leads to follow, good ones — '

Quasiman was suddenly right in front of her, those horribly strong hands on either arm of her chair as he leaned in at her. Hannah could hear the wood-grained Formica of the handles cracking as she pressed her spine against the back of the chair. 'Jesus, get away from me!' she shouted, but she couldn't escape. His breath touched her, warm and sweet, but it was the breath of a joker, of someone infected by that awful virus. She would have pushed at him, but she couldn't bring herself to touch him. Hannah started to shout once more to call the nurses and security guards, but Quasiman's face stopped her. There was no menace there, only a soft, pleading concern. 'This is very important, Hannah,' he said, and the use of her name was startling. 'I know. Please.'

'Quasiman,' Father Squid said from the bed. 'You're frightening the young woman.'

'Oh,' the joker said, as if startled. 'Sorry. It's just — ' He lifted his hands up suddenly and gave Hannah an apologetic smile. He scuttled away from the chair and Hannah slowly relaxed.

'Just what?' Hannah asked shakily.

'I know that you need to start there. With the movie.'

'You keep saying that,' Hannah answered. 'You 'know.' I don't understand.' She looked from Quasiman to Father Squid; it was Father Squid who answered.

'Another by-product of Quasiman's affliction is limited precognition,' he told her. 'One of the places his awareness seems to go during his episodes is the future. The vision is very erratic, and he can't control it, but it's there. God has seen fit to grant my friend occasional glimpses of what is to be.'

'Yes,' Quasiman agreed. 'I've seen you, Hannah. I've seen us. I've seen other faces. I'm going to try very hard to remember.'

'Great. That all sounds very convenient. Now just tell me who started the fire and I'll have him arrested and we can all go home. In fact, with that kind of evidence, we can probably just do away with the trial, too.' She wouldn't look at either of the jokers. She stared at the cracks Quasiman's fingers had left in the chair arms.

Father Squid's reply was as gentle as ever, and made Hannah's sarcasm seem even more vitriolic in comparison. 'Ms. Davis, I wonder how many comments were made in your office yesterday?' he asked. 'I wonder how many people said that there s no way you can find this murderer?'

'What's your point, Father?'

'I just wonder if you're letting your preconceptions blind you right now. After all, how much is Quasiman asking of you? An extra interview? An hour of your time?'

There'd been comments. Hannah had even half-heard some of them. 'Even granting that there's something to what you're saying, this supposed plot is ancient history. Half the people involved must be dead.' Hannah said. 'I don't know who to contact or where to start.'

'I do,' Father Squid answered. 'If you're willing. If you can bring yourself to talk to another joker.'

The priest's barbed comment brought up Hannah's eyes. She looked from Father Squid to the hunchback. She knew he was pushing all her buttons, but she wasn't going to be called a bigot. She sighed. 'All right,' she said. 'I can give you an hour.'