Metrophage

could make out smooth Greek marbles and Indian bronzes laid out along the severe geometry of Victorian flower beds.

'When we were driving out to Santa Monica to pick up your dope from those Gobernacion boys, I asked you about the new leprosy. You just laughed and told me you hadn't had a cold in forty years. But it wasn't until a few days ago that the Croakers found out that the layered virus was attached to a cold bug. That means you knew all along exactly what this virus was, which means you've been lying to me ever since this mess got started. Or was it just another clue in your game? Am I supposed to be flattered that you decided to fuck with my head all this time?' His voice was growing shrill; he took a step toward the lord.

Conover nodded toward the statues. 'Come outside. I want you to see the garden before we leave.'

'Fuck you, old man.'

Conover casually raised the Futukoro a few centimeters. 'Jonny, consider that from my point of view, the simplest thing for me would be to shoot you and put your body on ice until my ride arrives. But I'm giving you a chance to stay alive. These people don't want to hurt you, they just need your blood.'

'How are you going to get us to the desert, man? The roads between here and New Hope are gonna be full of Committee boys and gangs. You can't fly over it; a hovercar can't make it that far.'

'There's no reason to go to the desert,' said Conover tiredly.

'There's nothing out there. New Hope is on the moon, safe and out of harm's way. That structure in the desert is little more than a grandiose movie set. This is Hollywood, boy. A crew from CineMex put it together for us. It might have blown the Alpha Rats' image if the general public knew about all that old money sitting right next door.'

Jonny took a deep breath. Between the tequila and the bombs Conover kept dropping on him, he could hardly see straight. 'Ever since Zamora asked me to turn you, I've been trying to figure out who was lying to me and who was telling the truth. Now I find out that you're the only one that was lying. Everybody else, including Nimble Virtue and that sheik, was telling me whatever part of the truth they knew. That situation never even crossed my mind.'

'Don't be such a pussy, Gordon,' said a gravelly voice from the garden. 'Come outside and have a drink.'

Jonny looked at Conover 'That makes the evening perfect,' he said. The smuggler lord shrugged.

'I couldn't realistically keep the Colonel out of it forever,' said Conover apologetically.

'Of course he couldn't,' said Colonel Zamora from the doorway to the sculpture garden. 'I've got contacts in government circles, too, you know. I put enough of it together to see what Conover was up to.'

Jonny followed Zamora out to the garden. Conover followed. A light scrim supported by a network of poles sheathed in some light-absorbing material kept out most of the blowing sand; the scrim fluttered in the storm, beating like the wings of grounded birds.

'You're an asshole, Colonel,' Jonny said.

'And you got funny eyes, kid.' Zamora set down his drink.

Jonny tensed, ready to intercept the blow he knew would come- but the Colonel just smiled at him. 'You should be nice to me, Gordon. We're partners now.'

'Did you have your brains surgically removed or something?' Jonny asked. 'Don't you know this guy's talking about war?'

'You think I don't know about war, Gordon?' The Colonel went to a portable teak bar, poured amber liquid into a glass and brought it back to Jonny (quietly laughing his breathy laugh). 'After tonight, with Conover gone and the gangs squashed, I'll own this city. Take a look down there,' the Colonel said, steering Jonny to the edge of the roof.

The Hollywood Hills fell sharply away from Conover's mansion, forming a featureless black lake whose shore was a million burning lights. Straight ahead was Hollywood and the translucent tent where Jonny had once lived. Off to the right was the business district, Lockheed's glowing torus and the all but invisible silicon sphere of Sony International. Jonny glanced back at Conover and caught him tying off with a length of green surgical tubing, a loaded syringe in his other shaky hand.

'Listen,' said Colonel Zamora.

Jonny turned back to the lights. He could not hear it at first above the hissing of the falling sand, and when he did hear it, it was as an echo. Faint backslap of an explosion from below. His ears, having found the sound, could identify other explosions, the garbled reverberations of amplified voices barking stern warnings in several languages.

Zamora was resting his elbows on the top of the low garden wall. 'You think I don't know about war?' he asked. 'I've lived in this city all my life. I eat, drink, sleep, and shit war.' Jonny looked at the man and would have laughed, had he not been so sure the Colonel was absolutely serious.

Jonny walked to the bar and set down his drink, untouched.

Conover was resting against the base of a bronze of Shiva (face lost in the Destroyer's shadow), green surgical tubing dangling from one hand, the Futukoro from the other, breathing deeply as the Greenies came on. Something moved by a ripped section of scrim at the far end of the roof. Jonny moved back to the garden wall, not wanting to be in the open if it was one of Conover's sentry robots.

'It's the end of your world down there, Gordon.'

'That's what Conover keeps telling me,' Jonny said.

'Don't get me wrong, the gangs were ballsy bastards, especially the Croakers,' Zamora said. 'But they're a bunch of romantic idiots. Junkies with zip guns and rocks cannot stand up to a well-organized fighting unit like the Committee.'

'Really Pere Ubu, if you keep talking like that I'm going to think you're an idiot, and what fun is it beating an idiot?' There was a crackle of Futukoro fire from down below as from the top of the scrim, a crystal gecko fell and burst into a fountain of flame, spewing a stream of fish, flowers, birds and all five of the Platonic solids straight up into the air. Sections of the netting burst into guttering flame where the fountain touched it, the wind and sand blowing down on the garden through widening holes.

'What would you say if I told you your boys were going to lose tonight?' The voice came from right behind them, low on the garden wall. Crouching there all in black, Futukoro in hand, Groucho flashed Jonny a quick smile. 'Told you I'd come if I could. Besides, I thought you might have run off again. Glad to see you didn't.'

'Me too,' said Jonny.

Zamora half-turned in Groucho's grip, gazing up at the anarchist good-humoredly. 'Nice stunt kid, but you aren't going to win this thing with card tricks.'

'I'm not worried about the Committee right now, Ubu,' said Groucho, hopping lightly off the wall. 'I'm here for you.'

'I see. And this is the part where I fall apart and see the error of my evil wasted life?' Zamora laughed. 'Come on kid, wise up. In the morning I'm going to be running this town. You want to make a deal?'

'You guys are just full of deals, aren't you?' Groucho said.

'Come on, Groucho, Figure it out. Everybody does exactly what they have to get the job done. Now what do you want? A piece of the city for the Croakers? A cut of the drug action? You can have it.'

'It's not enough,' said the anarchist. 'We are the revolt of the spirit humiliated by your works. We live on our dreams. We can't settle for anything less than everything.'

Zamora shrugged and leaned against the garden wall. 'Then you're dead, asshole.'

'Admit it, Colonel: It's over,' said Groucho.

'Boy, it's never over.'

Zamora's old lizard flesh was fast. He moved to the right, feinting a back knuckle to the head, and drove a knee up at the anarchist's mid-section. Groucho, however, was faster. He slipped the Colonel's kick and swept his foot, knocking Zamora onto his back.

Jonny saw Conover then, emerging from Shiva's gloom. 'Down!' he yelled, but the anarchist was already falling, Conover's Futukoro still smoking as he emerged into the light.

By the time Jonny got there, Zamora was on his feet, rubbing at one uniformed shoulder. Groucho's eyes were wide, bubbles fringing an exit wound in his chest, matching his breathing. Groucho gripped Zamora's trouser leg, not recognizing the man. 'I am here by the will of the people, he said, 'and I will not leave until I get my raincoat back.' The bubbles on his chest were smaller and fewer each time they appeared. Gradually, they disappeared altogether.