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Read Online Wild Cards [07] Dead Man's Hand by George R.R. Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: George R.R. Martin
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Science Fiction - General, Fantasy - General, American, Non-Classifiable
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feathers.
"What do you want?" Dragon asked as Brennan approached. He was a young man, Asian, small and trim looking. He was also a potent ace who could animate then possess animal figurines he carved or folded out of paper. Right now he didn't appear to be in a good humor.
"No rest for the wicked, is there?"
Dragon stiffened at the sound of Brennan's voice, half rose, then sank down in his chair. "What the hell are you doing here, Cowboy?" he said, using the name Brennan had taken when he'd gone undercover and joined the Fists.
Brennan shrugged. "Looks like a fun party. I'd hate to see anything break it up." He looked steadily at Dragon. "What's going on, anyway?"
Dragon looked at him for a long time before answering. "The guy over there," he said, indicating a tall, thin, wastedlooking man in white linen trousers, jacket, and shirt, "is Quinn the Eskimo. You've heard of him."
Brennan nodded. Quinn the Eskimo-his real name was Thomas Quincey-was head of the scientific arm of the Shadow Fists. He specialized in the development of synthetic drugs with extraordinary special effects.
"Trying out a new product?" Brennan asked.
As Brennan watched, Lori approached Quinn and spoke to him. He smiled and handed her a vial of blue powder, some of which she snorted, some of which she rubbed on her nipples and breasts, turning them the same bright blue color of the powder. Quinn and the men standing around him laughed. At Quinn's urging one of the men started to lick her breasts. She closed her eyes and leaned up against a nearby wall, and, as the man sucked her nipples, came to an obvious, powerful orgasm.
"What the hell was that?" Brennan asked.
Dragon shrugged. "The new product. Demonstrating for the distributors. What do you want, anyway?"
Brennan looked back down at Dragon. "A friend of mine was killed, Dragon. You heard."
"Chrysalis?"
Brennan nodded. "And I heard that someone is bragging around town that he did it to get in good with the Fists." Dragon shook his head. "I didn't know the Fists wanted her dead."
"You don't make policy. I want to talk to someone who does. Fadeout."
"He's not happy with you, Cowboy. You really fucked us over."
Brennan shrugged. "That's life," he said. "Fadeout will talk to me, or the Fists will bleed."
Dragon stood up slowly, carefully. "You don't want to start anything here, Cowboy. I'm head of security for this party-"
Brennan nodded, smiled under his Mae West mask, and backed away. "And I wouldn't want you to have a black mark on your record. Just tell Fadeout I want to talk."
They stared at each other until Brennan backed out of the room.
"So?" one of the Werewolf guards in the corridor asked Brennan.
"So what?"
"Who's going off duty?"
"Oh." Brennan stripped off the Mae West mask and tossed it at the astonished Werewolf, who caught it against his chest. " I am."
"What the hell?" the other one growled angrily. "That's not fair."
"Life's a bitch," Brennan told him. "Then you die." The Werewolves recognized the danger in his voice. They watched him as he went down the corridor, wondering who he was, deciding that it would probably be better if they never found out.
Tuesday July 19, 1988
2:00 A. M.
The stale air trapped inside the unused sewer line that Chrysalis had converted to a secret Palace entrance stank of mold and rot. It was dark but for the beam from Brennan's flashlight, quiet but for the infrequent noises he made as he crept toward the Palace. Once he passed a side tunnel that Chrysalis hadn't told him about. He thought he heard something moving in it, but decided that now was not the time to indulge idle curiosity.
The sewer line led to a tunnel of more recent construction, that led in turn to a dark basement storeroom. The room was packed with stacks of liquor cases, piles of aluminum beer kegs, and cardboard boxes filled with potato chips, pretzels, pork rinds, and other junk food.
Brennan moved through the storeroom silently and went up the flight of stairs
"What do you want?" Dragon asked as Brennan approached. He was a young man, Asian, small and trim looking. He was also a potent ace who could animate then possess animal figurines he carved or folded out of paper. Right now he didn't appear to be in a good humor.
"No rest for the wicked, is there?"
Dragon stiffened at the sound of Brennan's voice, half rose, then sank down in his chair. "What the hell are you doing here, Cowboy?" he said, using the name Brennan had taken when he'd gone undercover and joined the Fists.
Brennan shrugged. "Looks like a fun party. I'd hate to see anything break it up." He looked steadily at Dragon. "What's going on, anyway?"
Dragon looked at him for a long time before answering. "The guy over there," he said, indicating a tall, thin, wastedlooking man in white linen trousers, jacket, and shirt, "is Quinn the Eskimo. You've heard of him."
Brennan nodded. Quinn the Eskimo-his real name was Thomas Quincey-was head of the scientific arm of the Shadow Fists. He specialized in the development of synthetic drugs with extraordinary special effects.
"Trying out a new product?" Brennan asked.
As Brennan watched, Lori approached Quinn and spoke to him. He smiled and handed her a vial of blue powder, some of which she snorted, some of which she rubbed on her nipples and breasts, turning them the same bright blue color of the powder. Quinn and the men standing around him laughed. At Quinn's urging one of the men started to lick her breasts. She closed her eyes and leaned up against a nearby wall, and, as the man sucked her nipples, came to an obvious, powerful orgasm.
"What the hell was that?" Brennan asked.
Dragon shrugged. "The new product. Demonstrating for the distributors. What do you want, anyway?"
Brennan looked back down at Dragon. "A friend of mine was killed, Dragon. You heard."
"Chrysalis?"
Brennan nodded. "And I heard that someone is bragging around town that he did it to get in good with the Fists." Dragon shook his head. "I didn't know the Fists wanted her dead."
"You don't make policy. I want to talk to someone who does. Fadeout."
"He's not happy with you, Cowboy. You really fucked us over."
Brennan shrugged. "That's life," he said. "Fadeout will talk to me, or the Fists will bleed."
Dragon stood up slowly, carefully. "You don't want to start anything here, Cowboy. I'm head of security for this party-"
Brennan nodded, smiled under his Mae West mask, and backed away. "And I wouldn't want you to have a black mark on your record. Just tell Fadeout I want to talk."
They stared at each other until Brennan backed out of the room.
"So?" one of the Werewolf guards in the corridor asked Brennan.
"So what?"
"Who's going off duty?"
"Oh." Brennan stripped off the Mae West mask and tossed it at the astonished Werewolf, who caught it against his chest. " I am."
"What the hell?" the other one growled angrily. "That's not fair."
"Life's a bitch," Brennan told him. "Then you die." The Werewolves recognized the danger in his voice. They watched him as he went down the corridor, wondering who he was, deciding that it would probably be better if they never found out.
Tuesday July 19, 1988
2:00 A. M.
The stale air trapped inside the unused sewer line that Chrysalis had converted to a secret Palace entrance stank of mold and rot. It was dark but for the beam from Brennan's flashlight, quiet but for the infrequent noises he made as he crept toward the Palace. Once he passed a side tunnel that Chrysalis hadn't told him about. He thought he heard something moving in it, but decided that now was not the time to indulge idle curiosity.
The sewer line led to a tunnel of more recent construction, that led in turn to a dark basement storeroom. The room was packed with stacks of liquor cases, piles of aluminum beer kegs, and cardboard boxes filled with potato chips, pretzels, pork rinds, and other junk food.
Brennan moved through the storeroom silently and went up the flight of stairs
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