Read Online Wild Cards V by George R. R. Martin - Free Book Online Page A

do I think there’s something you’re not saying?”
    â€œI used to be a pretty smart kid,” Tom insisted, turning away sharply, “but somehow I got pretty dumb as I grew up. This double life shit is a crock. One life is hard enough for most people to manage, what the hell made me think I could juggle two?” He shook his head. “The hell with it. It’s over. I’m wising up, Joey. They think the Turtle is dead? Fine. Let him rest in peace.”
    â€œYour call, Tuds,” Joey said. He put a rough hand on Tom’s shoulder. “It’s a damn shame, though. You’re going to make my kid cry. The Turtle’s his hero.”
    â€œJetboy was my hero,” Tom said. “He died too. That’s part of growing up. Sooner or later, all your heroes die.”

 
    Concerto for Siren and Serotonin
    by Roger Zelazny
    I
    SITTING SHADE-CLAD IN A booth at Vito’s Italian, odd-hour and quiet, lowering a mound of linguini and the level in a straw-bound bottle—black hair stiff with spray or tonic—the place’s only patron had drawn attention from the staff in the form of several wagers, in that this was his seventh entrée, when a towering civilian with a hand like a club came in off the street and stood near, watching, also, through bloodshot eyes.
    The man continued to stare at the diner, who finally swung his mirror lenses toward him.
    â€œYou the one I’m looking for?” the newcomer asked.
    â€œMaybe so,” the diner replied, lowering his fork, “if it involves money and certain special skills.”
    The big man smiled. Then he raised his right hand and dropped it. It struck the edge of the table, removed the corner, shredded the tablecloth, and jerked it forward. The linguini spilled backward into the dark-haired man’s lap. The man jerked away as this occurred and his glasses fell askew, revealing a pair of glittering, faceted eyes.
    â€œPrick!” he announced, his hands shooting forward, paralleling the other’s clublike appendage.
    â€œSon of a bitch!” the giant bellowed, jerking his hand away. “You fuckin’ burned me!”
    â€œâ€˜Fuckin’ shocked,’” the other corrected. “Lucky I didn’t fry you! What is this? Why you taking my table apart?”
    â€œYou’re hirin’ fuckin’ aces, ain’t you? I wanted you to see my shit.”
    â€œI’m not hiring aces. I thought you were, the way you came on.”
    â€œHell, no! Bug-eyed bastard!”
    The other moved quickly to adjust his glasses.
    â€œIt’s a real pain,” he stated, “looking at two hundred sixteen views of an asshole.”
    â€œI’ll give you something up the asshole!” said the giant, raising his hand again.
    â€œYou got it,” said the other, an electrical storm erupting suddenly between his palms. The giant stepped back a pace. Then the storm passed and the man lowered his hands. “If it weren’t for the linguini in my lap,” he said then, “this would be funny. Sit down. We can wait together.”
    â€œFunny?”
    â€œThink about it while I go clean up,” he replied. Then, “Name’s Croyd,” he said.
    â€œCroyd Crenson?”
    â€œYeah. And you’re Bludgeon, aren’t you?”
    â€œYeah. What do you mean ‘funny’?”
    â€œLike mistaken identity,” Croyd answered. “Two guys thinking they’re each somebody else, you know?”
    Bludgeon’s brow was furrowed for several seconds before his lips formed a tentative smile. Then he laughed, four coughlike barks. “Yeah, fuckin’ funny!” he said then, and barked again.
    Bludgeon slid into the booth, still chuckling, as Croyd slid out. Croyd headed back toward the men’s room and Bludgeon ordered a pitcher of beer from the waiter who came by to clean up. A few moments later, a black-suited man entered the dining area from