Lowball: A Wild Cards Novel Read Online Free Page B

van made a hard left headed south, so close to the corner that Jamal and the other pedestrians could feel the slipstream. “Shit goddammit!” a young man shouted.
    Jamal glanced at him—a mistake. What he saw was an African-American joker, his upper half human-shaped, his nether regions more appropriate to a giant snake … if a giant snake adorned itself with rings of yellow, red, and black.
    The social protocols required Jamal to say something. “Hey.”
    He hoped to disengage at that point, but it was too late. “Hey, you’re Stuntman!”
    Busted for the second time in a few minutes. American Hero had fattened Jamal’s bank account, undeniably a good sign, and had led to his meeting Julia, a jury-is-still-out sign, but in most other ways had proved to be a disaster.
    Especially when it came to anonymity. Working in Hollywood had exposed Jamal Norwood to the perks and the price of fame, and it had quickly become obvious that the price far outweighed the perks. “Guilty.”
    “Marcus!” the kid said, indicating himself. “What are you doing here, man?”
    “Just … going from point A to point B.” This joker wasn’t likely to be satisfied with that, but it was all Jamal was offering. Maybe an autograph, if really pressed.
    “Oh, wait,” the kid said. “Yo, Father!”
    Christ, now what? Jamal had barely formulated the thought when Father Squid appeared out of the crowd. Jamal realized that, in addition to cooking food and auto exhaust, he had been smelling the sea. Father Squid was the source: big, tentacle-faced, wearing a black cassock, he also reeked of brine. The good father turned to Jamal. “Stuntman himself! What are you doing here? Thought you were working as a secret agent or something.”
    “Something like that,” Jamal said. “Protection for candidates.”
    The priest laughed long and loud. “Shielding the Holy Roller! What a task that must be!”
    “Maybe that’s why they don’t know shit about anything going on in the streets,” Marcus said.
    “Charity, Marcus,” the priest said.
    Jamal was annoyed. “What’s he talking about?”
    One of Squid’s tentacles uncurled in the direction of the nearest telephone pole. In addition to the usual long-past concert and job postings, the pole held three different homemade posters, the most prominent showing a joker named John the Pharaoh under the heading, Have you seen him? Missing since May 1!
    “What’s going on?” Jamal said.
    “A bunch of jokers have disappeared,” Marcus said. “I can’t believe SCARE doesn’t know about this.”
    “ SCARE might,” Jamal said. “My team doesn’t.”
    “That sucks,” Marcus said.
    Squid placed a calming tentacle on Marcus’s shoulder. “The local police aren’t stepping up. We can hardly expect the Feds to do what Fort Freak won’t.”
    “How many have there been?” Jamal said. After five years with SCARE , he was finding it easy to slip into an investigative role.
    “At least half a dozen,” Father Squid said.
    “That’s a big number,” Jamal said, feeling alarmed. SCARE should know about this—
    Suddenly Marcus started. “Who’s that?”
    A black Ford Explorer pulled up across the street. Jamal’s phone buzzed.
    “My team.” He turned to the priest. “I’ll make sure someone looks into this.”
    “You can reach me at Our Lady of Perpetual Misery.”
    “I know the place.” As he turned to cross the street, he hoped he had gotten away without making too many promises. Squid and Marcus made him nervous.
    He would not have believed that the sight of a black Ford Explorer with the Midnight Angel in the front seat would ever have made him happy.

 
    Galahad in Blue
    by Melinda M. Snodgrass
     
    Part One
    OFFICER FRANCIS XAVIER BLACK— known to his fellow officers as Franny—came whistling through the doors of New York’s 5th Precinct ready to defend truth, justice, and the American Way in Jokertown. Only to be viciously elbowed by Bugeye Bronkowski.
    The blow was so