Wild Cards V (53 page)

“What kind of situation?” she asked carefully.

Emile shook his head in a small, tight way that was more shudder than anything. “It's easier if you just come,” he said. “What we need right now is quick, decisive action from someone who has the authority to take it. Please. Just come down with me.”

Taking a deep breath, she forced composure on herself and went with Emile to the elevator.

The scene on the loading dock was like something out of a Marx Brothers movie, only not quite so funny—like something out of a
remake
of a Marx Brothers movie, she thought, watching the dock crew work furiously at reloading a truck while two employees of the Brightwater Fish Market kept unloading it (or perhaps
re
-unloading it, while a third Brightwater employee stood on a box nose to nose with Tomoyuki Shigeta, the new sushi chef. Brightwater's man was a short, stocky nat who appeared to have high blood pressure; Tomoyuki was a slender seven-foot ace who, during the period of the new moon, lived as a dolphin between the hours of eleven
P.M.
and three
A.M.
Together they looked like a comedy team rehearsing an act, although Brightwater's man was doing all the yelling, with Tomoyuki occasionally putting in a couple of soft words that seemed to provoke the other man to higher volume.

“What's going on here?” Jane asked in her most business-like voice. No one heard her. She sighed, glanced at Emile, and then hollered, “Everybody,
shut up
!”

This time her voice cut through the air, and everyone
did
shut up, turning toward her almost as one.

“What's going on?” she asked again, looking up at Tomoyuki. He made a slight bow.

“Brightwater has delivered a shipment of bad fish. The entire load has gone over, and it went over quite some time ago.” Tomoyuki's cultured, Boston Brahmin tones held no hostility or impatience. Jane thought he was the most professional person she had ever met, and she wished she were more like him. “Some time before it was loaded onto this truck for delivery here. Unless Hiram has another source, we will be unable to offer the twilight sushi bar this evening.”

Jane tried to sniff the air without being obvious about it. All she could smell was overwhelming
fish
, as though the greater part of the ocean had been caught and dumped in the immediate vicinity. She could not tell whether the odor was good or bad, only that it was offensively strong, and if the load stayed on the dock much longer, it
would
go bad if it weren't already.

“Look, lady, this is fish and fish stinks,” said Brightwater's man, rubbing his upper lip directly under his nose, as though to emphasize the point. “Now, I been deliverin' loads of stinkin' fish to Hiram Worchester and a good many other people for a long, long time, and the stuff always smells like this. I don't like the way it smells, either, but that's just how it is.” He glanced up at Tomoyuki in disgust. “Fish is
supposed
to smell bad. Nobody's gonna tell me different. And
nobody's
gonna tell me to take my load back unless it's Hiram Worchester himself.”

Jane nodded very slightly. “Are you aware that Mr. Worchester has empowered me to act as his agent for all business transactions having to do with the Aces High menu?”

Brightwater's man—
Aaron
was the name on his shirt pocket—tilted his wide head and looked at her through half-closed eyes. “Just say it, okay? Don't try and jack me around with double-talk, just look me in the eye and spit it out.”

“What I meant,” Jane said, slightly embarrassed, “is that any decision I make is a Hiram Worchester decision. He will back it one hundred percent.”

Aaron's gaze traveled from Jane to Emile to one of the dock crew and came to rest on Tomoyuki, who stared down at him impassively. “Oh, for chrissakes, what am I lookin at
you
for?
You'll
back her up a hundred percent.”

Tomoyuki turned to Jane, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Is the fish bad, Tom?” she said quietly.

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Is that what you would tell Mr. Worchester?”

“In a minute.”

She nodded. “Then it goes back to Brightwater.
No arguments
,” she added as Aaron opened his mouth to protest. “If it isn't off this loading dock in fifteen minutes, I'll call the police.”

Aaron's broad face twisted into an expression of hostile disbelief. “You'll call the cops? On what charge?”

This time Jane's sniff was as audible as she could make it. “Littering. Illegal dumping. Air pollution. Any of those would stick. Good day to you.” She turned sharply and fled back into the building with her hand over her mouth and nose. The smell had suddenly become too nauseating to bear.

“Well done, Jane,” Tom said as he and Emile caught up with her at the elevator. “Hiram himself couldn't have carried it off much better.”

“Hiram couldn't carry it off, period,” Emile muttered darkly.

“
Don't
, Emile” she said, and felt him staring at her in surprise.

“Don't what?”

The elevator doors slid open and they all got in.

“Don't badmouth Hiram. Mr. Worchester, I mean.” She pushed the button for Aces High. “It's bad for morale.”

“
Hiram's
bad for morale, in case you hadn't noticed. If he'd been on top of things, Brightwater wouldn't have even
thought
of trying to pass their rotted stuff off on us. It just shows the word must be out on him, everyone must know he's no good anymore—”

“
Please
, Emile.” She put a hand on his slender arm, looking into his face imploringly. “We all know something's wrong, but every time you or one of the other employees says something like that, it diminishes the chances of his being able to put it right again. He can't recover from whatever is wearing on him if we're all against him.”

Emile actually looked mildly ashamed of himself. “God knows if anyone wishes him well, I do, Jane. But the way he is these days, he reminds me of a—well, a junkie,” He shuddered. “I
detest
junkies. And
all
addicts.”

“What you say is very true, Jane,” said Tom, from the opposite corner of the elevator where he was standing with his arms folded against his sleek body, “but none of it gets us a twilight sushi bar for this evening, and Hiram never saw fit to let me in on his backup plan for this kind of eventuality. So unless you know what to do, or can find Hiram and get him to tell you, Aces High is actually going to renege on an offering. Which may well be its ruination. A little bird told me Mr. Dining Out has reservations here tonight, specifically to review the sushi bar for
New York Gourmet.
I don't have to tell you what it would mean for Aces High to get a bad review.”

Jane rubbed her forehead tiredly. This must be what they call black comedy, she thought. When everything just gets worse and worse and you think you might start laughing and never stop till they take you away.

Casually Tom moved to the other side of the elevator to stand near Emile. Just as casually she turned away so they could touch without her seeing. No one was supposed to know they were lovers, but she wasn't sure why they were so fanatical about keeping it secret. Something to do with AIDS perhaps, she thought. The perception of all gays as AIDS carriers had brought renewed persecution to homosexuals. She could almost be glad that Sal hadn't lived to see that.

“I can find Hiram,” she said after a bit. “I'm pretty sure I know where he is. Emile, you keep order until I get back.” She handed Emile the spare key to Hiram's office. “You won't need this, but just in case of something. When I come back, we'll have a sushi bar. The selection might be a little more limited than we'd like, but we can carry it off if we do it with enough … um … panache. Can we, Tom?”

“I
am
panache,” Tomoyuki said, his face completely impassive while Emile suppressed a smile. The sight of the two of them made her feel suddenly and unbearably alone.

“Good,” she said miserably. “I'll just get my purse and be on my way.” The elevator stopped to let them off at the Aces High dining room. “With any luck you'll hear from me in about an hour.”

“And without any luck?” said Emile, pressing, but, she could tell, not unkindly.

“Without any luck,” she said thoughtfully, “do you think you could get sick, Tom?”

“I could have done that to begin with,” he said, a little curtly.

“Yes, but then we would not have tried. Would we.” She tried to look up at him as if they were eye to eye. “We'll continue to try until there's nothing to try for. Do you understand?”

Both men nodded.

“And one more thing,” she said as they started to turn away. “From now on, refer to him as Mr. Worchester.” Emile frowned slightly. “To everyone, even to me. It will help morale. Even ours.”

Emile bit his lip tensely and then, to her relief, nodded. “Understood, Jane. Or should that be Ms. Dow?”

She let her gaze drop for a moment. “I'm not power mad, Emile. If you really understand, you know that. I'm trying to save him. Mr. Worchester. I owe him that.” She looked up at him again. “We all do, in our own particular ways.”

Tom was staring at her, and for the first time she saw a fondness in his smooth, cold face. Feeling awkward, she excused herself to retrieve her purse from Hiram's office and call a cab. There was a sense of victory within her as she rode down in the elevator again. The temperamental Tomoyuki
liked
her, no small achievement, and she had managed to get Emile on her side, at least for a while. He must like her, too, she thought, almost giddy. Perhaps it was a terrible weakness to want to be
liked
so much, but she certainly was getting a lot accomplished because of it. Or she would if she could just get Hiram to come through on the promises she'd made, or implied.

The cab was waiting in front of the entrance for her; she climbed in and gave the driver an address in Jokertown, ignoring the double-take he gave her.
I know, I don't look like much beyond a bite for the Big Bad Wolf
, she thought at him acidly as she settled back in the seat.
Wouldn't you be surprised to know that I've killed people—and that I could return you to the dust, too, if you gave me any trouble.

She suppressed the thought, feeling ashamed. She'd lied when she'd said she wasn't power mad. Of course she was—it was hard not to be when you had an ace ability. It was the dark side of her talent, and she had to struggle against that all the time, or she might become like that awful Astronomer, or poor Fortunato. She wondered briefly where he was now and if he remembered the way she did.

They stopped at a red light and a ragged joker with enormous donkey ears threw himself halfway onto the hood to wash the windshield. Blocking out the sound of the cab driver's yelling at him, she tried to compose herself for the inevitable confrontation with Hiram. She wasn't supposed to have this address, and she wasn't supposed to know whose address it was. Hiram might just fire her and throw her out without letting her get a word in edgewise, while Ezili stood behind him laughing.

Jane dreaded facing Ezili—Ezili Rouge everyone called her. The scuttlebutt around Aces High was that she had been some kind of superprostitute in Haiti whom Hiram had “rescued” from the crushing poverty of the slums—i.e., she was virtually an ace in the sex department and any man (or woman) who had ever had the experience was spoiled for anyone else. And Hiram had supposedly had the experience. There were other rumors—she was the ex-toy of a super–drug kingpin, in hiding; she was a drug kingpin herself; she had blackmailed Hiram or somebody into bringing her to the States; and any number of other things.

Whatever the truth might have been, Jane didn't like her and the feeling was mutual. The one time Ezili had come to Aces High, it had been hate at first sight for both of them. She'd been completely taken aback by the overbearing
heat
that seemed to pour out of her, and she was completely intimidated by her strange eyes—what should have been whites were blood red instead. Ezili haughtily addressed her as
Ms. Dow
, mispronouncing it to rhyme with
cow
instead of
low
, with a sneering intonation that produced an instant rise in her. What made it worse was the fact that Hiram really did seem to be under her influence. Whenever he had looked at her or even mentioned her, Jane could read a bizarre mixture of desire, subservience, and helplessness in his face, although occasionally an expression of pure loathing surfaced, making Jane suspect that at heart Hiram really didn't like Ezili any more than she did.

“Hey, gorgeous!”

She looked up, startled, to see the joker pressing his face against the back window.

“Get on outta that cab, baby, and I'll take you to heaven! I got more than just the
ears
of a donkey!”

The light changed and the cab lurched forward, knocking the joker away. In spite of herself Jane found herself almost wanting to laugh. There was no comparison between the joker's crudeness and the genteel come-ons she politely turned away at Aces High, but for some reason something about it had touched her. Maybe just because it was so funny, or because the joker was a victim refusing to kneel to his affliction, or because he hadn't actually come out and said what else it was he had. Someone earthier than she
would
have laughed out loud.
I'm just a hothouse flower
, she thought, a bit ruefully.
A hothouse killer-flower.

The cab turned a corner sharply and went down two blocks before pulling over in the middle of the third. “This's it,” the driver said sullenly. “You mind hurrying?”