Des gave a heavy sigh. “Angelface had a heroin habit. She hurt, you know. Perhaps you noticed that from time to time, Doctor? The drug was the only thing that got her through the day. Without it, the pain would have driven her insane. Nor was hers an ordinary junkie’s habit. She used uncut heroin in quantities that would have killed any normal user. You saw how minimally it affected her. The joker metabolism is a curious thing. Do you have any idea how expensive heroin is, Doctor Tachyon? Never mind, I see that you don’t. Angelface made quite a bit of money from the Funhouse, but it was never enough. Her source gave her credit until she was in far over her head, then demanded … call it a promissory note. Or a Christmas present. She had no choice. It was that or be cut off. She hoped to come up with the money, being an eternal optimist. She failed. On Christmas morning her source came by to collect. Mal wasn’t about to let them have her. They insisted.”
Tachyon was squinting in the glare of the lights. His image began to roll upward. “Why didn’t she tell me?” he said.
“I suppose she didn’t want to burden you, Doctor. It might have taken the fun out of your self-pitying binges.”
“Have you told the police?”
“The police? Ah, yes. New York’s finest. The ones who seem so curiously uninterested whenever a joker is beaten or killed, yet ever so diligent if a tourist is robbed. The ones who so regularly arrest, harass, and brutalize any joker who has the poor taste to live anywhere outside of Jokertown. Perhaps we might consult the officer who commented that raping a joker woman is more a lapse in taste than a crime.” Des snorted. “Doctor Tachyon, where do you think Angelface bought her drugs? Do you think any ordinary street pusher would have access to uncut heroin in the quantities she needed? The police were her source. The head of the Jokertown narcotics squad, if you care to be precise. Oh, I’ll grant you that it’s unlikely the whole department is involved. Homicide may be conducting a legitimate investigation. What do you think they’d say if we told them that Bannister was the murderer? You think they’d arrest one of their own? On the strength of my testimony, or the testimony of any joker?”
“We’ll make good her note,” Tachyon blurted. “We’ll give this man his money or the Funhouse or whatever it is he wants.”
“The promissory note,” Desmond said wearily, “was not for the Funhouse.”
“Whatever it was, give it to him!”
“She promised him the only thing she still had that he wanted,” Desmond said. “Herself. Her beauty and her pain. The word’s out on the street, if you know how to listen. There’s going to be a very special New Year’s Eve party somewhere in the city. Invitation only. Expensive. A unique thrill. Bannister will have her first. He’s wanted that for a long time. But the other guests will have their turn. Jokertown hospitality.”
Tachyon’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “The police?” he finally managed. He looked as shocked as Tom had been when Desmond told him and Joey.
“Do you think they love us, Doctor? We’re freaks. We’re diseased. Jokertown is a hell, a dead end, and the Jokertown police are the most brutal, corrupt, and incompetent in the city. I don’t think anyone planned what happened at the Funhouse, but it happened, and Angelface knows too much. They can’t let her live, so they’re going to have some fun with the joker cunt.”
Tom Tudbury leaned toward his microphone. “I can rescue her,” he said. “These fuckers haven’t seen anything like the Great and Powerful Turtle. But I can’t find her.”
Des said, “She has a lot of friends. But none of us can read minds, or make a man do something he doesn’t want to.”
“I can’t,” Tachyon protested. He seemed to shrink into himself, to edge away from them, and for an instant Tom thought the little man was going to run away. “You don’t understand.”
“What a fuckin’ candy-ass,” Joey said loudly.
Watching Tachyon crumble on his screens, Tom Tudbury finally ran out of patience. “If you fail, you fail,” he said. “And if you don’t try, you fail too, so what the fuck difference does it make? Jetboy failed, but at least he tried. He wasn’t an ace, he wasn’t a goddamned Takisian, he was just a guy with a jet, but he did what he could.”
“I want to. I … just … can’t.”
Des trumpeted his disgust. Joey shrugged.
Inside his shell, Tom sat in stunned disbelief. He wasn’t going to help. He hadn’t believed it, not really. Joey had warned him, Desmond too, but Tom had insisted, he’d been sure, this was Doctor Tachyon, of course he’d help, maybe he was having some problems, but once they explained the situation to him, once they made it clear what was at stake and how much they needed him—he had to help. But he was saying no. It was the last goddamned straw.
He twisted the volume knob up all the way. “YOU SON OF A BITCH,” he boomed, and the sound hammered out over the plaza. Tachyon flinched away. “YOU NO-GOOD FUCKING LITTLE ALIEN CHICKENSHIT!” Tachyon stumbled backward down the stairs, but the Turtle drifted after him, loudspeakers blaring. “IT WAS ALL A LIE, WASN’T IT? EVERYTHING IN THE COMIC BOOKS, EVERYTHING IN THE PAPERS, IT WAS ALL A STUPID LIE. ALL MY LIFE THEY BEAT ME UP AND THEY CALLED ME A FUCKING WIMP AND A COWARD BUT YOU’RE THE COWARD, YOU ASSHOLE, YOU SHITTY LITTLE WHINER, YOU WON’T EVEN TRY, YOU DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ANYBODY, ABOUT YOUR FRIEND ANGELFACE OR ABOUT KENNEDY OR JETBOY OR ANYBODY, YOU HAVE ALL THESE FUCKING POWERS AND YOU’RE NOTHING, YOU WON’T DO ANYTHING, YOU’RE WORSE THAN OSWALD OR BRAUN OR ANY OF THEM.” Tachyon staggered down the steps, hands over his ears, shouting something unintelligible, but Tom was past listening. His anger had a life of its own now. He lashed out, and the alien’s head snapped around and reddened with the force of the slap. “ASSHOLE!” Tom was shrieking. “YOU’RE THE ONE IN A SHELL.” Invisible blows rained down on Tachyon in a fury. He reeled, fell, rolled a third of the way down the stairs, tried to get back to his feet, was bowled over again, and bounced down to the street head over heels. “ASSHOLE!” the Turtle thundered. “RUN, YOU SHITHEAD. GET OUT OF HERE, OR I’LL THROW YOU IN THE DAMNED RIVER! RUN, YOU LITTLE WIMP, BEFORE THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TURTLE REALLY GETS UPSET! RUN, DAMN IT! YOU’RE THE ONE IN THE SHELL! YOU’RE THE ONE IN THE SHELL!”
And he ran, dashing blindly from one streetlight to the next, until he was lost in the shadows. Tom Tudbury watched him vanish on the shell’s array of television screens. He felt sick and beaten. His head was throbbing. He needed a beer, or an aspirin, or both. When he heard the sirens coming, he scooped up Joey and Desmond and set them on top of his shell, killed his lights, and rose straight up into the night, high, high up, into darkness and cold and silence.