Peanut was looking forlornly at Gregg, the moist eyes trapped in folds of hard, furrowed skin, the flowers drooping in his lone hand. Puppetman could feel the undiluted admiration swelling from the slow-witted joker, underlaid with a surprisingly deep sorrow for what had happened to Ellen.

"I'm really sorry to cause trouble, Senator," Peanut said. He looked as if he were about to cry, glancing from Gregg to Marvin to the impassive gaze of Colin. " I thought maybe she might like them… I know they ain't much, but…"

"They're very pretty," Gregg told him. "You're Peanut, aren't you?"

Pride swelled in Peanut at the recognition. He tried to smile, and skin cracked around the mouth. He nodded, shyly. Gregg held his hand out for the flowers. "Marvin's overdoing his job," he said without looking at the guard. "No one needs protection from compassion and caring." Puppetman felt Marvin's cold rage at that, and Puppetman licked at the emotion eagerly, saturating it. "Ellen will be proud to have your flowers, Peanut," Gregg continued, holding out his hand. "I'll make sure she gets them. In fact, there's a space at the foot of her bed where she'll see them when she wakes up. I'll tell the nurse to put them there."

Peanut handed the flowers to Gregg. The joker's mind was glowing with yellow-white pride, overflowing with azure hero-worship. "Thank you, Senator," he blurted out, ducking his head. "Thank you. You… well, everyone out there loves you. We all know you'll win."

Gregg gave the flowers to Colin. He hugged Peanut for a moment, then smiled at Marvin. "I'm sure Marvin will be glad to get you a taxi to wherever you're going, won't you, Marvin?"

Ah, the hatred. Marvin's gaze was daggered. "Sure," he said. "No problem." He bit off the end of each word. "I'll take real good care of him."

"Good. Thank you again, Peanut, and thank you from Ellen. She'll love them." He glanced at his watch. "And I really need to be running. Peanut, it was good to see you again. Colin-"

They walked away. Puppetman rode with Marvin.

Gregg closed his eyes in the back of the limo as they rode to the Marriott, relishing Marvin's fury and Peanut's pain as, behind the dumpster in the back of the hospital, the security guard beat the crap out of the joker.

It was a nice little snack.

Spector had gone to Piedmont Park after leaving the Marriott. He just wandered around, unnoticed, among the jokers. He'd never seen so many happy freaks in all his life.

They were singing, and hugging, and kissing each other. Those that could kiss, anyway. They must have been partying all night, since at least half of the crowd had found some shade to take a nap in. If they'd known what he was going to do, or try to do, later on, they'd have torn him into a thousand pieces.

He'd eventually gotten bored of it and walked over to Oakland Cemetery. He strolled around among the marble monuments and weathered headstones, reading the inscriptions on them and hoping for inspiration. But none came. He was just killing time, and he knew it.

He caught a cab and went to his motel, cleaned up, and took another cab to the hospital. He'd finished off the bottle of whiskey and bought another. He'd had a few slugs from it already, hoping to calm his nerves.

He walked up to the main desk and motioned to the woman behind it. She nodded and walked over. She was middle aged, slightly overweight, and had mousy brown hair in a tight bun. "What room is Dr. Tachyon in?" He flashed her his fake press card.

"Can't you leave that poor man alone?" she said, shaking her head.

"Sorry, lady. Your job's compassion; mine's the news." Spector put the card away. "You let me know his room number, and I won't try to stop you feeling sorry for him. Fair enough?"

"435," she said, lowering her eyes.

"Thanks," he said, turning away. "It's in the public interest, believe me."

The hospital was so completely different from the one Tony had been in, they might have been on different planets. The walls and floors were spotless. There was almost none of the disinfectant smell you normally got in hospitals, and no stink of jokers at all. There were paintings on the walls and the woman on the p. a. system sounded like something from a wet dream.

He stopped outside the room, made sure no one was looking, and took another quick slug of whiskey. He shook his arms like an athlete loosening up, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

What he saw almost made him laugh. Tachyon was facing away from him. He was wearing a blue hospital robe slit up the back and his little white ass was showing. He was holding a bedpan with his one good hand, and his prick was dangling over it. Nothing was happening. At the end of his other arm was a gauze-covered stump. Spector couldn't manage to be afraid of this pathetic little thing. He closed the door.

The crippled alien didn't even turn to look at him. "Please, just another few minutes. I know I can manage something. Maybe if you run some water for me."

"Turn it on yourself, Doc."

Tachyon jumped and quickly covered himself. "By the Ideal, have you no shred…" He turned and saw Spector, then closed his mouth and stared wide-eyed. "You!"

Spector walked quickly over to the bed and took away the little box used to summon a nurse. "You won't be needing this." Tachyon turned away from Spector and tried to pull himself toward the far corner of the bed.

"Careful, you'll pull your IV out." Spector pointed to the tube that ended in a needle in the Takisian's arm. "I'm here for your help."

Tachyon shook his head in horror. "No. James, you mustn't. I can't allow it."

"Can't fucking allow it?" Spector kept his voice quiet, but there was no concealing the contempt. "If anybody deserves to die, it's Hartmann. I need you to mind-control some people and get me close. I'll do the rest."

"James, please," Tachyon still wouldn't meet his eyes. "I beg you

… don't do this. An autopsy… the scandal." Tachyon gathered himself before continuing. "They would run mad. Hunt down every wild card. Quarantine them."

Spector wasn't going to waste his breath arguing. He reached down, grabbed Tachyon's stump, and squeezed. He put a hand over the Takisians mouth to mule the scream. Tachyon bit into his palm, drawing blood. Spector let go. "Watch this, Doc." He held his hand in front of Tachyon's face and watched the wound close over.

"Ancestors," Tachyon gasped.

"Don't know everything about me after all, do you? Now show some guts for a fucking change. Do the autopsy yourself. Or mind-control the people who do. Use your goddamn power for something other than getting little hero-worshiping bitches to suck your alien weenie." Spector turned Tachyon loose and took a step back.

Tachyon shook his head. "You don't understand. Need rest. Peace." The little alien seemed on the edge of hysteria. "Only rest will be the peace of the grave."

It was the wrong thing for Tachyon to say and it pushed Spector over the edge. He slapped the alien hard, but not as hard as he wanted to. "You feel that? Well that's nothing compared to what I have to live with every minute of every day. For the rest of my life." Spector leaned in. "I killed a little girl once. Just to see her mother's face when she found her. And I thought of you." It was a lie, but Spector wanted to give the knife as many turns as he could. "If you don't help me, there'll be lots more. You owe me, Doc. Christ, what you did to me. You'll owe me forever."

"I'm sorry," Tachyon said, pulling the pillow over his head with his one good hand. "But I can't."

"I should have known." Spector got up and headed for the door, looked at the TV and stopped. Someone was interviewing the joker Secret Service guy who'd been in Tony's room.