Romeo looked at Billy's body, then at Spector. Mistake. Five seconds later he was dead on the floor.

Spector sensed movement and raised his arm, reaching for the Ingram with his other hand. The skateboard slammed into his forearm, jolting him hard enough to knock him over and send the gun flying. He bounced off a table and landed on the floor. The gun was several feet away. The punk dropped his skateboard and grabbed the pistol. He centered it on Spector 's chest and smiled. A cue ball caught him in the side of the head as he pulled the trigger.

Spector rolled as the bullets tore up the table and floor. He felt bits of wood dig through his clothes and into his flesh. He crawled to the remaining Bedtime Boy. The kid sat up and shook his head. The sunglasses were gone.

"Good-bye," Spector said.

The punk met his eyes and gasped, then keeled over. Spector grabbed the Ingram and holstered it, then stood. The bartender was looking at him, afraid but annoyed. Nobody was talking.

"Some people got no manners at all. These boys are doing the big sleep now. Serves them right," Spector said, rubbing his arm.

The bartender gestured tentatively toward the door. "Don't worry. I'm gone."

"Hey, tough guy. Throw us back our cue ball." A short, well-built man in a white tank top pointed at Spector's feet. He picked up the ball and tossed it back. "Nice shot." The bartender coughed.

Spector walked out into the sunlit street, reaching inside his shirt to tug the splinters out. The fight with the skateboard punks had momentarily made him forget about the Astronomer. He sucked air in through his clenched teeth. With Butcher dead, the job was probably off Couldn't hurt to find out, though. He pulled a quarter from his pants pocket.

He found a pay phone just down the street from the Bottomless Pit. There was no answer at the Dime Museum, so Spector called the Twisted Dragon and asked for Danny Mao.

After waiting for a few moments a young Oriental came on the line.

"Danny Mao. Who's this?" The voice was smooth and assured, with only a trace of accent.

"My name's Spector. I was born in the year of the fire horse. I need to get in touch with one of your people. Guy with a Boston accent, sharp, careful."

There was a brief pause. "Mr. Spector, I'm not familiar with you. Who gave you my number?"

"A joker named Eye. Look, I was contacted this morning about a job. Things have changed, I have to find out what he wants done. Can you help me or not?"

"Possibly, but he's a very busy man, particularly today. Perhaps I can have him contact you later."

"Fine. I'll take the notebooks to someone else." He figured the lie would get Mao's attention.

"Ah, I see. Where are you now?"

Mao had bitten hard. The notebooks must be even more important than Spector had originally guessed. "You just give me the number, or I'll make sure the word goes around that you held up delivery on these babies."

"Call 555-4301. It's his private line. You'd better not be jerking us around…"

Spector hung up on Mao in midsentence. A chic young couple was standing behind him, obviously waiting to use the phone. He stared at the woman, grabbed his crotch, and licked his lips. They hurried away. Spector dropped another quarter into the slot and punched in the number.

He answered on the first ring. "Latham."

It was the person who'd called that morning. No question. The only Latham he was aware of was a big-cheese lawyer. "This is Spector. Have you heard about Butcher?"

"Of course. His death does alter a few things." Latham didn't act surprised to hear from him. There was the sound of fingers on a keyboard.

"So everything's off, right?"

"Let me see. I think it would be best for you to have dinner at the Haiphong Lily in any case. The Gambione Family is extremely vulnerable right now. I don't think they could stand to lose any more leadership. It could destroy the Family entirely."

"So, you want as many senior members killed as possible. Right?" Spector looked around to make sure no one was in hearing distance.

"Yes. We might be able to work out a bonus situation for you based on how many you neutralize."

"Fine. Eye said you'd set it up for me to get in with no trouble. Is that right?"

"I'm sure that's the case. By the way, who gave you my private number?"

"Smooth punk named Mao." Spector hoped they gave the kid bamboo shoots under the fingernails.

"I see. Thank you, Mr. Spector. We'll be in touch. Good hunting."

Spector hung up the phone. The quarter dropped into the change box. He looked up and down the street; if the Astronomer got hold of him there wouldn't be a bonus. There wouldn't even be a tomorrow.

Out on the street again, Jennifer took stock of her situation. She wasn't wearing much in the way of clothes. She had no shoes. She'd spent her last dime on the taxi that brought her back to Manhattan. What to do next?

Before she could make up her mind, though, things were decided for her.

They came out of nowhere. Two men emerged from the pedestrians milling around her, gripped either arm, and hustled her down the street.

"Make a sound and you'll die," one whispered to her, and she swallowed the instinctive scream welling in her throat. The crossed the street and went into a small park across from the Dime Museum. There were three other men there, waiting. One of them was the reptilian joker she'd first seen in Kien's condominium.

"The booksssss," he hissed, coming close to Jennifer. "Where are they?"

She flinched backward from the long forked tongue that lolled from his mouth.

"I-I don't have them on me."

"I can ssssee that." He stared without blinking at her bikini-clad figure. "Where are they?"

"If I told you then you wouldn't need me."

The reptilian joker grinned, dripping saliva from the overlong incisors that hung down from his upper jaw. He leaned forward and his tongue flickered caressingly over Jennifer's face. She flinched backward at the warm, wet touch of it. The joker stooped and his tongue slipped down the column of her throat, between her breasts, then up again and down her bare arms. It rasped sensuously on her forearm and Jennifer shivered, half in fear, half in delight. The man gripping her right arm held it stiffly at the wrist, and the joker licked her palm before she could close it into a fist. The tongue lingered on her hand, then the joker straightened himself and pulled his tongue back into his mouth.

"We don't need you anyway," he hissed. "You tasssste of the alien, Tachyon." His eyes narrowed. "Why did you give him the book?"

The card hadn't lied, Jennifer thought. The suit had once belonged to Tachyon and this joker had somehow gotten his scent off it. She couldn't deny his accusation, but she didn't want to tell them that she'd put the books in the statue, either. She had to come up with a good story, but she wasn't a very good liar.

"Uh…"

"Tell me."

The joker's fingers had thick, sharp nails. He ran them across the bare skin of Jennifer's chest, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave red welts with their passing. "Uh-"

The tree behind them blew up. Blew right up, showering them with leaves and fragments of branches. The shock waves from the explosion knocked Jennifer and the men holding her to the ground. One let go of her arm and she kneed the other one three times. She wasn't sure if she hit his stomach or groin, but whatever she hit was tender enough to make him scream and let her go. She rolled away and looked wildly around, as the thugs were doing.

"There!"

One of them pointed across the street. A man stared back at them. His features were concealed by a hood. He was of average height, rather nicely built. Nothing about him really stood out, though, except for the bow he held. It was a hightech piece of machinery with funny curves and multiple strings and what looked like small pulleys attached to it. He was calmly nocking another arrow while people on his side of the street also noticed him and started to run about like a flock of panicked chickens.