A newspaper lay next to his untouched lunch platter. The Daily News had already gotten out an extra, and Anthony had brought up a copy with Hiram's tux. The picture spread across the front of the tabloid had been taken at Jetboy's Tomb by some amateur photographer. Hiram supposed that it was a great news photo, but he could scarcely look at it.

He found himself averting his eyes from Kid Dinosaur's mutilated body, and looking at the faces in the background. Their emotions were plain to read: horror, hysteria, anguish, shock. Some just seemed baffled; others stared with unwholesome fascination. In the right-hand corner was a pretty blonde who couldn't have been more than eighteen, laughing, no doubt amused by some witticism from the boy whose arm she clung to, as yet oblivious to the horror a few feet away. How did she feel when she looked around, the laughter still fresh on her lips? How would she feel when she saw this picture, her laugh frozen there for all time?

His lunch was growing cold, but Hiram had no appetite. Kid Dinosaur had been a constant nuisance to the proprietor of Aces High. He remembered one hot summer night when a pteranodon had swooped in through the open terrace doors and buzzed the diners. Drinks were spilled, plates were dropped, the dessert cart tipped over, and a half-dozen indignant customers left without paying their bills. Hiram had put an end to the incident by making the creature too heavy to stay aloft, and reprimanding him in no uncertain terms. From all reports, the boy had been cowed for almost a week.

When the phone rang, Hiram grabbed it quickly. "What?" he demanded brusquely. He was in no mood for conversation. "Me, Hiram," Jay Ackroyd said.

Hiram had almost forgotten about the detective. "Where are you?" he demanded.

"At the moment I'm at a pay phone outside the men's room of the Crystal Palace, being eyed by a joker who looks like a cross between a douche bag and a saber-toothed tiger. I think he wants to use the phone, so I'll get right to the point. Chrysalis knows something."

"Chrysalis knows a good many things," Hiram said. "Real good," Ackroyd replied. "Your friend Bludgeon isn't independent. Him and his whole scam are part of something, something a lot bigger. Chrysalis knows who and what, but the price she quoted for the information was way out of my budget. Maybe not out of yours, though. I'm bringing her up tonight, you can talk to her yourself."

"You're bringing her here?" Hiram said. "Jay, she's a joker, not an ace."

"I'm an ace," Ackroyd reminded him, "and she's my date. Don't worry, I made her promise to cover her tits. A shame, though. They're nice tits, even if they are invisible. Just pretend she's really British and you'll get on great."

"Fine," Hiram said. "And while you've been arranging your social calendar and studying Chrysalis's breasts, Bludgeon put Gills in the hospital and destroyed my lobsters."

" I know," Ackroyd said.

Hiram was astonished. "How could you possibly know?"

"I dropped by Fulton Street before I went to see Chrysalis, figured maybe I'd see Gills, charm him with a few magic tricks, pull a coin out of his gills, and see if he'd talk to me. I got suspicious right off when I saw a truck burning in the alley. This seven-foot-tall guy was going out as I was coming in. He looked a lot like the guy waiting for the phone, only ugly. I made a citizen's arrest. He's in the Tombs."

"God," Hiram exclaimed. "Jay, this is the first good news I've heard all day. Thank you, and good work. You'll get a month of free dinners for this."

"Appetizers included, I hope. The thing's not done, though. Bludgeon's locked up for the moment, but sooner or later someone's going to notice him hollering in there, and then they'll count heads and let him go, unless we can get him charged with something. Can you go downtown and do the honors?"

Hiram felt in a terrible bind. " I… Jay, I want to, but I can't possibly leave now."

"A crisis with the pate de foie gras?"

"Fortunato is going to be bringing some people by. I need to, ah, stay. Besides, I've never laid eyes on Bludgeon. Gills was the one they assaulted. Have him prefer charges."

"He's terrified, Hiram."

"If we put Bludgeon away, he has nothing to be terrified of. Tell him that. He can't let them get away with this." Ackroyd sighed. "All right. I'll go talk to him. Hell. On days like this, I wish I could pop myself around. Do you have any idea what the traffic's like out there?"

Spector stared across the Hudson River toward the Jersey shore. He'd grown up in Teaneck. As long as he could remember he'd hated New Yorkers. Hated them for their contemptuous comments and unending supply of Jersey jokes. They really thought they were better, just by living a few miles away. Every New Yorker he killed was a little revenge for the way he'd always been treated by them.

The Astronomer knew he was alive by now. The old man was probably too busy to watch TV himself, but had plenty of flunkies to dish him the information. Spector could only hope that the other aces on the hit list were more important than he was. Hell, there was even a chance the Astronomer would buy it. They'd kicked his ass before. If he could manage to stay out of the way, Spector might be able to read everybody else's obit in the Times tomorrow.

The West Side Highway was behind him, already crawling with cars. The docks were busy; working guys still had to eat. They couldn't take the damn day off to gawk around.

Spector looked back into Manhattan. The Windhaven Tower building was directly across the highway. The apartments in it were exclusive and pricey. The architecture was like something out of a thirties sci-fi pulp, including an open lobbv all the way to the top of the building. He followed the unbroken silver line of the tower all the way up. He squinted. There was something, someone, up there.

A man in a hang glider pushed off the edge of the roof, twenty stories up. lie dived for a few seconds, then leveled off and headed out toward the river.

"Cops are gonna put your ass in jail when they catch you buddy." Spector hated heights, and shuddered as he thought of falling off a building like that, wings or no. He turned back toward Jersey.

There was something coming toward the city from across the river. It was several hundred feet up and moving fast. He recognized the familiar shell. "Turtle. So the Astronomer hasn't gotten you yet."

Spector liked the Turtle about as much as he liked the other aces who'd raided the Cloisters, which was not at all. He straightened his shoulders and rubbed his mouth, feeling suddenly vulnerable. If the Astronomer tried to take the Turtle now, he didn't want to be anywhere close.

The Turtle slowed down and hovered over the river. A couple of private boats were cruising around nearby bobbing a little in the light chop, but they didn't seem to be in any kind of trouble. The Turtle began to wobble slightly; the hang glider banked and moved directly toward him. Spector wanted to run, but curiosity held him where he was. The hang glider moved straight and fast toward the Turtle. It was less than a hundred feet away. There was a sound like glass being cut and then a loud pop; the glider veered away. Spector recognized the noise and knew the Turtle was in trouble. One of the last aces the Astronomer had lured in was a Puerto Rican kid who he called Imp. He could generate an electromagnetic pulse that neutralized all electricity within fifty yards or so. The cameras and other equipment on the Turtle's shell were so much junk now.

Imp maneuvered his glider back over the Turtle. The wind was slowing him down, making him climb. Longshoremen were setting down their crates, looking out at the river. Moments later the shell was covered in an explosion of orange flame. Napalm. The boom echoed off the water. As the flames began to die down, Spector could see that parts of the shell were on fire. The Turtle began to wobble even more, and fell toward the river. There was a loud slap and hiss as the shell struck the water. One of the nearby boats steered toward the Turtle. The shell floated for a second, then sank fast, like there were pulleys at the bottom of the river dragging it down. There was nothing left but a little steam on the surface of the river.