"Okay, then. What about breakfast?"

"Breakfast?"

"Sure. I run six miles really early, about five. Then I go home and get ready for work. If I feel like it, I go get a big breakfast before coming in. It ruins the roadwork, but tastes great." He smiled at her and cocked his head a little to one side. "Join me one day-just for the breakfast?"

"All right." Bagabond nodded and then hesitantly smiled. For the first time, the smile was reflected in her eyes as well. "Yes, I might like that."

"How about tomorrow?"

She stared at him, once again without expression. "Don't tell me you have another date," Paul said. "What time?"

"Seven. I can pick you up-"

"I'll meet you. Where?" Bagabond concentrated on suppressing the thought that she was making a big mistake. "The market, at Greenwich and Seventh."

"You two look deep in thought." Rosemary strode down the steps. "I know that Popinjay was trying to help, but there are times I wish aces wouldn't get involved. It would make my life simpler. Yours too, Paul." She shook her head ruefully. "Paul, go on back to the office. Work with Chavez. Suzanne and I have some business to take care of."

"See you later," he said to Bagabond, shaking hands with her.

As the two women watched Paul walk back toward the DA's building, Rosemary looked at Bagabond speculatively. "He likes you, you know. Of course Jack's a union man and undoubtedly makes a lot more money, but Paul has certain attractions." Rosemary cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "Great ass."

"Twentieth-century Madonna?"

"That was a long time ago." She changed the subject. "Where's Jack'?"

"Let's go someplace quiet where I can concentrate. I need an alley." Bagabond started to walk toward the corner.

"An alley," said Rosemary. "You hang out in the classiest places. Didn't anyone ever tell you to stay out of Manhattan alleys?" She caught up with Bagabond and they crossed Lafayette Street. "Places like that, people can get killed."

The darkness in the confessional was somehow soothing. The air in the box smelled even more strongly of the sea and Father Squid's bulk was a comforting presence on the other side of the frosted glass window. He made small sighing sounds as he considered Jennifer's story.

"I believe that I know of the joker who is accosting you," the priest finally said. "He is not of my children, but there are few jokers who have not come by at least once or twice to hear the Word. He goes by the name Wyrm. His reputation is not of the best." Father Squid fell into a meditative silence that lasted for some minutes. "I am perplexed, but perhaps understanding will come. Come." He rose to his feet, swept back the heavy drapery that curtained his side of the confessional, and stepped out of the box. Jennifer followed. "I must make some inquiries." He held up a broad, spatulate hand and wiggled his long fingers to silence the question he saw on Jennifer's face. "Never fear. I shall be most subtle and circumspect. Make yourself comfortable. Rest. You are as safe here as if you were in your own home. Perhaps infinitely safer if your suspicions are correct."

His cheeks bunched again as if he were smiling, and Jennifer nodded. She watched as Father Squid waddled off, making faint squishing sounds on the flagstone flooring as he went with ponderous dignity to the rear of the church.

Roulette was approaching climax, and she tried to resist, the effort causing her thighs to cramp and nausea to wash about the tendrils of fire that filled her belly and groin. Tachyon with that damnable sensitivity fixed his pale eyes on her, and slowed his thrusts, his hands caressing her breasts, sweeping down her sides.

Release!

And as quickly as the command was given it was withdrawn. The tide sank back, growling its frustration in a voice that was the Astronomer's.

Her mind and body were once more in harmony, no longer rent by her fear and indecision. Her passion rose, and she rocked in a frenzied rhythm, matching each thrust of his small, compact body.

The shrill ring of the front bell tore through the apartment. Beneath her hands she felt his muscles tighten and leap, and his cock slid free.

"Damn, damn, damn," he whispered, urgently trying to fit himself once more into her. She reached down to help, and their hands bumped and tangled, sliding on the slick skin of his penis.

Ring.

He was finally in, but the ringing persisted, and he lay flaccid and inert atop her.

He sighed, briefly closed his eyes, and said, "I think the moment is ruined."

"Yes."

"Shall I answer the door?"

"I don't think they'll go away otherwise."

"Wait here."

He rose, and shrugged into an elaborate brocade dressing gown of black silk shot through with threads of silver and red. It was too long, and the hem whispered across the smoke-gray carpet. He was careful to close the bedroom door behind him, and she wondered if that was to protect her reputation or his. Folding her arms beneath her head, she stared up at the ceiling and listened to the sounds of muffled conversation from the front room. A strange thumping sound followed by a crash brought her upright in the bed, sheet slithering to her waist. And with a harsh rasp the bedroom window was forced up, and the delicate fabric blinds kicked aside. Roulette screamed, and the foot was withdrawn only to be replaced by the head and shoulders of a man. The wind chime rang wildly as he caught it. She came off the bed, bolting for the door, but in two strides he had caught her by the hair and thrown her into the dresser. She yelped as the beveled edge slammed into her side. Grimly she grasped a silver-backed hairbrush, and gave the intruder a ringing blow between the eyes as he moved in on her. He bellowed, and as if in answer a second man entered through the window. This one carried a gun.

Being naked and armed only with a hairbrush, she decided to opt for prudence. With a little shrug she dropped her inadequate weapon, and raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Get in the other room," the second man ordered while her assailant gingerly rubbed his head and then inspected the damage in the mirror.

"May I put on some clothes?"

"Get her something."

The man abandoned the mirror, but continued rubbing as he stepped into the closet and then emerged with one of Tachyon's coats. It was too small, and she felt the shoulder seams split as she forced it on.

Both the men were Orientals. Chinese, she guessed from the high planes of their faces, and their size. Of the four men who stood threateningly over Tachyon in the front room two were Chinese, the other two jokers. The tall reptilian joker wasn't too bad, but his four-foot-tall companion sent a cold shudder across her bare skin, and the hair on the back of her neck tried to climb for cover. Roulette had a horror of flying, stinging insects, and now she was faced with a human wasp.

The body of the creature was vaguely humanoid, but the face was a triangular wedge complete with multifaceted eyes, and between the legs hung a long stinger. Transparent wings beat a frantic tattoo, filling the room with a low buzz.

A nervous little laugh erupted from her. "My God, when mysterious East meets homegrown grotesque, does that give us joker slavery?" she inquired brightly, and staggered as a hard blow from behind took her between the shoulder blades. Tachyon came off the coach like a compact, redheaded whirlwind, dodged a blow from the left, and wriggled out of a second man's grasp. There was a blur of motion, and the wasp jabbed its stinger into the back of Tach's knee. The reptilian joker's lips skinned back in a grimace of pleasure as the Takisian cried in agony and collapsed.

"It won't kill you, Tachyon. Jusst hurtsss like hell. And he's got unlimited sssstings sssso don't try it again."

The tall joker in a show of strength caught Tachyon by the nape of the neck, and set him on his feet. The alien touched the inflamed and swollen skin at the back of his knee, eyed the. 38 pressed against Roulette's throat, and the fighting tension leached from his bodv.