Stigmata had no way of knowing what Jay's finger could do. "She was gone," he pleaded. "I never hurt her. Please, mister, it's the truth."

"No," Jay said. "You didn't hurt her. You just robbed her. You still had your key. So after she was dead, you just came in here and helped yourself. She must have had a nice chunk of cash. Enough to pay off your back rent and buy you a new television set, at least. What else did she have? Luggage, jewelry, what?"

Stigmata didn't answer.

Jay smiled, aimed, and pulled back his thumb like a hammer.

"No jewels," Stigmata said as beads of blood left pink trails down his forehead. "Just her luggage, and a bunch of clothes, that's all. Honest, it's the truth. Please."

"Where is it?" Jay asked.

"I sold it," Stigmata said. "It was all girl's clothes, it wasn't no good to me, I sold it. The suitcases, too."

It was the answer Jay had expected. "Yeah," he said, disgusted. "Figures. You sold it. Except for the chadors. Not much market for used chadors in jokertown, right? So you kept those." He pointed at the joker's hands. "She must have had quite a few, if you're still ripping them up for bandages a year later."

Stigmata gave a tiny, guilty nod.

Jay sighed and put his hands in his pocket. "You're not going to hurt me?" Stig said.

"Nothing I could do would hurt you any more than the wild card has done already," Jay told him. "You poor sad sorry son of a bitch." He turned to leave.

He actually had his hand on the doorknob when the joker, out of some strange sense of relief and gratitude, said, "There's one other thing. You can have it if you want. They wouldn't give me nothing for it at the Goodwill."

Jay turned back. "What?" he said impatiently.

"A sport jacket," Stig said, "but I don't think it's your size. Anyhow it's no good. It's got a tear in the shoulder, and someone got blood on it."

"Blood?" Jay said.

Stigmata must have thought he was angry. "It wasn't me!" he added quickly.

Jay could have kissed him.

Maseryk paused halfway into his apartment with his hand still on the light switch, glancing around his dark living room with the tightly wired instincts of the hunter.

"Hope you don't mind me just dropping in like this," Brennan said from the sofa, "but it's time to trade info again." Maseryk flicked on the light and snorted. "I don't see you for almost fifteen years, now I can't get rid of you."

"I've got something you want to hear. I guarantee it." Maseryk sighed, shook his head. He closed the door behind him and stood with his back to it. "All right," he said. "I'll bite."

Brennan looked at him closely. His mood seemed dark and somber even for Maseryk. His eyes were sunken and there were dark circles under them. The investigation into Chrysalis's murder, Brennan guessed, probably wasn't going very well. "Ever hear of a woman named Ezili Rouge?"

"Ezili Rouge? What's she got to do with anything?"

"So you've heard of her. Got an address?"

"What am I, the telephone book?"

"Well, do you know anything about her? Is she clean?"

"Clean? Christ, I guess so. Other than the fact that every man who sees her wants to hump her-and most do, from what I hear-she's clean as the goddamn driven snow"

"You sure?" Brennan asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," Maseryk grumbled. "We checked her out when she first made the scene-the boys drew straws for the privilege=-and she checked out clean."

"Someone reliable do the checking?"

"Of course. My partner, Kant."

Pure as the driven snow? Brennan thought. That's not exactly what Tripod had told him. Something here didn't add up. Kant either wasn't as good a cop as Maseryk thought, or wasn't as trustworthy.

"All right," Maseryk grumbled. "What's this big thing I'm supposed to be getting all excited about?"

Brennan reached into the pocket of his denim jacket and tossed Maseryk the vial of rapture he'd taken from Lori. "Know what that is?"

Maseryk grunted. "From its pretty blue color I'd say it's that new designer drug that hit the streets this week. Most of the other samples we've managed to score have been impure. Cut with everything from dry milk to strychnine."

"You know that it enhances sensation. Food, drink, sex-it's supposed to turn near anything into an ecstatic experience."

"Yeah, we know all that."

"What you don't know about is the side effect," Brennan said. "After you take that stuff for a couple of weeks, you need it. You really need it. Anything without it-food, sex, whateveris tasteless and sensationless, or worse, actually revolting."

Maseryk sighed and sank back into his chair. "So it quickly becomes addictive?"

"Horribly addictive. You can confirm this with a girl at Chickadee's named Lori. She's easy to spot. She's got a blue mouth from taking this shit. Apparently she's been one of Quincey's human guinea pigs, so she's been at it longer than most."

"How long before this addiction takes root?"

Brennan shrugged. " I don't know. A few weeks, maybe."

"Well, this is valuable news. Makes what I have to do more difficult."

Maseryk locked eyes with Brennan, who returned the stare with a frown. "What's that, Maseryk?"

The cop sighed and shook his head. "You couldn't leave things well enough alone. You couldn't stay retired, could you? You had to come back and play vigilante again."

Brennan had a sudden, sharp inspiration. "Ackroyd told you that I'm Yeoman."

Maseryk nodded. "I should have guessed after our first conversation. I suppose I halfway did, but I didn't want to think it through. Then that damned PI rubbed our noses in it. Now we have to take you in."

"No, you don't," Brennan said quietly.

"It's my job," Maseryk said. "I'm sure you can appreciate that."

Brennan nodded. "I appreciate the fact that you have duties. I hope you realize that I do, too."

Maseryk stood up straight, away from the door. "Let's not get into that," he said.

Jennifer ghosted out of the wall next to Maseryk, quiet as smoke, and put the barrel of a suddenly solid pistol against his head. Maseryk froze and stared at her from the corner of his eye.

"The accomplice?" he asked, his hands held out from his sides.

Brennan got up from the sofa. "I learned the value of backup in Nam," he told Maseryk. "It's something I haven't forgotten." He walked by the cop and opened the door.

"We'll be looking for you now," Maseryk told him. "Your time would be better spent finding Chrysalis's killer and stopping the rapture trade," Brennan said as he went out the door.

As the door slammed behind him, Maseryk whirled, grabbing the barrel of the gun. Wraith surrendered it with a laugh. He tried to grab her, too, but she was already smoke, drifting through the wall on an unseen, unfelt wind.

Friday July 22, 1988