George Martin: Deuces Down

If you go down to Jokertown

Anyone you might see

Might be a little old lady

Name of Juju Marie

She might look like you

She might look like me

But there’s mighty mean momma

Name of Juju Marie

The radios had played that fourteen years ago, C.C. Ryder’s version of the old Mr. Rainbow song, when Sam and Roger’s parents had taken them to Jokertown for the day. And while they hadn’t met the old blues witch, they’d run into her counterpart, Typhoid Croyd, their parents dying, Sam and Roger going to the J-town orphanage.

If you go down to Jokertown

Better watch what you say

Or that little old lady’s

Gonna blow you away

“Toads and Diamonds,”

That’s what she sings,

“Jokers, and Aces,

And Black Queens and Kings”

Sam put his heart into that verse. ‘Kings’ was J-town slang for latents, shorthand for ‘suicide kings,’ the sword of Damocles of the wild card suspended over every latent’s head until it finally dropped, usually ending in death, sometimes maiming even worse than death.

He’d been a latent for eleven years and a deuce for only three. He knew what it felt like.

If you go down to Jokertown

You better pray hard

That a little old lady

Don’t deal you a card

You might start to weep

You might start to wail

You might feel an urge

To start a-shaking your tail!

Sam did so, flaunting the thing that set him apart from human, the joker that he could have but would never have removed. The audience went wild, girls screaming, snatching and grabbing for it as he danced out of the way.

Then his lion’s tail wasn’t the only one on stage. Alicorn leapt onto the end of the runway, John Fortune dismounting, and the unicorn began slowly walking along the ramp to the adulation of the virgins and somewhat less virginal teenyboppers on both sides as the rest of the Boys joined in on the next verse:

If you go down to Jokertown

Well, you might just stay there

’Cause that mean ol’ woman

Who deal cards, she ain’t fair

If you lose, you win

If you win, you lose

What I’m talking about

Is called the Wild Card Bluuuuuuues…

On the long sustained note, the unicorn reached the end of the runway and reared up on his hind legs, morphing from Alicorn into Alec-Alec, totally naked-and Sam realized that when he’d catalogued his friend’s changes earlier, he’d been inaccurate. Aside from his horn, mane, and mass, Alec’s unmentionables remained relatively unaffected by the transformation: He was hung like a horse in either form. Girls screamed in appreciation while the Boys got in front of him, strategically placing Dirk’s shoulders between the cameras and Alec, handing him a microphone for the encore:

You’ll get no release!

You’ll get no reprieve!

And if you go down to Jokertown

You might never leave!

The crowd went wild while various individuals attempted to enforce decency standards: cameramen battling to restrain possessed and prurient audiovisual equipment, Jim puzzling over his smashed remote, and Cameo running from offstage carrying a giant green tunic which she threw to Alec. Just as he put it on over his horn and got it low enough for at least regimental standards of decency, the weird electrical energy evaporated into nothingness and the instruments clattered to the stage. As the curtain began to come down, Jim triumphantly held up the universal remote in one hand and the batteries in the other.

“That was fun,” the crazy ace said, turning to the rest of them. “Do you think we’ll be able to top that with the next set?”

“God I hope not…” Alec prayed. “I must have looked like Herne out there.”

Jim nodded. “A lot like he did in ‘The King of Spring.’”

“Jim,” Paul said, “that’s not a good thing. That’s a joker porn video.”

“It is not,” Jim insisted. “I read the box. It’s a French art film.”

“Where Herne fucks twenty nuns.”

“It’s symbolic. He’s the King of Spring.”

Dirk snorted. “King of Sproing is more like it.”

“You’re not being helpful,” Cameo said, then to Alec, “Honestly, Alec, you do not look like Herne.”

“ Herne has antlers,” Jim said helpfully, “you have a unicorn horn. No one could mistake you. Above the waist, at least.”

Alec groaned while Cameo said, “Let’s just get you your tights.”

The went offstage to the changing area where the most noticeable thing was Cameo’s ragbag spilled across the floor. The next most noticeable thing was when Topper snatched the cloche hat off Cameo’s head. “Alright,” she said, stuffing it inside the inverted top hat she held in her other hand, “and for my next trick, I’d like to hear some serious answers. That is, if you ever want to see your own precious hat again.”

Cameo turned and began to glow blue with St. Elmo’s fire, electricity sparking off the bobbypins of her bizarre hairdo, which consisted of her long honey blond tresses pinned up and over a battered fedora, squashed from where it had been hidden beneath the cloche. “I don’t know who you are, lady,” she growled, “but you stay away from Ellen or you’ll have to answer to me.”

“And who are you?” Topper asked, stepping back, her hand still down her hat.

“That, I expect, would be Nick Williams,” said Peregrine, stepping in front of John Fortune, “a dead private investigator. And a dead ace. Will-o’-the-Wisp, the Hollywood phantom.”

“Who-” said Cameo, turning, then, “Oh, the winged bimbo who called me a liar. Ellen too.” A small ball of energy had formed in the air, levitating above her right hand like an ignis fatuous . “Going to call us liars again?”

Peregrine stood there, her face a mask of regal calm. “No. Though you were less than forthcoming with all the particulars of your story.”

“I told you everything,” Cameo said. “I was an ace up the sleeve, and I was murdered for it. Only thing I didn’t tell you was that when Ellen calls me back, she calls my ace too.”

“Is that why you stole my hat?” Topper asked.

“What?” said Cameo, then looked distracted, as if she were listening to someone. “Ellen says she didn’t steal your hat, she stole your grandfather’s hat. She needed to talk with him.” Cameo looked distracted again. “Says he’s a stubborn old bastard, and he’s pissed as hell that you kept your ace up your sleeve. But tit for tat. You never told him your secret, he never told you his.”

Topper’s eyes went wide. “That’s what this is about? Grandpa’s tricks?”

The electrical charge faded back into Cameo and she shook her head. “Yes,” she said, “I’m sorry for borrowing your hat, but you can use any hat for your tricks, while I needed this one in particular.”

Topper looked to Sam, then back to Cameo. “You read that same damned Aces! article, didn’t you?”

“Actually, I did,” said Roger. “I won’t let Cameo take the rap for it alone. I put her up to it. The article said that after the fire, the only personal effects Blackwood the Magnificent had left were his hat-”

“And the International Brotherhood of Magicians pocket watch he was buried with,” Topper finished for him. “And you didn’t want to desecrate his grave. I guess I should thank you for that.” She paused then and grimaced. “Grandpa forgive me… hopefully soon…” She reached deep into her hat and came back with a corroded silver pocket watch, covered with dust and gravemold. She tossed it to Cameo.