John Miller - Death Draws Five

He must be really worried about something, Jerry thought. It’s actually showing on his face.

Fortunato shook his head. “He finally fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake him.” Fortunato looked bleakly at Jerry. “He should be dead. I’m afraid that he didn’t draw an ace after all, but a Black Queen.”

Jerry felt Fortunato’s words like a hammer blow to his guts. “That can’t be,” he said. “He was fine—”

“Was fine,” Fortunato said with grim finality. “It seems that his Black Queen is an odd bitch. Slow acting, but progressing geometrically. His body temperature rose well over fifty degrees during the night. I can’t even begin to guess what it is now. I’m not a doctor, but I can recognize death when I see it coming. How high can his temperature go before his body just burns up?”

“Maybe it’s part of his ace metabolism,” Jerry said hopefully. “Maybe his body won’t burn.”

Barnett nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course. He is divine—”

They looked at him and frowned. Fortunato spoke. “Maybe he is,” he said, though his tone indicated his dubiousness, “but his surroundings aren’t. How long until he’s a danger to everything around him?”

“You can’t know for sure that he will be,” Barnett said. He looked like a man who was fighting hard to maintain an unlikely viewpoint.

“He burned Billy Ray by just touching him,” Fortunato said in a leaden voice that lacked all hope. “He would have burned me if I hadn’t shielded myself. And the process seems to be speeding up. He’s getting hotter, faster. If it keeps going at this pace, by evening he’ll consume everything around him. He won’t be able to control it at all.”

A depressed silence settled over Barnett’s office.

“There’s one possibility left,” Jerry said. He and Fortunato looked at each other, and nodded. “The Trump,” they said together.

Years ago, Dr. Tachyon had managed to concoct a cure for the wild card virus, but it was so dangerous in itself that it was only administered when a patient was facing inescapable death.

Barnett frowned. “Isn’t the Trump pretty unsafe?”

“Fifty percent fatality rate,” Fortunato said, looking at no one.

“You can’t...” Barnett began, but his voice ran down to silence.

“We must,” Jerry said, “if we’re sure the kid is going to die. Or pose a danger to his surroundings.” He looked at the ace sitting next to him. “Sorry, Fortunato.”

“No,” Fortunato said heavily. “You’re right. But we have to be sure.”

Jerry nodded. “The Jokertown Clinic has the only supply of the Trump.” He sighed deeply. “I’ll fly back to the city and get a dose. By the time I get back we should know for sure if we’ll have to use it. One way or the other.”

It was hard for Jerry to volunteer to fetch the Trump. Very hard. Over the years John Fortune had become something like the son he’d never had. He’d seen him grow up to be a nice kid. He’d seen him apparently beat all the odds and become an ace. Now death was again panting over his shoulder. It would have been easier, Jerry thought, if he’d just drawn a Black Queen that day in Vegas. But the kid deserved better than that...

“Hang on,” Jerry said, looking at Fortunato. “He almost beat the odds when the virus struck him. He has an even better chance with the Trump.”

Fortunato nodded. He looked at Barnett. “If you believe in the power of prayer,” he told the ex-President, “get down on your knees for the sake of my boy.”

To his vast surprise, Barnett came around his desk, sank down on his knees and bowed his head. “Let us pray,” Barnett said.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

“We don’t know exactly where the boy is,” Nighthawk told the Cardinal, “but we will soon.” He frowned. “There may be something wrong with him, though,” he said.

The Cardinal interrupted angrily. “If we injured him somehow, all the better. The assault teams are in place. Start the attack.”

Nighthawk nodded equitably. “As you say.”

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

The Angel didn’t quite know where she was when she woke up. It was still morning by the bedside clock. She’d slept deeply, almost as if she’d been drugged. As she lay drowsing she realized suddenly that her bone-deep weariness was gone. She felt refreshed. Somehow replete. She turned and looked at the rumpled bed beside her, and Billy Ray was gone. She sat up, holding the sheets around her breasts, feeling the touch of the fabric everywhere on her naked skin. The room was quiet and empty. Billy Ray was gone.

She felt so... ashamed. They did things last night she could scarcely imagine, let alone believe. And she had reveled in it all. She had lain in his arms panting with lust like an animal. She had kissed him, willingly. She had joined with him willingly. She had laughed with him between bouts of love-making. She...

Wasn’t ashamed, actually. It surprised her to realize that. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done. It had been a wonderful night, wonderful and glorious in a way she’d never experienced before. She wanted to have other nights like that with him.

But Billy Ray was gone.

Maybe her mother had been right. Men used you to sate their lusts, then cast you aside, leaving you with the consequences of your actions. A swollen belly and a child to burden you for years. Well, the Angel thought, at least that last couldn’t happen to her.

The song her mother had played obsessively said that love is touching souls. The Angel was sure that more than their bodies had touched last night. She was sure their souls had as well. At least hers had. That was the only way to explain the complete and utter ecstasy she’d found, coupled with a sense of peace and rightness that she’d never felt before in her life. She’d found that. But there was no telling about Ray.

And now, he was gone.

“Just like a man,” she said aloud, and suddenly the door opened and Billy Ray came into the room with an armful of packages.

“Hi, babe,” he said, grappling with the packages and the door, finally managing to close it without dropping the boxes he carried. “You’re finally awake.” He paused. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

The Angel realized she was glaring at him. She sank down into the bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Nothing,” she said in a small voice.

He spilled the packages on the bed and sat down next to her. “Okay. I had to get something to eat after last night’s workout.” He grinned wickedly at her, and put his hand on the sheet over her upper right thigh and squeezed. “I don’t sleep much anyway. You looked like you needed your rest, so I didn’t want to disturb you by ordering room service. Also, I knew you didn’t have any clothes so I picked up a few things for you. You can do a proper shopping later.”

The Angel was almost over whelmed by his casual thoughtfulness. “I—I can’t accept these things from you—”

“Why not?” Ray frowned. “Besides, I found Barnett’s charge card among the remains of your jumpsuit, and put everything on it. The jumpsuit was a total loss, so I tossed it. Hope you don’t mind.”

The Angel shook her head, barely holding back her laughter. She had climbed again from the pits of despair to the very heights. “Of course you did,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. How’s your hand?”

Ray frowned, and held it up. He looked at it as if it were an alien object someone had grafted to the end of his arm without him realizing it. He stripped the tape away and the bandage underneath. The skin covering his once-burnt flesh was smooth and pink as a baby’s bottom. He grinned and wriggled his fingers.