George Martin - Jokertown Shuffle

Latham pulled a vial and small spoon from his pocket. He popped the vial open and carefully poured a spoonful, then held it under Jerry's nose. "Inhale,". Latham said.

Jerry hesitated, then drew a deep breath. He felt like someone was pulling out his nose hairs from the inside. Something in his brain gave way, and he felt a massive tingle of pleasure. "Jesus," he said.

Latham snorted a spoonful himself and let out a long breath through his thin lips. "I think God will likely be absent from our company tonight. Just as well." Latham bent over and put his mouth on Jerry's, pushing his tongue inside, and ran his hand over Jerry's crotch.

Jerry felt pinned by both Latham's mouth and the unreality of the situation. He tried to think of it as the kiss of death for his brother's murderer. His brain snapped into a memory of Beth's lips. For a moment, he kissed back.

Latham broke off the kiss and sighed. "It's a shame."

"What?" Jerry asked.

"Nothing." Latham stood. "Let's go into the bedroom." Latham walked toward one of the open doors, his silk robe rustling. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Jerry. Jerry caved in under the stare and followed. The bedcovers were turned back, and the sheets were clean. A red robe and mask hung in the corner.

"Take your clothes off," Latham said.

Jerry began unbuttoning his shirt. "I forgot my drink in the other room. Back in a minute."

Latham nodded, unsashed his robe, and laid down on the bed.

Jerry quickly crossed the living room and made it to the door. He unlocked it and opened it a crack. "Now," he whispered to the outside.

He could hear weights clanking in the room Zelda had gone into. Jerry padded across the carpet and stepped inside. Zelda was bent over with a large dumbell in either hand, doing flies. She looked up when Jerry came in, her face flushed with exertion. Jerry reached in his pocket for the packet and thumbed it open.

"The man wants to see you," Jerry said.

Zelda continued working her arms. "You're being paid to please him. So do it."

Jerry pulled the packet out of his pocket and threw the contents into Zelda's eyes. She dropped the dumbells and screamed. The powder was finely ground drain cleaner. Jerry had used it once before, in Jokertown. He knew Zelda couldn't jump what she couldn't see.

The kick caught him below the ribs and sent him crashing into the wall. His shoulder smashed through the plaster and Sheetrock.

"Kill you," Zelda said, shaking her head.

Jerry crawled away from her, putting a workout machine between them. The lights flickered and dimmed. Veronica was doing it to Latham. It was all going to work out fine.

Jerry grabbed the machine and pulled himself upright. The barbell sitting on it clanked. Zelda wheeled at the sound and took a step forward. She stepped squarely on one of the dumbells and it slipped underneath her, pitching her forward. Zelda cartwheeled into the machine, and Jerry leapt out of the way. She slammed into the mass of metal, knocking it over with her on top. The barbell tipped and fell. One heavily weighted end thudded into her back. There was a snap. Zelda opened her mouth. Jerry expected a scream, but there was only a low moan.

He backed into the living room slowly, looking away from her. Zelda was one of his least favorite people in the world, but the suffering on her face was more than he could stand to see.

Veronica was sitting on the couch with a gun in her hand. "Did you do it?" Jerry asked.

She shook her head. "I couldn't. It's just not in me." Jerry gritted his teeth. "What about Hannah?" Veronica looked up and gave him a slow stare. "She wouldn't have been able to either." She handed him the gun. "You'll have to take care of it yourself."

"Fine," Jerry said, hefting the pistol in his hand. "Get out of here. I'll meet you at the car."

Veronica stood and left.

Jerry walked into the bedroom. Latham was lying on the bed. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow. Jerry bent over and put the silencer to Latham's head, then paused. He understood why Veronica couldn't do it. After he fired the gun, Jerry would never be the same person again. No matter what the justification, killing a helpless person would leave a big scar. He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. Nothing.

"Can't be jammed," Jerry said, fumbling with the weapon. "Can't be."

The hands were around his wrist before Jerry even saw them move. They twisted the gun from his grasp and sent it bouncing to the floor. Latham bounded up, and put the bed between them.

"Who are you working for?" Latham asked. "Tell me, and you might leave here alive."

Jerry moved around the bed and toward the door. Latham cut him off. "Nobody," he said.

Latham stared at him for a moment, as if weighing the situation. He head a groan from the exercise room. "What did you do to Zelda?"

Jerry thought he saw fear for a moment in Latham's face. "She did it to herself, playing with her weights." He knew that only one of them was going to live. Maybe that was the only way he could turn killer, by counting on his survival instinct. He let his features go and took on his natural face. "Recognize me now?"

Latham sneered. "Strauss the older. In years anyway. I knew there was someone sniffing around the edges of things, but couldn't ever pin you down. Kenneth would be so proud."

At the mention of his brother, Jerry bolted at St. John. He slammed into Latham, knocking them both to the floor. Latham took Jerry by the neck and began squeezing, his hands hard and relentless. Jerry aimed a knee at Latham's groin, but caught him on the inner thigh. He clawed at St. John's face. The fingers at his throat clutched him tighter. Jerry could feel the muscles in his neck going numb. His vision was blurring. He thought of Kenneth's shattered body lying in a street. Thought of what would happen to Beth and Veronica if he failed.

Jerry put his index finger into Latham's ear, and extruded the bone through his own flesh and into Latham's. His bone snaked through the eardrum and into Latham's brain. Jerry remembered the egg scrambler and whipped the strand of fingerbone around inside the lawyer's skull. Latham made a strangled, hissing noise and began twitching.

Jerry twisted away and reshaped his hand. It felt like he'd stuck it into boiling water. He kissed the tip of his finger reflexively, then jerked back. He spat the brain tissue from his mouth.

Jerry looked over at Latham. He wasn't breathing. He had to be dead. Had to be. Jerry sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. He'd always thought Latham was tougher and smarter than him, but it was St. John dead on the floor. Jerry closed his eyes and put a hand over his mouth, his insides suddenly cold. This was what killing felt like; what it really was. He knew the horror he felt now would be worth the peace it bought down the line, but now all he wanted was to be gone from this place.

He reached over and picked up the gun, tucking it into his pocket. He got up, but turned in the doorway and looked down at Latham. The dead man's face was all pain, without a trace of peace. Jerry staggered out into the living room and grabbed his coat, then left the apartment. He changed his appearance as the elevator descended. He darkened his skin and hair and added a touch of age. But there was no changing how he felt about what he'd left in the apartment upstairs.

They were walking through her neighborhood in Brooklyn. Veronica's skin had some lines, of course, but her color was back. Her hair shone in the sunlight.

"How do you feel? I didn't think you could actually kill anyone. You weren't up to talking about it the other night." Veronica waved at a couple of kids playing with balsa wood gliders. They grinned and waved back.

"Not good. I can't kid myself that murder is okay, but I had to do it. Part of being a grown-up is doing what has to be done. It was him or us." Jerry shivered, suddenly cold. "I don't know. Sometimes I'm okay and sometimes I'm not. Eventually, I'll make my peace with it."