"You can't mean that!" Hiram said in horror. "What Chrysalis did makes her no better than the Nur… murder is murder, I don't care what she knew or thought she knew. If she had charges to make, she should have come forward and made them. Doesn't Gregg deserve the opportunity to defend himself? Jay, I tell you, this is all wrong. If you knew Gregg Hartmann the way I do… he, he's such a fine man… so much courage… in Syria, if you'd only seen the way he stood up to the Nur al-Allah, you'd have been so proud. To accuse him of such

… such monstrous crimes… and based on what, what? The testimony of Digger Downs?" Hiram was getting angry now. "The man's a professional liar, Jay! How many times have I had to throw him out of Aces High?"

"That's not the issue, Hiram," Jay said.

Hiram Worchester frowned. One hand curled into an impotent fist on the table in front of him. "Where is Downs?" Hiram demanded. "I want to look into his eyes and hear this story for myself. I'll know if he's lying, and I swear, if he is…"

"The airline lost him," Jay said ruefully. The cat carrier hadn't been on the flight after his, or the flight after that one either. Delta said on the next plane for sure. "Never mind."

Hiram looked confused. He drained half his Pimm's Cup in a series of long gulps. His hand was shaking when he put it back on the table. "You didn't say who you think… actually did the… the business… with Chrysalis, I mean."

"Let's just say I'm going to be real interested to find out what Billy Ray was doing on Sunday night and Monday morning."

"Billy Ray," Hiram said. "My God, that's absurd! He's a Justice Department operative! You can't think the whole federal government is involved in this, surely!"

Jay shrugged. "Until somebody proves otherwise, I'm not trusting anyone I don't have to."

Hiram finished his drink. He looked down at the empty I glass, but his eyes had turned inward. "So many people have worked so hard. We've all… done so much. You saw those pour souls in the street. Gregg's their only hope. What will they do if it's true?"

"Vote Republican?" The quip was a halfhearted effort and the minute it was out, he regretted it. It was far too flip for the circumstances, for Hiram's genuine grief.

But Hiram scarcely seemed to hear it. He pulled out a black silk handkerchief from his lapel and used it to mop his brow. The huge man looked confused and lost, too weak to carry all that flesh. "There's a reporter," he said slowly. "Sara Morgenstern, she's been telling everyone that Gregg is a killer ace. No one believed her. She's not a very stable person, you know. But last night, an attempt was made on her life. By an ace, I'm sad to say. Jack Braun saved her, and would have died himself if I hadn't taken a hand."

"I saw the highlights on TV," Jay said. "The man Braun fought fits Digger's description of Mackie Messer."j "It sounds like the same man," Hiram said. "That doesn't prove he was actually working for Gregg, but I suppose… " He gave a long deep sigh of resignation, like a man being forced to accept something he could not stomach. "I suppose I must take this all seriously. Very well, then." For a moment he sounded like the old Hiram; decisive, full of resolve. "I'll take you to Dr. Tachyon. He can perform the necessary blood test, and if need be, he can go into Hartmann's mind and find the truth. Whatever that truth may be." On the table, his fingers opened and closed, opened and closed.

Hiram stared down at them, grimaced, forced his hand to relax. "So much is at stake," he said. "Jay, if we're wrong, think of all the people we'll hurt."

"And if we're right?" Jay asked quietly.

Hiram seemed to shrink in on himself. "If we're right," Hiram said softly, "God help us all."

"Ever see anything like this before?" Brennan asked Tripod, putting the mysterious note down on the bar, careful to avoid the wetness seeping out from around the joker's beer mug.

Tripod bent down close to the bar to get a good look at it and shook his head. "Nope," he said.

"Great."

Squisher's Basement was still packed with the lunch crowd. Squisher himself was floating contentedly in his aquarium. He waved a long boneless arm at Brennan and whistled in a shrill, piping voice. "Hey, big guy, long time no see. Who's the babe?"

Brennan glanced at Jennifer. "Friend of mine."

"Hey," Squisher said, "we should all be so lucky." He winked his huge, staring eye and smiled leeringly. "Free drinks for my pals," he ordered the bartender.

"Thanks," Brennan said. He remembered the quality of their whiskey. "I'll have a beer," he told the mouthless bartender who was staring at him and Jennifer fixedly.

"White wine," Jennifer said, and the bartender continued to stare. "Uh, I'll have a beer, too."

"Right," he rasped through the small hole cut at the base of his throat.

"Find a table," Brennan told Jennifer and Tripod, "where we can talk things over."

They pushed off into the crowd. He waited for their drinks, nodded thanks to the bartender, then took them over to a small, isolated corner table. He put the drinks down. Tripod took a long sip of beer through a straw.

"So where'd you get that note, Mr. Y?" he asked. Brennan told him between sips of beer. Tripod shook his head after Brennan's story. "You got me baffled."

"Me too," Brennan admitted. "It's obvious that we're being watched. But by who?"

"Besides Lazy Dragon?" Tripod asked.

Brennan nodded. "He certainly hasn't been leaving notes. He's been watching us for Fadeout."

"Well," Tripod said. "I'll keep an eye out. Any other leads to follow?"

"We've eliminated Bludgeon, Oddity, and Wyrm," Brennan said. "Doug Morkle and Quasiman seem unlikely. But there's still two inconsistencies. Two things that still don't add up."

"Kant," Jennifer said. "He investigated Ezili Rouge and said that she was clean. That's not exactly what you told us."

"That's right," Brennan said. "And Sascha. He's still missing. He must know more about the murder than he told me at his mother's."

"And he's also connected with Ezili," Jennifer added. "Right," Brennan said.

"Kant should be easy enough to find," Jennifer said. "I'll check with Fort Freak and see where he is." She came back from the phone in less than a minute and sat down, shaking her head. "He didn't report in this morning. No one at the station knows where he is."

"Bingo," Tripod said.

Brennan stood up, smiling grimly. "I hope we can get to him before he disappears, too."

"Try Freakers," Tripod suggested. "That's his favorite hangout. I'll circulate. Someone will know where he is."

"Right," Brennan said. He turned to Jennifer. "You wait at Freakers for him. Don't approach him if you spot him, just keep him under surveillance. I'm going to try Sascha's mother's place. She might know where her son is. If she doesn't open up, maybe I'll ask Father Squid to talk to her. He's not exactly Russian Orthodox, but he is a priest."

They all headed for the door. Squisher rose out of his aquarium and stopped them with a shrill whistle. "Hey, pal," he said to Brennan, "you got something I could put on our celebrity wall?"

He gestured toward a section of wall near the aquarium that Brennan hadn't noticed before. Tacked up on it was an amazing array of junk, from an autographed photo of a queasily smiling Tachyon standing next to Squisher's aquarium with one of the joker's boneless arms draped around his shoulders to a lacy handkerchief stained with green ichor, and a pair of crotchless panties with spaces for two crotches.

Brennan reached into his pocket for an ace of spades. "Will this do?"

"Sure," Squisher said. "Say, can you make it out to `My good pal, Squisher'?"