Wild Cards V by George R. R. Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

be tricky, and painful, to work out. He picked up the phone, dialed a number. It rang, then he heard the sound of her voice on the other end of the line: “Hello?” He held the phone tightly, realizing that he had missed her voice, and despite the circumstances, he was glad to hear it again. “Hello?”
    â€œHello, Jennifer. We have, to talk…”

    Snow was falling in blinding sheets and the wind was roaring like lost souls through the gray city canyons. Somehow winter seemed colder here than in the mountains, Brennan thought, colder and dirtier and lonelier. The maskless Werewolves, dressed as maintenance men, were waiting in the lobby of Jennifer’s apartment building. One was tall and thin with acne-scarred cheeks. His joker deformities were hidden by the baggy coveralls he wore. The other was short and thin, his deformity evident in his sharply twisted spine that rotated his torso abnormally from his hips. Whiskers and Brennan, also wearing coveralls, stamped the snow from their boots.
    â€œCold as hell,” Whiskers offered. “She’s gone?” he asked in a low whisper.
    The tall and thin one nodded. “She left no more’n ten minutes ago. Caught a cab.”
    â€œOkay, let’s do it.”
    No one saw them go up to Jennifer’s apartment. Her front door yielded easily to the Werewolves’ burglary tools. Brennan told himself that he’d have to speak to her about that, if, he amended, they were both still around when this caper was finished.
    â€œWe’ll toss the bedroom first,” Whiskers said as they entered the apartment. He stopped and frowned at the bookshelf-lined walls. “Shit, finding a book in this will be like looking for a needle in a goddamned haystack.”
    He led the way into a small bedroom that contained a single bed, a nightstand with a lamp, an ancient wardrobe, and more bookshelves.
    â€œWe’ll have to check all those damn books,” Whiskers said. “One might be hollowed out or something.”
    â€œJeez, Whiskers,” the short and thin Werewolf said, “you’ve seen too many mov—”
    He stopped, stared, as a tall, slim, good-looking blonde in a black string bikini stepped out of the wall. She wavered, solidified, and pointed a silenced pistol at them. She smiled. “Freeze,” she said.
    They froze, more in astonishment than fear.
    Whiskers swallowed. “Hey, we, we just want to talk. We were sent by important people.”
    The woman nodded. “I know.”
    â€œYou know?” Whiskers asked, bewildered.
    â€œI told her.”
    Everyone turned to stare at Brennan. He had opened the drawer of the nightstand, and he, too, had a gun. It was a long-barreled, peculiar-looking pistol. He pointed it at Whiskers.
    The joker’s eyeballs bulged from his furry face.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing, Cowboy? What’s going on?”
    Brennan looked at him with no expression at all. He flicked his wrist, squeezed the trigger twice. There were two small, nearly soundless explosions of air, and the Werewolves stared in astonishment at the darts implanted in their chests. The tall, thin one opened his mouth to say something, sighed, closed his eyes, and slipped to the floor. The other didn’t even try to speak.
    â€œCowboy!”
    Brennan shook his head. “My name isn’t Cowboy. It isn’t Yeoman either, but that will do.”
    Whiskers’s face took on an almost comical look of terror. “Look, let me go. Please. I won’t tell anyone. Honest. Trust me—” He sagged to his knees, his hands clasped imploringly, tears soaking his furry cheeks.
    Brennan’s air pistol spat another dart, and Whiskers slipped facedown on the carpet. Brennan turned to Jennifer.
    â€œHello, Wraith.”
    She dropped the gun on the bed. “Can’t you … can’t you let them go?”
    Brennan shook his head. “You know I can’t. They know