Inside Straight

“Hey,” the Maharajah said, “Lohengrin. Can that really cut through anything?”

“Ja,” the blond, brawny ace said from the far end of the couch. “Steel, stone. Anything.”

“You want another beer?” Simoon asked him.

Jonathan watched their guest of honor waver between his love of beer and his disgust at the American interpretation of the word. He held up a hand to decline.

“Would you guys watch?” King Cobalt said, frowning under his mask.

On the screen, the preacher, Holy Roller, had become a near-perfect sphere, barreling down toward the bank like a huge Baptist bowling ball. The Lohengrin on the screen struck a heroic pose and brought his sword to bear.

The impact was intense. Lohengrin was blown back through the door into the bank—they’d already seen the footage from the interior cameras—and Holy Roller bore a stripe down his midsection that showed where the sword would have cleaved him nearly in half had it been real. With a visible sigh, the enormous ace played dead. And then a moment later, Lohengrin appeared again, unbloodied and unbowed. The Discard Pile cheered. Lohengrin grinned and ran a hand though his hair. “It was a very strong blow,” he said, as if apologizing for his victory. “The priest is a formidable opponent.”

On the screen, Toad Man and Stuntman were circling around to attack Lohengrin from both sides. They’d all seen this from a different angle before, too.

“Look!” King Cobalt said. “Here it comes!”

The doorbell rang.

“Pizza’s here!” Diver shouted. “Who’s got the money?”

Jonathan caught a glimpse of Fortune trotting up from the back of the house, digging for his wallet.

“Don’t forget to tip him,” Spasm yelled. Fortune nodded. Jonathan didn’t think anyone else caught the little flash of anger in the kid’s eyes. Jonathan sose and picked his way across the crowded floor and through the cameras trained on the Discards. He caught up with Fortune in the atrium, signing a voucher. A stack of pizza boxes sat on the side table.

“Want a hand with that?” Jonathan asked.

“Sure,” Fortune said. “Thanks.”

The kitchen was as wide as a cafeteria. There was room to lay out all the boxes, lids open, and cheap paper plates besides. The fluorescent lights buzzed; Jonathan had heard two of the sound guys bitching about it.

“How’s he taking it?” Jonathan asked.

“Who?” Fortune asked.

“The new Ku Klux Klan spokesmodel,” Jonathan said. “Rustbelt.”

Fortune hesitated. “Not so well,” he said.

“You think he really did it?”

“Stuntman said he did,” Fortune said. “So it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Reality television,” Jonathan said, like he was saying “jumbo shrimp.”

A shriek and a peal of laughter came from the front room. Then King Cobalt’s voice saying “Watch this part.” Jonathan dropped a slice of pepperoni onto a plate and handed it to Fortune.

“Thanks,” Fortune said, “but I can’t. It’s for contestants.”

“Did you tip the delivery guy?”

Fortune stared at him.

“So, why can’t I tip you?” Jonathan asked. “Come on, this is all bullshit anyway. Have some food.”

With a half smile and something between a cough and a laugh, Fortune accepted the plate.

There had to be a way, Jonathan thought, to bring the subject up that was more graceful than So, did you track down that magic amulet yet?

“So. Did you track down that magic amulet yet?” Jonathan said, wincing.

Fortune looked uncomfortable. Before he could come up with a polite evasion, Lohengrin appeared in the doorway, a little shamefaced.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Is there any other beer?”

“Sorry,” Fortune said. “That’s all the studio got.”

“We are the losers, after all,” Jonathan said.

The German ace’s expression fell. Jonathan suddenly remembered Fortune and Curveball safely out of range of the cameras, and the plan, such as it was, sprang into Jonathan’s head full-formed. Which was to say actually, about half-formed, but that was enough to start with.

“I bet our man Fortune here knows some good bars, though. Right?” Jonathan said.

“Um,” Fortune replied.

“Do you?” Lohengrin asked, his face a mask of longing.

“Well…”

“Come on,” Jonathan said. “We’ll sneak out the back.”

Lohengrin’s smile was brilliant. Fortune hesitated for a long moment. He certainly wouldn’t have done it for Jonathan, but Lohengrin was a guest of the show, the kind of guy that Berman and Peregrine wanted to keep happy.

“I’ll buy the first round,” Jonathan said. Lohengrin’s eyes seemed to shine.

From the front room, Spasm yelled, “Hey! Where’s Captain Cruller? Chop chop, man. We’re hungry out here.”

“Okay,” Fortune said. “Let’s go.”

~ ~ ~