Wild Cards [06] Ace in the Hole by George R.R. Martin Page A

accepted." Admonishment from the frigid operator.
    "Tachy, listen! Something terr-"
    "Sir!"
    "... help me ..."
    "Sir, will you accept the charges?"
    "... in big trouble!" Digger's voice soared into the soprano range.
    "No!" Tachyon slammed down the phone so hard that it gave a ring of protest. He was halfway out of his shirt when it rang again.
    "Collect call-"
    "NO!"
    It rang seven more times. After the third time Tach stopped answering. The shrill ringing was a drill biting into his head. He dressed quickly in his usual elaborate finery. Pale rose and lavender with silver lace. The phone was still ringing as he stepped into the hall. For a moment he hesitated. Help me. Help him how? Tach gave his head an emphatic shake, and pulled the door shut. Too often Digger had embroiled him in the sleazy journalists sleazy little problems. Not this time.
    I have enough problems of my own.
    Spector hadn't been to the store for a year and a half, not since the Wild Card Day when the Astronomer went out in a blaze of glory. With a little help from hire, of course. The suit he'd bought then didn't last out the day, but then a lot of things hadn't made it through that day. The old guy who ran the place had seemed okay to him. What the hell, might as well throw hire some more business. He couldn't stay at a swank hotel and not have some decent clothes. He'd stand out like a joker at a fashion show.
    He knew it was a mistake as soon as he stepped in. Before, the store had been old, dim, and dusty-like the old man who ran it. Now the place had been repainted and new, brighter lighting had been put in. The room even smelled new.
    As Spector turned to leave, a voice called out to him, "Hey, come on in, sir. If ou're looking for fine clothing at great prices, you've come to' the right place. Just tell me--I'm Bob--name's on the sign outside--what you want and I'll fix you up in no time."
    Spector looked Bob over. He was dressed well enough, although the clothes didn't disguise the fact that he was creeping into middle age, but he had a hustler's eyes and smile. Spector just wanted to buy some clothes and get out. "I'll need two suits, one dark gray and one light gray. Thirty-eight long. Not too expensive."
    Bob stroked his chin and made a face. "I don't think gray is really your color. Something in a tan maybe. Come on over here." He grabbed Spector by the elbow and guided him over to one of the mirrors. "Wait just a second."
    Spector looked around the store. He didn't see anyone else. It was just Bob and him.
    Bob trotted back over, holding a tan coat. He turned Spector toward the mirror and held the coat up in front of him. "What do you think? Great, huh. And a steal at four-hundredand-fifty dollars. Plus alterations, of course."
    "I want two suits. Just like I said. One light gray. One dark gray. "
    Bob sighed. "Look around outside. You know how many people are wearing gray suits? If you want to stand out, make an impression, you have to dress for it. Trust me."
    Spector wasn't listening. He was breathing evenly and concentrating. Remembering the pain. The agony of his own death.
    "You okay, mister?"
    Spector turned to face Bob and stared into the man's eyes. They linked. Bob couldn't look away, and Spector didn't want to. The memory of his death blotted out everything else. And he gave it to the man in front of him. His insides twisted and burned. Skin ruptured and sloughed off. Muscles tore and bones snapped. Spector's death lived again in his mind. And Bob felt it, too. Spector shuddered as he recalled his heart bursting. Bob gasped. His legs went rubbery and he fell over. Dead. Just as Spector had been before Tachyon brought him back to life.
    Spector glanced around. They were still alone. He grabbed Bob under the armpits and dragged him into one of the dressing booths, then walked back to the rack and picked out two gray suits. One dark and one light.
    He wrapped them in plastic and headed for the street. "The customers always right, Bob.