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left a trail of hilarity for the swing shift.
    In my effort to be P.C. I had picked an apartment smack in the middle of Jokertown. It was a relatively new building erected during a liberal mayor’s efforts to gentrify the area. It was white stone, relatively modern, which meant the living room, dining nook, and kitchen were all one big room. I had a decent-sized bedroom and a full bath with a tub in addition to a shower. I set my hat on the bookcase as I came in, and straightened the photo of my father in his dress blues. “Well, Dad, I hope you weren’t watching today,” I said to that stern, chiseled face.
    I was supposed to have dinner with Altobelli that night, and I knew my mother would be waiting by the phone in the house in Saratoga, wanting to hear about my first day on the job. Not wanting to be seen in public, I canceled with Altobelli, but mothers couldn’t be postponed.
    I put in an order for some Thai food to be delivered, and settled into the recliner with the phone tucked under my chin. “Hi, Mom.”
    “Oh, honey, I’ve been thinking about you all day. How was it?”
    The five-year-old who had run to Mommy with skinned knees and bumped elbows wanted to wail out every slight. Instead I feigned cheerfulness and said, “Great. It was great.”
    “Your father would be so proud.” I heard the sigh in her voice. “So, who did you arrest?”
    I told her about Abigail.
    “Never get involved with perps or witnesses, dear. I’m sure Sam would tell you the same.”
    “Yeah.” There was a knock at my door. “Hey, Mom, my food is here. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    “Okay, honey, take care. Be careful.”
    I slammed down the footrest of the recliner with a satisfying kick, grabbed my wallet, and headed to the door. I opened it to a joker delivery boy. This one wasn’t too weird. He just had faceted eyes like a bee, and the usual fan of angry acne across his cheeks and chin that was the hallmark of every teenage boy. The hallway smelled of cabbage rolls and coffee, but they lost out to the sharp scent of green curry and garlic beef wafting up from the bag the kid carried.
    “What do I owe you?”
    The kid looked at the bill. “Twenty-one fifty-three.” I dug out twenty-five, and realized I couldn’t make a habit of this.
    “Thanks.” I started to shut the door, but the kid held up a hand. “Yes?”
    “Uh … if you want anything like for … dessert, I can set you up. I’ve got a friend. ” He was staring at the pink and sparking nimbus that surrounded me.
    “It’s a good thing you kept that vague, kid, because otherwise I would have to arrest you. But it’s your lucky night. I’m tired and I’m hungry so I’ll pretend I don’t actually understand what you’re saying. But just for that…” I took my cash back out of his limp hand, pulled out the five, and gave him a one instead. “No tip.”
    “Hey! What about the fifty-three cents?” he howled in outrage as I started to shut the door.
    “Get it from your friend .” I slammed the door.
    ♥
    “Everyone’s a winner. Come on, mister, five’ll get you ten. Ten’ll get you twenty. Easy peasy, just pick the card.”
    The singsong patter of a three-card monte hustle reached us. Bill gave a gusting sigh. “Fuckin’ Joe Twitch. Just ’cause he’s a sometime snitch he thinks he can pull this shit. Let’s go protect the rubes.”
    Joe had set up between the Jokertown Dime Museum and Freakers, a spot guaranteed to get a lot of traffic. The citizens of Jokertown ignored him, but there was a crowd of tourists gathered around. None of them had ever seen a man’s hands move that fast. They were almost a blur. The man guiding those hands was short, wiry, and ugly as sin. He had faintly mottled skin, curly brown hair, and catlike green eyes that technically made him a joker. Aces and deuces were people who were outwardly unchanged, but possessed superhuman (or totally lame) powers.
    The current mark had his cowboy hat pushed well back on