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416 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published August 1, 1991
A jumper could be anybody. Anywhere. Anytime.
These jumpers were the goddamn worst, and Leo had a feeling they didn't work alone. There had to be more afoot than Not-Joe-Fannin, and here the Fifth had just delivered up a whole host of new potential victims. These people had only just been freed from God-only-knew-what horrors, and here there be jumpers. Out of the frying pan.
Except the whole city was the frying pan, wasn't it?
In the midst of a twisted medieval landscape, the characters of Bosch were playing. Jokers. They cavorted everywhere you looked. The triptych is a celebration of jokerhood: fox-headed demons, a merman riding a flying fish, another fish crawling down a road with a castle on its back, a skating penguin, a stag-headed man in a red cloak, another with grass growing on his back, a half-naked woman with a lizard's tail, a toad-man, a monkey-man - hundreds of them, roiling in a dark, stormy world.
Like my Rox. Very much like the Rox I see in my dreams.
The Rox I might build if they'd let me.
"If he still has his ace powers, he will be an invaluable ally when the nats try to crush us. If he does not... His body is still warm. He can still attract bullets that might otherwise find homes in joker flesh."
I had felt nats die for the first time. A helpless voyeur, I watched them, and it hurt. It hurt just as much as if they were jokers.
All the pressure, pent up for years and years and years behind his emotionless wall (not as good a wall as mine), and David - poor David - cracked it with just his presence. David's death was a jackhammer blow. Walls: I have mine; Prime has his; and his is crumbling as the Berlin Wall crumbled last month.
"There are no easy answers," Brennan said. "Neither of us follows the herd. Both of us do what we have to do. Both of us have to live with the consequences of our actions."
"We were friends," Tachyon whispered.
"Once," Brennan said.
Tach turned away. "I am wounded, Jay, wounded in ways which can't even be seen. I just want to be left alone."
"That's not an option that's open for you." There was a grimness, a seriousness to the detective's expression that Tachyon had never seen before. It was a little frightening. "There are people who are actors on history. They can't step off the stage no matter how much they might like to. You're one of those people - you poor bastard."