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Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower
Ray tried to explain his position as they took the escalator down to the elevator bank in the lobby, but Jerry wasn’t in a forgiving mood. Mushroom Daddy listened with amiable interest while Sascha just listened, as usual.
“It’s not like I lied to you,” Ray said. “Or even wanted to lie. You and Ackroyd made some unjustified assumptions the first time you saw me, and went right on assuming from then to now.”
“And you let us,” Jerry pointed out for the fifth or sixth time. “You let us think you and Angel were working for the government.”
Ray shrugged. “There’s no skin off your nose, is there?”
“No skin off my nose?” Jerry said, just this side of outraged. “It’s a lot different thinking that we were going into this with government backing—or at least governmental knowledge and consent—and then discovering that the ‘government’ in this case was Leo Barnett.”
“Hey,” Ray said, “he was the President once, wasn’t he?”
“Was,” Jerry said. “That’s the operative word.”
Ray shrugged. “Look, you’re an ace. If you call changing your face an ace—”
“I do more than change my face,” Jerry said hotly.
“Yeah, okay, whatever. I’m not saying you’re a deuce, exactly. But you know how it is. The life of an ace is complicated. You can’t tell me you’ve never had a secret or two. Especially if your power is changing identities. Hell, your name’s probably not even Creighton.”
That stopped Jerry cold. Ray was right. Righter than he knew. Jerry’s whole existence was based on shifting identities. On lies he constantly told others. And himself. He was never just plain old Jerry Strauss. Most of the time he was someone else. The Projectionist. The Great Ape. Lon Creighton. Jerry Creighton. Alan Ladd. Butcher Dagon. Everybody but Jerry Strauss.
If Ray realized that he scored, he kept quiet about it. They eventually made it to the elevator bank, and Ray punched the button for the penthouse. The boys were on guard in the corridor. They must have received word of some kind of possible attack, because they had their handguns out and leveled as the elevator doors swished open.
“Hey, man,” Daddy said. “That’s so not cool!”
“Relax,” Ray said to both Daddy and the Secret Service men. “It’s me. You’re safe.”
One put up his weapon with an audible sigh, the other was more hard ass about it. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, pointing the barrel of his gun to the floor, but not holstering it. “Billy Ray. A blind guy. A hippie—”
“Don’t worry,” Ray said. “I’ll tell them not to kick your ass.”
“We’ve got to see Barnett,” Jerry said. “Is he in?”
“He’s already got company,” the armed agent said doubtfully, “but...”
“I’ll vouch for these guys,” Ray said.
“Even the hippie?”
“He’s undercover CIA,” Ray said quietly as he went on by. The others followed him.
Sally Lou was on the phone when they entered the waiting room. She jumped nervously as Ray and the others tramped in.
“Guilty conscious?” Ray asked.
“Why, why ever would I have a guilty conscious?” she asked.
“Just a joke,” he said. “Buzz the big guy. Tell him we’re coming in.”
“He’s with someone—”
“So am I,” Ray said.
Ray led the way. In the office Barnett was behind his desk, beaming. Sitting before the desk frowning was someone Ray hadn’t seen in years. “Fortunato,” he said. He stopped. The others piled up behind him.
“Come in,” Barnett said affably. “You’ve bought some friends, I see. Good, good. We’re just sitting around here chatting, trying to decide who’s gonna go to Yazoo and pick up John Fortune in”—Barnett checked his watch—“just about fifteen minutes from now.” Barnett looked at Fortunato. “Billy Ray would be a good choice, don’t you think?”
Fortunato didn’t look totally convinced, but he nodded nonetheless.