Lowball: A Wild Cards Novel by George R. R. Martin, Melinda M. Snodgrass

heard of any such thing.”
    That was a relief, but something else Beastie had said nagged at Eddie’s mind. “Wait, what was that about Lupo?”
    Beastie rolled his eyes. “He’s been in here every damn day, hoping for some kind of protection, but after a while he figured out that wasn’t going to happen. Now he’s telling anyone who will sit still that he’s remembered more details about the snatchers and demanding another session with the sketch artist. Some of us are starting to wonder if he really saw anything in the first place.”
    Eddie considered the question. “I think he really did. He was a little fuzzy on the details, but I don’t think he was making it up or hallucinating.”
    A rough, growling voice interrupted the conversation. “Oh, thank God you’re here!” Eddie looked up to see Lupo running down the sidewalk toward him. Beastie spread his hands in a see what I mean? gesture. “I mean that, Eddie,” Lupo panted as he came to an unsteady halt, hands on knees, before the station house steps. “I literally thank my Higher Power that you are here. I was beginning to think no one was listening to me.”
    Eddie shook his head. “I’m not here because I got called back for you. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten called back on the same case. Memories fade with time. You have to get them when they’re fresh.”
    “This is fresh, Eddie. I saw him again! The fourth snatcher!”
    Eddie and Beastie looked at each other. “When?” Eddie asked.
    “Just this morning.”
    “Really?” Beastie asked, not quite condescendingly. “The timing is awfully convenient.”
    Lupo raised a hand. “Swear to God.” The raised palm was scrubbed and pink, though lines of dirt remained ground into its creases. “I saw him on Bond Street, just around the corner from my hotel.” The whites showed all around his eyes. “They’re looking for me, Eddie! They know I saw them, and now they’re going to snatch me too!”
    Beastie didn’t seem convinced. “You’re absolutely sure it was him?”
    “Look, I know I haven’t always been the most reliable witness. But my mind is much clearer now. I haven’t touched a drop in two days.” Lupo crouched down, bringing his head to Eddie’s eye level. “You gotta give me another shot, Eddie.”
    “It’s not my decision.” Eddie looked to Beastie. “But for what it’s worth … I believe him.”
    Lupo’s heavy, lupine head swiveled between Eddie and Beastie. “I can give you a good description of the fourth snatcher now. Please.” His big brown eyes were impossibly sad and soulful. “Please?”
    Beastie sighed. “I’ll pass the information up the line.”

    Lupo and Eddie sat on a hard bench outside the wardroom door while Beastie went in to talk with Franny. This wasn’t exactly how Eddie had planned to spend the morning, but if he could get another few hours of composite sketch work out of it he wouldn’t turn the money down. Anyway, pulling himself away from the desperate, pleading wolf-man would have seemed rude.
    “I’m a new man, Eddie, I swear. You’ll see. I was all messed up last time.”
    Eddie had to admit that Lupo was not only cleaner, he seemed more alert. And his voice, though still sounding a bit odd because of the shape of his mouth, wasn’t at all slurred. “You’re really serious about this.”
    “I’ve never been more serious in my life. There’s nothing like the fear of getting snatched to make a man sit up and take notice of what’s going on around him.” He sighed. “Or what’s going on inside him. I’ve made a mess of my life, I admit it. Maybe this is the wake-up call I’ve needed. I hope it isn’t too late.”
    “It’s never too late,” Eddie said, though Lupo looked to be sixty or seventy … not an easy time of life to make a fresh start. “Even for people like us.”
    “People like us?”
    Eddie winced, sure he’d crossed a line. Not even jokers liked to be equated with an ugly lump of flesh like him.