Jackson had not been lying: John Hand was a sick man. He was almost entirely bald, save for a short fringe of white at the very back of his head. His skin was pale and loose and his eyes lacked focus. An oxygen tube fed into his nose and Tony could hear the click and whoosh sounds of the tank on the floor beside him. His bony hands trembled, but he managed to point a finger in Tony’s direction. It was an order to approach, a vestige of the dying man’s once-considerable authority.
Tony walked slowly toward the ghoul of a chancellor, the tripod at his side now – no harm intended.
“Where is she?” Tony asked softly when he was in whispering range.
With great effort, the old man tilted his head upward. It was a slight gesture, but it told Tony everything he needed to know. The tripod back in front of him, Tony headed cautiously for the stairs.
Un Lampo di Bianco Scene 89
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