Wild Cards 13 : Card Sharks by George R.R. Martin

was no recognition in his eyes. He scowled at her and started to walk back the way they'd come. Hannah stepped into the grass to avoid him. "Shit," Hannah said. If she hadn't already been in front of the place, she would have left.
    But she went in, showed her ID, and asked the receptionist for Doctor Tachyon. Then she sat down to wait, finding a corner seat and putting her briefcase on the chair next to her so no one would sit there. She tried to pretend that she didn't take any interest in the carnival freak show that continually walked past her.
    "You're Agent Davis?"
    Hannah was startled from her reverie. A centaur in a white lab coat was frowning at her. She didn't know why that startled her so much - the clinic was awash in strangeness: a fish-faced joker with his head immersed in a globe of water was sitting across from her, a shape-shifting something that looked to be made of quicksilver had oozed from the clinic doors not two minutes earlier, and the far corner of the room writhed with what looked to be a quartet of upright forearms, the hands of which were having an animated and soundless conversation with one another.
    A human torso grafted onto a palomino pony's body shouldn't be so distracting. At least the centaur's upper body looked completely normal. In fact, that part of him was rather handsome. Hannah decided to concentrate on that. "Yes, I'm Agent Davis," she said.
    "I'm Dr. Bradley Finn. I'm afraid Doctor Tachyon is ... out of the country at the moment. The receptionist told me that you also wanted to see Troll. This is his day off. I want you to know -"
    The centaur stopped. Looked down. One of the forearms was tugging at his rear left fetlock. Hannah could see little pseudopods at the bottom of the mobile limb. "Listen, Fingers, Dr. Cody will be with you in a few minutes, okay?" Dr. Finn said. The hand nodded like a hand puppet to Finn, then seemed to notice Hannah and waved. Feeling foolish, Hannah gave a quick wave back. Scuttling on the pseudopods, the arm went back to its companions.
    The frown came back to Finn's face. "One of your people was already here today, a Peter Harris, asking about the fire victims that were brought here."
    "You don't look pleased."
    "I'm not."
    "I'm sorry, Doctor," Hannah said. "I'm sure your main concern is the well-being of your patients. But you have to understand that we need information if we're going to catch the arsonist. And that means we have to talk to the survivors, even at times when we'd rather not bother them. I know that's usually not easy for them, and sometimes we're dealing with people in a lot of pain -"
    Hannah stopped. Finn was holding up his hand. "Hold on," he said. "I think we have things a little backward. Why don't we go into my office -" He escorted Hannah through the clinic doors, his hooves clicking on the linoleum. They passed consultation rooms, most of them empty in the early morning. Another doctor, a woman with an eye patch, crossed from room to room down the hall in front of them, nodding to Finn. The doctor's office held a normal chair sitting before an abnormally high desk. Finn waved Hannah to the chair and moved behind the desk. She could see that the furniture was built for his convenience, so that he could work without having to bend down or sit. Hannah pulled the tape recorder from her purse, along with her notebook. She showed Finn the recorder; he shrugged and she set it on the edge of the desk.
    "I wouldn't have minded if your man Harris had wanted to interview people," Finn said without prelude, glancing once at the turning hubs of the cassette and then ignoring the machine. "I could have understood that. But all your Harris did was check to see who we'd signed in. That's what bothered me. I actually asked him if he wanted to talk to them, but he just laughed. He didn't say that he had better things to do with his time, but he sure as hell implied it. What he did say was that he was 'following routine, that's all.' I asked him