Foxx stiffened. "Wasn't there any pain?"

"Nope. A guy I knew once-he worked in a car­nival-he said there was a name for people like me. You know, people who don't feel pain. It's weird, I was always like that. ..."

"A horse," Foxx said, staring fixedly at the girl. She

6

was everything he wanted. Everything. And more.

"Hey, that's right. A horse. That's what he said. Maybe you know him. Johnny Calypso, the Tattooed Man."

"Mmm. 1 doubt it," Foxx muttered. It was going to be a wonderful evening.

The Rolls pulled up in front of an awning in the ex­pensive section of Fifth Avenue, and a doorman strode forward to help them out. "Oh, by the way, my name's Irma," the girl said. "Irma Schwartz."

"Lovely," Foxx said.

Irma was a dynamo. Foxx started with clothespins and graduated steadily through needles, ropes, whips, chains, and fire. "Does it hurt yet?" Foxx wheezed, exhausted.

"No, Doc," irma said, swigging from the bottle of champagne she'd brought with her from the car. "I told you. I'm a horse."

"You're a sensation."

"So are you, Foxie. Running changed my life. Really. Last week. Before that, I was into roller skat­ing, only I broke my nose. I couldn't smell too good out of it, so I got it fixed. Before that, I was into rolfing. And est. Only I quit that 'cause ! didn't like people calling me an asshole. I mean, getting beat up by your boy­friend's one thing, but when a total stranger calls you an asshole, you know-"

"Didn't the broken nose hurt, either?" Foxx asked, yanking at her hair.

" 'Course not. I told you, I don't feel nothing. Then be­fore that, the est I mean, I was into Valiums. But I started eating a lot. Doris, my roommate, told me how the guys at the Metropole was saying I was getting fat."

"Metropole," Foxx muttered as he dug his teeth into Irma's shoulder.