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ate； the goods and services that we provide…and I think； the world needs guys like us； Harry！〃
Leonard felt his spirit deflate and his fight diminish； as Blake turned Harold's own rationalizations on him like a pack of hounds。 For a moment there； everything had seemed so clear 。。。
〃You know what would happen if there were no Paradise Waste Disposal？〃 Blake asked； and answered。 〃Local industry would either be forced to spend more money shipping their waste out of town； which they would not like to do： or we'd go back to the bad old days； when waste treatment was unheard…of and it ALL went into the creek！ Does that make any kind of sense to you？〃
〃Well； no； but…〃
〃But； nothing； Harry！ You know I'm right on this one。〃
〃But I…〃
〃Harry；〃 Blake said； crushing the last of Leonard's fight like a spent cigarette butt。 〃Don't go soft on me now； buddy。 You're right： we've been playing this way too fast and loose； and it's high time we cleaned up our act。〃
〃That's what I…〃
〃I'll tell you what；〃 Blake continued； a velvet steamroller squashing all debate。 〃We pull together on this one until we're out of the woods。 And if you still want out； well； we'll buy you out。 You walk away： free and clear； new lease on life。〃
This time； the silence was entirely Leonard's call。
〃C'mon； Harry。 Whaddaya say？〃
〃What do you want me to do？〃 Leonard said at last。
On the other end； Blake sighed with enormous relief； and Leonard； perversely； echoed the sound； if not the sentiment。
〃You're a stand…up guy； Harry。 I mean that；〃 Blake said； and he sounded utterly genuine； like a real friend。 It was the first time Werner had ever spoken that way to him。 Like he was one of the gang。
〃Okay！〃 Blake said。 〃First off； I want you to relax； and trust me； for God's sake！ I won't let you go down the tubes。 The DER can find hazardous chemicals in the river without knowing where they came from； right？ It's not like they have your fingerprints on 'em； right？〃
And Leonard was forced to agree。
〃As for the Pusser boy； I'll arrange for someone to take care of him。〃
〃What about the truck？〃 His voice； to his own ears； sounded panicky and stupid： the same old Harold Leonard。
〃Once again；〃 Blake said； 〃just trust me； alright？〃
And right then something went ping in Harold Leonard's head。 Maybe it was the way Blake leaned on the T…word till it squealed。 Maybe it was the whiff of reptile…smile on the other end of the line。
Either way； something clicked： and Harold Leonard realized that Blake was playing him like a fiddle； stroking his every insecurity even as he force…fed him his own rationalizations。 And Harold knew then that he was not a part of Werner's gang； and never ever would be。
It was a fact that made him proud。
Harold sat up a little more erect； as if he'd just grown in stature。 He reflected the smile back through the miles of fiber…optic cable； and was glad he did。
〃Sure will； Werner；〃 he promised。
〃And thanks for setting me straight。〃
Blake took another three minutes； give or take a second； to stroke Leonard utterly into submission。 Then the two men hung up； each certain in his own mind of what had to be done。
Blake leaned back in his chair； thought about the conversation past。 How easy it was to bamboozle the little shit。 And paradoxically； how close they had e to actual honest confrontation。 How wele； in so many respects； that confrontation would have actually been。
Of course； there was no place for straightforwardness in human politics。 The bank shot was always best。 As in the case of ol' Harry； his problems were best addressed by a separate phone call entirely。 A very simple directive； to be executed right away。
Ah； but Harry； he sighed to himself。 How nice it would have been to； just once； show you how I really feel。
Blake shrugged； dismissing the notion as shamelessly romantic。 He sat back and sucked on his Chivas； staring into the fire。
The fire was beautiful。
It knew no promise。
Twenty…Two
born of poison raised in poison claiming all form as its own it rested silent virulent hidden growing surrounded by trees and crawling shadow sharing itself with the mud and rock beneath its wheels the desolate road ahead the dead…end culvert where it all began in the days before the bridge awakening its seed in everything it touched reaching out in insatiable monstrous desire for more of its own kind
There were five dozen drums half…buried in the shit pit out back of Terry Honeger's land。
It was； in fact； Boonie and Drew's first dump site； way back at the dawn of their PWD affiliation。 Boonie'd picked it for many of the same reasons he was to later select Black Bridge： privacy； proximity； ease of disposal。
At the time； it had seemed like genius。 The Honegers； after all； were the most worthless fuckers in all of Felton Township； with a hardcore defile…your…own…nest tradition that spanned back over generations。 Of the three to four heavily wooded acres they owned or abutted； literally dozens of pockets had been cleared and devoted to rubble； kibble； and rot。
But the shit pit was their apex of achievement。 It was an old sinkhole； some eighty feet long and thirty feet wide； and a good fifteen deep at the center。 It had opened up one spring like an act of God； and far be it from the Honegers to quibble with Providence。
They had every kind of crap you could possibly dream of throwing away down there： washers； driers； box springs； packing crates； old tires and engine parts； cardboard； baseboard； drywall； brick； raggedy linen； regular garbage； on up to auto parts； including a rusted…out Gremlin that Terry's cousin Strong John had rolled straight over the steep embankment and left wheels…up like a capsized beetle。
The rains； when they came； filled the hole； making a rich garbage soup。 In the warmer months it was stagnant； home to snakes and mosquitoes and all manner of crawling； grublike things。 e the cold it became even more treacherous； a forgotten and frigid wasteland。
They would never even know the difference； Boonie had said。 And even if they did； fuck 'em。 Nobody could prove nothin'； and nothing could be traced。 Even if the Department of Environmental Resources caught on； the Honegers would be the ones to eat it； but even that problem never arose。
The Drew…spawn shuddered as Overmind sifted through its ruined brain： pirating thoughts； cannibalizing memories。
Remembering 。。。
The first trip had worked out well。 They were able to drag some debris aside； roll down the first two dozen drums； and pretty well bury it over。 But the fact was that they'd underestimated how much sheer space the drums took up。
The second trip had consisted of one half barrels； the other half cover： an abandoned sofa； some rickety lawn furniture； one hell of a lot of cardboard。 It had barely been enough。
By the third load； Boonie and Drew had learned two valuable lessons。 First： how amazingly fast this shit piled up。
And second： what a great big wonderful world it was。
The following year was devoted to locating spots that could acmodate anywhere from a