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By the door； the jukebox wailed：
〃Oooh that smell； can't you smell that smell？ The smell of death surrounds you 。。。 〃
Dean took his shot； missed and scratched。
〃Haw！〃 Daryl grinned。 〃Nice shootin'； thar'； Tex！ That's another twenty you owe me。〃
〃Yeah； yeah； shit。〃 Dean spat。 He sucked down the rest of his Stroh's and plunked it on the sill。 〃Where the fuck is Boonie？〃 he groused。 〃Bastard owes me money。〃
〃How the fuck should I know？〃 Daryl said。 In addition to their other talents； Dean and Strong John had cornered the Iron Horse free…lance pharmaceuticals market； and the Boonster had a thing for Black Beauties。
Dean moved away from the table； deeply interested in distracting Daryl from the deuce。 He sauntered off to join Strong John and his prey。
〃This guy giving you a hard time； John…John？〃 Dean asked； trading his pool cue for a handful of baby…blond hair。
〃No； I 。。。 I just 。。。 〃 the Volvo…fag began。
〃I ain't TALKIN' to YOU！〃 Dean growled； bringing the man's head down hard against the bar。 It cracked like a gourd on a cinder block。 The man went wobbly…kneed。 Dean held him up。 fist twisting around his victim's hair。 A bunch of it came out in his hand。
〃Hmmph！〃 Dean scoffed。 〃Don't make 'em like they used to； eh； John…John？〃 he said。 Harassing passersby was more than a hobby with them； it was blood sport。
〃I dunno；〃 Strong John smiled。 〃I think he likes you。〃
Dean grinned； it was like a cue。 〃Hey；〃 he said； lifting the man's face off the bar。 〃What's yer name？〃
〃Nnuuhh 。。。 〃 the man mumbled； bright streamers of blood leaked from his nostrils and lips。 〃Nuhn…Niles 。。。 〃 he said。
〃Niles；〃 Dean repeated。 〃Oooh； I like that name。 That's a nice name。 So tell me something； Niles；〃 he said； lethally ingratiating。 〃Do you like me？〃
Niles looked at him with wide…eyed terror； suddenly caught in a lightning…round of Out…Psyche the Psycho。 He had a bad feeling that there simply was no right answer。
〃Please；〃 he pleaded； hands up in supplication。 〃I don't want any trouble 。。。 〃
Dean grinned even wider： all teeth； like a dog smiles。 〃Well； that's too bad； Niles； 'cause trouble's all we got！ Knowhaddahmean？〃
Dean gave his best dimwit Ernest Goes to Hell grin and twisted Niles's hair again； there was plenty enough left to bring him down。 Niles grabbed at the bar； trying to resist； but the geometry was all wrong。 Dean twisted again； Niles's legs buckled； and down he went。 He landed on his knees； facing Dean。
One by one； the other cheese…faced denizens of the Iron Horse craned their necks to watch the show 。。。
。。。 when suddenly the front windows lit up like angry eyes； as something sputtered and roared into the parking lot。
Dean looked at the opaque glass…block front window and smiled； he knew the sound of the Booniemobile by heart。 〃S'bout fuckin' time！〃 he said。
The headlights loomed larger； as the truck drew near without dropping an ounce of momentum。 He's not stopping； Dean realized。 He's not going to stop。
At all 。。。
〃What the fuck？〃 Strong John started。
。。。 and the scorched…raw nose of the Booniemobile smashed through the front wall； bulldozing the jukebox in a wave of glass and shrapnel debris； killing Skynyrd twice in a lifetime as it plowed on toward the bar。
Before Dean could so much as say duck； the truck drove a corroded mutant wedge into him； pinning him to the bar like a bug in a science project。 He thrashed and shrieked in frequencies only dogs could hear。 Niles the Volvo Faggot was thrown to the side； came up staggering； fleeing as one of the barrels flew of the back； propelled by the force of impact like an enormous steel spitwad。 It hurtled down and clipped Strong John of at the knees even as another catapulted into the back wall like a cannonball and exploded； raining toxin down on everything and everyone in sight。
Dean looked up； still pinned and shrieking； and saw the cab door open。 He watched； still shrieking； as a shape emerged that made no sense at all。
He realized； still shrieking； that it was the Boonster； e to pay up at last。 Boonie took one look at Dean and laughed like crazy。
Then he let him in on the joke。
Thirty…Seven
Just when he thought he couldn't stand any more； Gary stumbled across an open line。
For a second； it utterly threw him。 After over twenty minutes of pacing studio B； fruitlessly picking up and slamming down the receiver； he suddenly found himself standing there listening to the first ring。
〃Yes；〃 he said； allowing himself the teeniest smile…crinkle at one corner of his mouth。
By the second ring； the crinkle was gone。
By the fourth ring； Gary was carefully regulating his breathing。 Calm down； calm down was the unspoken message。 There was no point； no percentage in panic。 The fact was that they could be out and still be in no trouble at all。 Despite the phone lines。 Despite the very bad feeling in his gut。
But by the eighth ring； there was no getting around that feeling； that very bad feeling that something was wrong。 He listened to the brrrrrrng of ring number nine； knew that ten was the logical cutoff point； listened to the silence that followed the ring and knew there was no way in hell that he could hang up the phone until Gwen's voice was on it； speaking to him； letting him know that nothing was wrong； it was okay for him to stick around a bit； ride out this little burst of public hysteria and keep the bosses happy； secure in the knowledge that she was fine and all was right with the world。
Then the tenth ring came； and he pulled the receiver away from his ear。 It shook in his frustrated grip。 He wanted to slam it down； to obliterate its power over him。 He was terrified of breaking the connection。
His gaze traveled to the video monitors。 As far as they were concerned； it was an ordinary day。 A little bit of tension being generated by the Philadelphia Eagles； but that was expected： shit； the odds were five to one in their favor。 It scarcely qualified as a break with routine。
Brrrrrrng。 Number eleven。 He waited。 As he did； his free hand drifted to the channel cue for monitor number 2； which was wired to the local cable feed。 He flipped through the channels with the sound turned down。
Brrrrrrrng。 WMAR from Baltimore was NBC as well； running about two seconds behind 'PAL。 WBAL； 11 on the dial； was midway into that Fess Parker classic； Climb an Angry Mountain； while Channel 13 was stuck on Senior PGA Golf。
Brrrrrrng。 They were Remembering World War Two on Channel 15； getting regional football coverage on 21； back to seniors' golf on 27； locked on the Firing Line on Hershey's public station； Channel 33。 The Home Shopping Network offered more junk to people who couldn't afford it； Poison preened on MTV； Marilyn pouted on Cinemax； HBO and Showtime ran simultaneous screenings of Aliens。 Normal； normal； normal。
Brrrrrrrng。 He was starting to feel like an idiot； holding this ringing phone to his head。 The smart thing to do would be to bug out of here； hop on his hog and motor home。 Fuck Laura； and most certainly fuck Kirk。 Fuck his job； if it came right down to it； although there w