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wood in it, and it burned like gas. But we couldn't see no use for it."
"Jelly that burns like gas," said J.B., turning to Ryan with a blissful smile,
It was the happiest that Ryan had seen him in months. "Know what it is, Ryan?"
But it was Doc who replied. "I know, Mr.
Dix."
"What?"
"It's napalm."
BARON TOURMENT led them onto a low concrete dock that jutted into an expanse
of murky water. It faced west, toward a red sun that was sliding nearer the
horizon, sinking behind bayous lined with stunted trees, their roots tangling
above the brown slime.
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The stone dock was mud-smeared, chipped and broken where it came in contact
with the water. It stood about three feet above the swamp, on pilings of
rusted
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iron. Several wide-bottomed metal canoes were tied to the pier. Across the
water
Krysty could make out the silhouette of a building, open on two sides, a stone
table at its center. Her sight was exceedingly sharp, and she could see metal
rings at each corner of the table and the thick stains that ran down from the
top."
Sec guards ranged around them as they stood there in the cooling late
afternoon, with the baron and Mephisto at their head.
"Now for you to meet an old friend, ladies. The father of your leader."
Krysty felt Lori stiffen, the word "Ryan" on her lips, and nudged her into
silence.
"Our leader?" she said.
"Jak Lauren, slut. The white wolf himself. We hold the coward's own father."
Raising his voice and clapping his hands together, he ordered, "Bring him
here.
And the pitch."
The air filled with the tang of hot tar as four sec men struggled with an iron
caldron that bubbled and smoked. Two others brought out a prisoner cuffed
between them. He was short and frail, wearing only rags of cotton, with a pair
of rubber sandals flapping on his feet.
"Father Lauren," said the baron. "Have you three met before?"
The man, who looked to be close to Doc's age, ignored the baron, staring
stubbornly at his own feet. Lori shook her head and looked away. Krysty was
puzzled. It seemed as though Tourment genuinely thought they knew each other.
If it wasn't a trick, then what did he think was going on? She knew the leader
of the other gang in West Lowellton, the snow wolf, was the bitter enemy of
the baron. If he was called Jak Lauren, then this old man was his father. Why
had the baron brought him out? What was he trying to prove?
There wasn't long to wait. Tourment gestured for Mephisto to approach. The sec
boss sidled to the front of the group and drew a long, slim-bladed stiletto
from a sheath at the back of his belt. He grinned as he showed it to the
women.
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"His son will be angry. I don't care," said Tourment. "I don't fear him. Or
any of you. Even the man with one eye."
At a sign from his chief, one of the sec men stooped and picked up a paddle
from the nearest canoe. He slapped it a few times on the water, the noise
echoing across the lagoon until it faded. Tourment waved his hand again, and
the man stopped.
"I decided this would be best. It will show you and the others what happens to
those who stand against me, show the pack in Lowellton what awaits them. And I
shall take some fucking delight in it. Start, dear Mephisto."
The sec boss moved in front of the old man, weaving the knife in his fingers.
He glanced, around to make sure the pitcher of hot tar was ready and then
bowed to the two women.
"Watch," he whispered to them.
J.B. REMOVED HIS FEDORA and banged it against the back of one of the seats,
raising a cloud of dust. "We're wasting fucking time," he said, his voice
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grim.
"You're more like damned kids than men who want to fight." He looked around
the old cinema at the faces of the gang, mocking them with obvious anger. "We
got to go first. We got to have the best blasters. We got to drive the
swampwag.
We got to& mother-fucking stupes." He rubbed his eyes, showing his fatigue.
"He's right," said Ryan. "It's close to dark. We got us a good plan. One that
might just work. And all we've done for the last hour is pick our asses and
chew round and round and waste time."
Jak Lauren stood up and moved to join Ryan. "This is our ville, Ryan. Our
enemy.
Our battle."
"Then fucking fight it on your fucking own," spat Finnegan, shaking his head
in disgust. "You're like fucking kids at a fucking game. It's my ball, so you
can't fucking play.
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There was a burst of chattering and shouting angrily directed at Finn. But
Ryan shouted louder than anyone and even considered firing a triple burst into
the star-
embossed ceiling.
"This is it," he called, when the noise died a little. "Our way or not at all.
It's what we do and we do well. It's not up for argument. Get it?"
Lauren nodded. "Sure. Guess it's the only way. Your way."
"Sure. Now we can talk details. Just you and us and six of your best."
The kid sucked on his teeth. In that unguarded moment Ryan glimpsed the child
of fourteen living inside the body of the trained killer. "Yeah. Not all of us
are good with blasters. You see, Ryan, we all read an' write. Pa made sure of
that. Years ago. And his Pa. There's men and women here with all the skills.
They know 'lectrics, power, water, farming, crops, land& how to do all that.
They all got a real skill."
"What's your skill, young fellow?" asked Doc Tanner.
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