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The room was warm and the weather around even warmer. It looked as if the girl had been killed some time the night before last, while he and Dean were still on their way toward New Mexico.

  "Who?" he said quietly.

  Looking more carefully, teasing down the top of the folded sheet, he saw the entry wound of a knife, a very slender blade.

  Then he knew.

  "Oh, Doc," he said, sighing.

  He heard the sec men and Traven's creature leave accompanied by Doc. A few moments later there was a soft knock on the door of the bathroom.

  It was Krysty. "They're gone."

  "Heard them."

  "It's the girl, Sky."

  "I know. Doc did it."

  "Yeah."

  "Give me a hand with her."

  "Why?"

  "So I can have a bath. Then we can talk."

  THEY SAT closely huddled together while Ryan told them briefly of his jump to Jak's place and his action-filled return.

  He held out the compact radio. "I'll give him a try on this. See if it works."

  But first they explained what had happened in his absence and how there happened to be a corpse in the bathroom.

  J.B. finished the story. "Couldn't move her yesterday. Sec men all over the place."

  "You could all've tried the jump to Jak's place," Ryan suggested.

  "You had the only code, lover," Krysty pointed out. "So it meant making a blind jump or risking a bloody firefight here."

  "Think Doc'll stand up?"

  Mildred looked at him. "You know the answer to that one, Ryan."

  "Yeah. Mebbe."

  Krysty was lying on the bed, worrying at a ragged edge of fingernail. "Reckon we should spring Doc and run for it?"

  Ryan ran his finger through his hair, checking how dry it was. "If I'd been back a half hour sooner, we could have left the girl in the bath and jumped out of the ville. Could probably have gotten away bloodless and free."

  "Now?" J.B. said.

  Ryan rubbed his chin, realizing he could do with a shave. "No," he said. "Not now."

  HE TRIED THE RADIO a half hour later standing outside the window of his room, not wanting any of the sec men or Traven's spies to watch him. He angled the integral aerial toward the west, aiming it roughly in the direction of New Mexico. Working as accurately as he could, Ryan turned the fine needle to the one hundred mark. There was a digital screen with a liquid-crystal display, but it was malfunctioning, repeatedly showing only a straight row of sixes.

  Once he had it as close to the one hundred as possible, he switched it to Send.

  "Come in, Jak. This is Ryan calling from Florida. Come in, Jak."

  He switched to Receive.

  Ryan heard very faint crackling, the kind of static that he'd been used to hearing on the internal comm sets on the war wags.

  The unit had a volume control, and so he turned it up to the maximum level. The crackling simply grew much louder.

  He turned the needle to Send again.

  "Jak! Come in, Jak! You there? Christina, you hearing me? Jak, Dean, you there? Calling anyone down there. This is Ryan Cawdor calling out on the one hundred wave band to anyone there. Jak, come in."

  Switching across again, he heard only the hissing and whispering of the atmospheric ether.

  Ryan shook his head. J.B. leaned out of the nearby window. "Any luck?"

  "No."

  "Didn't think there would be."

  "Me neither. Thought that—"

  "…ing…fai…very…can't hear what…ain…peat again."

  "Jak!" J.B. exclaimed. "Dark night! That sounds like the kid."

  Ryan tried transmitting again, the ribbed mike close to his mouth. "Jak, that you? We heard something then, Jak. Faint and broken. That you, over?"

  This time there was nothing but static, not even the most distant and ghostly echo of a human voice.

  Ryan switched the set off and slipped it back into his coat pocket.

  "Try again later," he said.

  HIDING SKY'S STIFFENED corpse proved easier than Ryan had feared. Several of the unoccupied rooms in the motel had their doors open. While Mildred and Krysty kept watch, J.B. and Ryan carried the body, in its dripping shroud, along the passage and into one of the rooms. The one-eyed man had already noticed that the ceilings of the suites were only plastic tiles, some of them ill fitting and damaged.

  "Get her up there," he suggested. "Chances are we should be away from the ville before anyone tracks her down."

  "She won't be growing any sweeter," Mildred pointed out. "Not with the heat and humidity. Another day or so, and you'll be able to smell her from clean across the other side of the park."

  Ryan had seen enough chills to know that the doctor was correct.

  Already, despite their efforts to keep her cool, Sky was showing unmistakable signs of deterioration. The flesh around the wounds was corrupting, and her skin was starting to discolor. The soft tissues of her body were rotting, and the smell of decay floated around her like an obscene perfume.

  The corpse seemed to have a bizarre life of its own, slipping and sliding as the two men fought to stuff it into the roof void above the abandoned bedroom. Twice the dead girl somehow contrived to slither clean out of the makeshift shrouds, landing in Ryan's arms, as slippery as a netted salmon.

  But at last it was done, the body jammed into a corner, a length of torn blanket holding it tight to an angled joist. The ceiling tiles were replaced and the room tidied to remove any sign of what had been done.

  The two old friends paused in the doorway, looking around for a last check.

  "You think of death, Ryan?" JJB. asked.

  "Times like this, you mean? Bloody-hearted little bitch goes six deep and—" He shook his head.

  "Krysty has some old saying about no man being an island and that every death touches everyone."

  "You figure that?"

  Ryan pulled the door of room 237 closed. "No. Anyone near gets chilled, and you feel the touch. Not someone like this. No. Doesn't touch me at all."

  The girl's clothes had been carefully sliced up and flushed down the toilet. So had the bloodstained bedding.

  It was as though Sky had never been.

  THE RAPPING ON THE WINDOW made them all jump.

  "It's Kelly," Krysty announced. "Looks like he's seen a ghost."

  Ryan was first across the room to slide back the heavy glass panel. "What is it?"

  The sec man was breathing hard, as though he'd just completed a crippling triathlon. Sweat streaked his face, soaking the collar of his uniform.

  "Gotta go. Shit in fans. Traven's fed dreem to the old man. Stoned him from the inside of his skull outward."

  "Hurt him?"

  "Nope. Not whipped or cut or anything like that. Look, I gotta go. Traven wants you, Ryan. Wants you and wants to know where the boy's hidden."

  "You said there was a plan, Kelly."

  The noncom managed something that was nearly a sickly grin.

  "Yeah. There was. Now there isn't."

  Ryan heard the sound of someone shouting, then the shrill blast of a whistle. Kelly looked away to his left.

  "Like I said. Gotta go."

  "Good luck."

  He nodded. "Sure."

  Kelly vanished. A few moments later Ryan could hear more shouts and a single shot from a blaster.

  "Government Model Colt .45," J.B. said, at his shoulder.

  Less than ten minutes later there was the sound of boots in the corridor outside the room, and half a dozen sec men, faces tight with excitement, burst in, accompanied by one of Traven's faceless, pretty little girls.

  "He wants you," she said, pointing at Ryan like a shaman indicating a victim for a human sacrifice.

  "Why not?" he replied.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  RYAN WALKED ALONGSIDE the young woman, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Though she was shorter and fatter than Sky, there was still a strange resemblance.

  "How're you called?" he asked.
r />   "Rainbow."

  "Pretty name."

  "Go fuck yourself, you stinking heap of rotting shit."

  It quite seriously crossed Ryan's mind to draw the SIG-Sauer and put a 9 mm round through the side of Rainbow's head. But it would do nothing to help Doc, so he simply bit his lip and walked on in silence.

  Centerpoint dominated the park, dwarfing even the spidery framework of Paraglide Paradise. Ryan noticed that there was unusual activity, with several groups of Boss Larry's sec force moving nervously along the winding maze of swept paths.

  "What's going on?" he asked, turning to the young guard at his elbow.

  The man ignored him, keeping his brutish face turned resolutely to the front.

  Just before they reached the baron's headquarters, Ryan heard another brief fusillade of shots, coming from the swamp.

  "Hunting?" he asked. But once again he got no answer from anyone.

  Noticeably it was Rainbow who was in charge of the patrol, holding up her hand with its bitten nails to bring them to a halt.

  "Wait here," she snapped, then turned to look at Ryan. "You come in with me."

  "What was the firing?"

  "Just clearing out some rat holes," she replied, favoring him with a gap-toothed smile.

  Another of the posse of pubescent females was in the lobby and she beckoned Rainbow over, whispering something in her ear, bringing a widened smile.

  They both went to join Ryan near the bank of elevators.

  "Up the top," Rainbow instructed.

  "You coming?"

  "No."

  "Shame."

  "Fuck you, too."

  RYAN BREATHED SLOW and easy as the cage slid toward the top of the tower. The only important thing to do, now that Dean was safe, was to rescue Doc from Traven and then get the hell out of Greenglades ville. When he reached the revolving top of the building, the doors slid open.

  Ryan stepped out, hand on the butt of the blaster. His senses were prickling, anticipating a sudden and violent attack.

  The lobby area was deserted, but he could hear laughter from the big room inside. The laughter had that pitch of hectic cruelty that was heard in the voices of children merrily pulling wings off flies.

  The semidarkness stank of putrefying food, smoked dreem and sex.

  Ryan catfooted his way past the dividing rail that separated the two slowly moving sections of the tower. He paused, still invisible in the shadows.

  Traven's voice was resonant and measured, as though he were reciting some incantation. "As I order it, so must it be. As I ask, so shall you answer. As I speak, so shall you listen. As I smile, so shall you laugh. As I frown, so shall you weep. And as I chill, so shall you die."

  Then came a ragged chorus from his young posse of acolytes.

  "As speaks Adam Traven, man's son, so shall it be."

  Ryan was reassured by the coldness of the metal butt of his SIG-Sauer. There was something infinitely frightening about this liturgy of blind obedience and the implicit binding of their souls to the diminutive madman.

  The horror was deepened when he caught the croaking voice of Boss Larry, the words slurred and heavy with the drug.

  "He's a friend. Loyal friend. Been with me longer than anyone in the ville."

  Traven's whispering voice was inaudible.

  Boss Larry spoke again. "Promise?"

  "Here and now."

  The baron laughed. "Then I will. Just go ahead and do it, but don't bother me."

  Again Traven spoke, his words just reaching Ryan's straining ears.

  "After that I'll ask the old man more. How they got here, jumping in from no place. He'll tell me. Where the kid is. What's happened to pretty little Sky. Lots of questions. And then lots of answers."

  Ryan started as he heard Doc Tanner's voice come booming in, sounding tired and strained but still in control.

  "I shall see you rotting in the lowest circle of Purgatorio before I give you one mite of information, you loathsome vermin."

  Ryan chose that moment to step out from the blackness into the half light.

  His eye had adjusted to the dimness, and he was able to take in the whole of the squalid tableau with one raking glance.

  The two mutes, standing together by the farthest window, arms around each other, stared blankly out across the swamps; half a dozen sec men stood lounging on some of the plush maroon banquettes along the walls; Boss Larry was sprawled in his chair, illuminated by a stray beam of dusty sunlight. His legs were apart, trousers open and pulled over his fleshy thighs. Two members of the posse, one male and one female, knelt on the carpet in front of him, doing everything they could to try to rouse some life in the baron.

  Larry Zapp's eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hanging open. He looked incredibly stoned, old and tired.

  And watching over all, master of the revels, lord of misrule, was the antic jester himself.

  Traven.

  He rocked backward and forward on the heels of his maroon boots, the sharks' heads gleaming pale on the toes. He was dressed almost identically to their first meeting—patched jeans and the ruffled white shirt, over all the black leather jacket with the fringes and the pattern of sewn shards of mirror.

  He still wore the fingerless black gloves, and in his right hand he was holding the chromed 9 mm Beretta 95.

  The diminutive figure was standing with his back to Ryan, but that didn't stop him being aware of the one-eyed man's presence.

  "Just who I wanted to see," he drawled. "Come in, come in."

  "I'm in already. What do you want? Hi, Doc."

  The old man had been standing, ramrod stiff, away to the right, his dark figure blending into the draperies. He waved a hand to Ryan. "Greetings, my dear fellow. Is all well?"

  "No problems, Doc. Just come to collect you."

  "Jolly good. Then I'll be on my way, Mr. Traven. Like to say it's been delightful meeting you. Like to say that, but couldn't, as I fear that it would be a massive falsehood."

  Boss Larry was blinking in their direction. "You that son of a bitch Ryan? Yeah, y'are. Can't talk t'you now. Real busy."

  From what Ryan could see it was the young boy and girl who were real busy with the baron. Still to scant effect.

  Traven stood, poised on his toes like a dancer, head on one side. His face was in shadow, his mouth hidden by his mustache. But Ryan could swear that the man was smiling at him.

  "Don't go, yet, Doc. Not yet."

  This was it.

  Ryan had seen moments like this before in other places with other evil people like Adam Traven.

  The old man looked at him, bushy eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

  "Traven holds some high cards, Doc," Ryan replied, "so he gets to open the bidding."

  "Correct. First off we play questions. Where is Dean and where is Sky?"

  "Won't say and don't know."

  Traven suddenly stood totally still, his silence drawing every eye. Except for Boss Larry, lost in his own struggling world. Even the two deaf-mutes sensed something and turned around.

  "Time's wasting, Ryan Cawdor. I'll offer you a deal."

  "Go on."

  "You all go free to where you want."

  "And?"

  "And I won't pursue you. Or the boy. If Sky wants to leave with you, then that is her affair."

  "Doc?"

  "Yes, including Doc. All go free. It's such a wonderful feeling to set someone free, Ryan. To tell them to go and run about in the summer meadow with the sun to freedom on their backs."

  "How much?"

  "Did I mention a price?" His hands spread wide, his shoulders shrugging.

  "Time's wasting."

  "You come dark snaking with us."

  "When?"

  "This night."

  "Where?"

  "Wrinkly heaven. The retirement complex."

  "Why?"

  "Want you to come."

  "Don't like cold murder."

  "It's funning, isn't it, Mirror?"

  A ta
ll girl, sitting up on the floor watching Boss Larry, smiled silently up at her leader.

  "No."

  "Then Doc stays here, you all get chilled and I'll find your son if I have to look under every wet, green boulder in Deathlands."

  "How about him?" Ryan pointed to Boss Larry, who had fallen asleep. The boy and girl had moved away, leaving him exposed, his shrunken cock like a tiny pink snail crawling up the vastness of his belly.

  "What happens to him will happen regardless of whether you live or whether you die, Ryan. I'm bored with him, and his days are nearly done. But you are more of a challenge. More of a man."

  "All right, Traven. I'll come out tonight with you and your posse. Just me, or J.B. as well?"

  Traven laughed quietly and wagged a finger. "Stupid I'm not. You can be handled, but not a pair of you. No, just you."

  Ryan stood and thought about it. He and the others had firepower, but Traven had Doc. To try to escape from the revolving room by elevator was about the same as kissing the barrel of a 10-gauge.

  "You got a deal."

  "No firearms, Ryan. Make me nervous. Me and the posse might have a blaster or two, but not you. Understand?"

  Ryan nodded. "Oh, yeah, Traven. I understand."

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  BEFORE LEAVING THE tower, Ryan clasped hands with Doc Tanner. The old man, his face screwed up with worry, whispered to him. "I believe the little bastard intends to try to murder you."

  "Believe he does, Doc. If that happens, do what you think best."

  "I will. The best of luck, dear fellow."

  As Ryan moved toward the elevator, one of the deaf-mute servants materialized from a lake of shadows and touched him on the arm, beckoning. Glancing around to see that Traven had collected his brood about him on the far side of the room, Ryan followed the shaven-headed figure.

  As he drew closer to the lolling Gargantua in the padded chair, Ryan became aware of a strange scent. It wafted around Larry Zapp, enveloping him, like the miasma from a freshly opened coffin. It was the unmistakable stench of death.

  The baron's heart still beat, his lungs still labored to provide breath, but he was rotting away.

  A plump, ringed finger waved toward Ryan. "Closer. Closer."

  "What?"

  "Go back a fucking long way…you and me, Ryan. Larry and Ryan. Long ways back."