'Yeah. Year or more back, three of us, one was Pa, near got jumped by sec men up near old highway. Hid in brush and found a war wag from before the winters. Army. Two smaller wags with it. Few blasters, fucked by water and rain. But in back was drums this gas-jelly.'
'How many? How big?' asked J.B., glancing across at Ryan, who was searching, his memory for a long- forgotten piece of information.
'Twenty. All 'bout this high,' he said, holding his hand about four feet, from the floor. 'Opened one. Sticky. Fuck, was it sticky! Tried dipping a hunk of 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.
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 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.
'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 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.Ф
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.
The snow wolf didn't hesitate. 'I'm the best at butchering men,' he said.
Lori was doubled over on her knees, her skirt riding up to reveal her buttocks and attracting lustful glances from many of the sec men. She was vomiting copiously, threads of yellowish vomit dangling from her mouth, splattering on the concrete. Krysty stood close to her, watching what Mephisto was doing, determined not to give way and show any weakness.
First he had sliced off all the old man's fingers, one by one, first holding the wrist on one hand, then the other, to gain enough purchase to force the blade through the knuckle joints. Blood spurted, and the old man struggled and cried out, but the sec men were too strong for him. That was when Krysty saw the reason for the caldron of smoking pitch.
At a nod from Mephisto, the guards thrust their prisoner's hands into the scalding, sticky liquid. Instantly there came the hiss of steam and the smell of scorched flesh. Lauren's body stiffened, then went limp. Tar coated his wrists, sealing off the leaking stumps of his fingers so he didn't bleed to death.
'Bring him round. I want him conscious for all of this,' said Baron Tourment quietly.
The nearest sec man slapped the old man hard across the face. A ringing round-arm, blow that jerked the skull on the thin neck. His cheeks swollen and bruised, Lauren jerked back to awareness. He started to moan; Tourment gripped him by the jaw.
'Listen to me. This is for your son and all his stupe killing. He'll hear of this and know what awaits him.' He let go and looked at Krysty Wroth. 'And this waits for you after our talk.'
She ignored him.
Tourment extended a hand to Mephisto, who dropped the severed fingers of their captive into the huge pale palm. Ten pieces of bloodless meat, jointed, with chipped nails tipping, them. The baron smiled and walked to the edge of the dock, scattering the fingers on the surface of the water with a joyous gesture of release.
'First course, my pets,' he called.
Krysty noticed that the front of the man's elegant breeches was swollen with a truly frightening erection;
