Mike had to kill a couple of Snowmen before they would take him seriously in Carey's capital city.

Carey liked to call himself the Prince of the Snow-states but he was known behind his back as "Carey the Kook," mainly because he had somehow got hold of the idea that the Snowstates was the most powerful entity on the continent. He also labored under the mistaken idea that he, Carey, was the meanest, toughest man in what remained of the world. In actual fact, the Snowstates were the poorest of the three states—thousands of square miles covered by a thick carpet of snow and ice for most of the year, and fairly barren land for the short growing season—and Carey was no tougher than your average Snowman, Stormer, or Devil. There were at least a hundred riders in Chi-town alone who could have taken Carey down without noticing. Any Radlep was three times the hard guy Carey was.

But the sudden arrival of a lone Radlep in the Princely City (the ruins of Minneapolis) made it look as if Leather was up to something. When Mike had come busting over the bridge that permitted access to the city a couple of Snowmen, thinking—correctly— that any Radlep was bad news, had taken a couple of shots at Mike and his bike. Mike had killed them with two shots from his revolver.

The quick and completely unexpected attack, coupled with the fact that it appeared to be a single 'lep, had thrown the Snowman garrison into a complete panic. Somehow it would have been easier on them if a full-sized force had tried to force its way into the city. It would have made more sense.

Mike scattered a dozen or so defenders with a couple of well-placed hand bombs and then steered his big bike deep into the ruins of the deserted city. He holed up for the night in the shell of an old Seven-Eleven and calmly cooked himself some supper on a fire he built in the lee of a tumbled-down wall. He ate quickly, listening to the night filled with panicked Snowmen driving around firing at shadows and rats and each other. By dawn they were all exhausted and completely spooked.

It was then that the satanically ugly man made his move. He crept through the dark streets towards the center of the city. His objective was the broken-down city hall building that Carey the Kook called his palace. It was the most heavily defended point in the city, but that didn't worry the Radlep any. That was where Carey could be found and Leatherman had ordered him to find Carey. The number of Snowmen between him and his quarry was really none of his concern.

The wide steps in front of the city hall were defended by a heavily sandbagged bunker. Mike figured there were probably a few men on the room. He didn't worry about them.

The Radlep advanced within twenty yards of the guardhouse, undipped the last of his bombs from his leather belt. He hefted it in his hand for a second and then, with a graceful overarm throw, tossed it into the center of the bunker. There was a second of silence after the bomb clattered to the hard ground. It was followed by a gratifyingly loud explosion and a large sheet of flame. The bomb had obviously ignited the fuel tank of some snowman's carelessly parked bike.

Leatherman had given Mike a Heckler and Koch automatic rifle as a present for killing his two hundred and fiftieth rider a year or so back. The 'lep knew every kick and jump of the weapon. He used it as skillfully as a surgeon might have wielded a scalpel back in the days when there were real doctors.

Mike followed up his bomb attack with a few precise rips from the H & K, cutting down a few Snowmen who had been rash enough to stick their heads out from cover to see what was going on.

Maximum confusion achieved, Mike launched himself toward the door. He charged up the wide steps and got very lucky. Coming out of the door, gun in hand, was none other than Brannigan, the Commander of the Snowmen. Mike swung the stubby stock of his weapon and knocked the pistol from Brannigan's hand. He followed this up with a sideways swipe of the gun butt at the Snowman's head. The crunch of metal against skull opened up a nasty wound behind Brannigan's cauliflower ear. Brannigan didn't argue. He fell down at Mike's feet, both arms circled around his head to protect his cranium from further attack.

Mike hoisted him to his feet. And bellowed in his ear: "Tell them fucks to stop shooting or I'll blow your fuckin' head off." The order had been accompanied by a half-quart of spittle, as well as some leftover bits of food that had become lodged in Mike's chewed-up lips.

"Okay, okay," screamed Brannigan. "Stop firing! Stop!"

Mike had swung around behind Brannigan and held him close, using him as a shield. The 'lep jammed the warm barrel into Brannigan's thick ear. Gradually the Snowmen stopped where they stood and gaped at the Commander of the Snowmen held prisoner by the Radlep they had been looking for all the cold night.

"Okay," hissed Mike, "nice 'n easy. Take me to Carey. I ain't here to cause no trouble. I got a message from Leatherman for Carey. I don't want no trouble, ya hear?"

Brannigan looked down the steps at the furiously burning guardhouse and the bodies of half a dozen Snowmen who lay sprawled here and there; he felt the warm trickle of blood from the wound behind his ear. No trouble?

"Yeah, sure, yeah. Take it easy, man . . ."

"So where is he?"

"Inside."

"Let's go . . ."

Carey took the message out of the plastic bag and examined it closely. He held it gingerly as if it was a bomb. He peered at the uneven scrawl for a minute, then shrugged.

"Get me a fuck who can read."

A Snowman who had some knowledge of letters was brought forward and haltingly he read the message:

"To Carey of the Snows . . ."

"That's the fuckin' Prince of the Snows . . ." Carey corrected him.

"It don't say prince, boss."

"Shaddup. Read the thing."

The Snowman cleared his throat again. " To Carey of the Snows. I got a plan for you and Berger. You, me, and Berger have got to work together to get something really fucking important done. Know what I mean? We got to have a meeting, you, Berger, and me. Meet me in six days in Akron. A truce. No weapons. No fighting. Got it? Bring like fifty Snowmen and I'll bring the same. Okay?' " The Snowman looked up. "And then he signs it 'Leatherman.' And he says, 'PS: Kill this 'lep and you're a dead man.' And that's it."

"I thought Leatherman didn't have no hands," said Carey, looking at the 'lep. "How the fuck did he write this?"

All the Snowmen looked at the ceiling, embarrassed. The boss could be so dumb sometimes.

"I think he probably got someone to write it for him, Prince."

"Oh, yeah."

"What's the answer?" asked Mike.

"What do you think. Earl Brannigan?" All of Carey's senior officers had noble titles—earl, duke, count—but it was only Carey who used them with any regularity.

"Could be a trap."

"Could be. Is it a trap?" Carey demanded of Mike.

"Dunno."

"Tell him we'll think it over," said Carey finally.

"Gotta have an answer, yes or no."

"Fuckin' freak. You're pissing me off."

Mike shrugged and coolly started working out a plan for fighting his way out of the big room. There weren't that many Snowmen around. He wondered if the Leatherman would get mad if he wasted Carey on his way out.

Carey called his senior dukes and earls up to his desk for a hurried, whispered conference. After a few minutes they broke out of the huddle and faced Mike.

"Tell him okay," said Carey. "And get the fuck off my property."

Jake had more or less the same reception in Berger's huge ranch down in the heart of the Hotstates, where Texas used to be.

But Berger was a little smarter than Carey and a whole lot richer. He also knew Leather better than the Prince of the Snowstates. He too had wondered if Leatherman was setting up a trap. But he doubted it. If Leather tried anything then he would be forced to fight a two-front battle—because Carey, stupid though he might be, would certainly see the wisdom of joining forces with Berger and his devils to destroy Leather.

Berger didn't buy this fifty-man limit for a second. Sure, only fifty devils would actually be showing but hidden just out of town would be a whole lot more men. If it was a trap Leather was certainly taking a chance. Both Snowmen and Devils could do a fair bit of fighting when they set their minds to it.

Berger went for it. "Tell him we'll meet him but no funny stuff or it's all-out war, you know what I'm saying? Total war, the Hots against the Slavestates. I don't want no tricks, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Jake.

"Tell Leatherman, Akron six days from now. No funny stuff."

"Gotcha," said Jake.

Jake hadn't been on the road for more than ten minutes when Berger sent a messenger north to speak to Carey. He wanted to know if the Snowmen would be at this conference and if he could count on his neighbor to the north if Leather double-crossed them both.

Berger was uneasy about the whole thing. He couldn't sleep that night wondering what Leatherman was up to.

Mike and Jake had it easy. Billy and Whitebait had set out for Chicago with the same singleminded determination to see their jobs done as quickly and efficiently as the other two 'leps dispatched by Leatherman. In their case, however, things wouldn't be quite as easy and things would turn out a little different than planned.

Web Site Contents (Unless Mentioned Otherwise) ©2012 By Atlan Formularies, Post Office Box 95, Alpena, Arkansas 72611-0095
Phone: 870-437-2999 - Fax: Out of Order -  Email: Addresses

[ Back ] [ Home ] [ Up ] [ Next ]