Akron looked like a lot of the other bombed-out cities. Acres and acres of blackened ruins, streets filled with rubble, junked cars, old trash; the air seemed dead and filled with soot and dust.

Leatherman had chosen Akron, not for its beauty, but for its convenience. It was outside of the Slave-states, so he could claim that he was meeting his fellow overlords on neutral ground. No one was quite sure where the state of Ohio fell in the scheme of things. Technically it could have belonged to either Leatherman or Berger—but neither wanted it. There was nothing there.

But it was close to the Slavestates so Leatherman didn't have to travel that far from his home base. Berger didn't have to ride too far either. Carey did, but no one cared. He bitched about it all the way there.

"How come Akron?" he would grumble to Brannigan. "How come it wasn't Peoria or Moline or even St. Louis, fer Chrissake?"

Brannigan explained that he thought that they were probably too close to Chicago.

"If them riders know that all the leaders are getting together, then they'll figure somethin' is up."

"What the fuck do the riders care about it? It ain't no skin off their ass."

Brannigan thought that the riders would probably be interested to know that their three archenemies would all be getting together in one place. One attack, a lucky break, and they would be done with Leather, Carey, and Berger all in one fell swoop. But he didn't say anything about that. Carey got spooked easy—despite what he thought of himself.

"So why fucking Akron? Too fucking close to the Slaves and the Hots, if you ask me. If they pull something ..."

"They ain't gonna pull anything," said Brannigan. He was anxious to find out what was going on.

Berger was already waiting at the broken-down shopping mall on the outskirts of town when Carey and his entourage got there. True to their word, the two rulers had shown up with around fifty men each— although back on the road, scattered here and there were pockets of heavily armed Snowmen and Devils.

Of Leatherman there was no sign.

Carey sulked in the motor home that had carried him north.

"Just like that fat freak. He calls a meeting and he's late. Man, I hate that guy."

Carey was pissed off that Berger wouldn't come out and greet him. After all, he was Carey, Prince of the Snowstates.

"And what's Berger got besides some mangy fucking desert? I mean, what kinda kingdom is that?"

Brannigan didn't think it was wise to point out that Berger's territories also had some of the best farmland on the continent.

Suddenly Carey said: "I'll bet Berger is a fag. Hey, Brannigan, is it true that Berger is a fag?"

"Yeah," said Brannigan, knowing it would make Carey feel better. "Yeah, Berger's a fag."

"I fuckin' knew it!" said the Prince of the Snowstates triumphantly.

Leatherman arrived before nightfall and greeted the two overlords as if they were vassals. Berger didn't like the Leatherman's tone and decided to settle some things right up front.

"Listen, Leather, don't get to feeling that you are some kinda hot shit to me. I got my own fucking territory and I'm here because you say that you got something you want to say. Okay, so say it. But don't get the idea I'm one of your doomfreaks there—" he gestured towards Snotty—"you can't order me around. Got it?"

Jeez, thought Carey. he don't talk like a fag.

Leatherman smiled that nasty smile of his. "Sorry, man. Hope I didn't offend you either, Carey. But listen, you know how it is for men in our position.

You forget that you got equals. Sorry. Didn't mean anything by it."

"S'okay," said Carey. He had always pretended he was Leatherman's equal but somehow never really believed it. To hear the man actually say it made him feel much better.

"Look," said Leatherman, "let's go inside and we can talk."

Leatherman walked towards one of the old bombed-out stores. He sloshed through the broken glass at the door and looked around.

The store was one large room with a couple of couches facing each other. Very odd little tables, very low with a cushioned top and a hard slanted board in front of them stood scattered in the space between the couches.

"This looks okay," said Leatherman, "nice and cozy." He threw himself down on one of the sofas, a fine cloud of dust puffing up from the old upholstery as it sagged under Leather's weight. He plonked his boots down on top of the little stool in front of him.

"Hey, guys," he said, smiling, "siddown. Yo, Woolcott, get us something to drink. How about a nice friendly drink, fellas?"

"Sure," said Carey.

Berger merely shrugged.

Woolcott sent one of Leather's personal slaves out to one of the supply trucks to get some of the sweet wine that Leatherman favored for special occasions. A couple of bottles were produced along with some coffee cups. One said "I © NY," on it. Leather had studied that many times.

"Now just what the fuck does that mean?" he would muse, " 'I heart nie'? Doesn't make a helluva lotta sense."

The three leaders had a couple of cupfuls in silence. Leather eyed them both over the cracked edge of his mug. Not much to look at, he decided, either of them.

"Okay," he said after draining his second cup, "we all had a nice drink, let's get down to business."

"Finally," said Berger.

"You guys got territories, we all got the same problems: supplies, recruitment, keeping the slaves in line, getting gas, making ammo—you heard it all before, right?"

"Right," said Carey.

"But—" Leather held up a finger—"what's the biggest, I got it, you got it, we all got it, problem we got? Huh? What is it?"

"Gas," said Berger.

"Broads," said Carey.

What an idiot, thought Leatherman.

"Okay," he said, "let's take gas. You, Berger, or you, Carey, you send out a convoy, find a sweet little gas pool some place. Say, two, three, maybe four thousand gals, just sitting there for your boys to take. But it don't make it home. You never see it. In fact you never see your convoy again. Gone, the whole fucking thing. And how come?" Leather raised his voice. "Because of Chicago, that's how come!"

Leather leaned forward on the seat. "That's the biggest problem we got, we three leaders, the biggest problem we got is the whole fucking good-for-nothing city of Chicago. Them skags up there, they don't got no respect for our states, they don't respect our orders. They don't respect nothing. They steal our shit, they kill our men, they take our women. And, hell, they attack our cities. We all had that happen."

"So what else is new?" said Berger.

"Yeah," said Carey, thinking he ought to say something, "what's the big deal about that? The riders are, you know, operational expenses."

"I say fuck 'em," shouted Leatherman. "I say the hell with 'em. I say it stops right now."

"Just how do you propose to do that?" asked Berger.

"Yeah, how you gonna get rid of riders?" demanded Carey, secretly pleased with himself for getting the word "operational" out without making a flub.

"Go to Chicago and clean 'em out. Take them on their home turf. Take 'em all down. All at once. War, man, war is what I'm talking about."

"Attack Chicago?" said Berger, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Right."

"Kill all the riders?"

"You got it."

"Have a nice time," said Berger. He started to rise. • "Now just a minute," said Leather, "I ain't gonna do it all by myself. This is why I asked you all here. I say we band together and all together we can take 'em down. I am proposing an alliance of the three great states, the Slaves, the Hots, and the Snows. We get together to destroy an enemy to us all."

"I was afraid you were going to suggest something fool stupid like that," said Berger.

"What's so stupid about it?" demanded Leather-man.

"I'm glad you asked," said Berger " 'cause I'm gonna tell you. You ready?"

"Yep."

"Because it won't work," he said bluntly.

"How so?"

"Right now I can think of three reasons. Give me a little more time and I'll think of a few thousand more."

"I'm all ears, man."

"One: Have you seen Chicago? You'd have to come across the lake and they'd see you. Them riders are built into Chicago. They know evey inch and we don't. They know where to ambush, they know where to hide. They live there. It's like part of them."

"Yeah," said Leather, "go on."

"Two: Can you honestly see Snowmen and Devils and Stormers working together? I mean, they all hate each other. They hate each other as much as they hate riders. And Radleps! Man, it would be a doomfreak salad."

"Hey look, Berger, I don't know if you got discipline problems or what, but my men do what I tell 'em. I say bury the hatchet, man it gets buried. Know what I'm saying?"

Berger ignored him. "Three: Who would command? You're gonna want to and I ain't gonna like that."

"Me, neither," said Carey figuring he had been out of the conversation too long.

"These are details and I'll tell you, I thunk this all through. I can answer all them questions."

"But there's one more," said Carey suddenly. "There's one thing you forgot."

This ought to be good, thought Leatherman, smiling to himself.

"What is it, Carey?" demanded Berger impatiently.

"Bonner. What about Bonner? I mean ..." Carey stopped in midsentence. The effect of his few words on Leatherman was nothing short of astonishing.

The President of the Slavestates, up till that moment quite amiable, was now very angry. His anger was reflected in his ugly face: his cheeks colored a deep crimson, the jagged scar pulsed and went a sharp white against the redness of his face. His single evil eye glittered with anger and hatred. "That's one fuckin' man," he whispered.

"One fuckin' man who has carved us all up until we're fighting against each other like dogs," said Berger acidly.

The feeble attempt that Leatherman had been making to keep his temper in check failed completely.

"Okay, man, that's fuckin' great! Now 1 know how come you two pieces of shit got little chickenshit territories, crappy little pissant countries that ain't worth a fucking thing. Now I know everything. You wanna know something, you wanna know how come you guys are never going to be as big as me? Wanna know? 'Cause you are fucking yellow bastards!"

Leatherman was pacing around the room waving the blades on his hands wildly. Berger and Carey pulled back instinctively. They were unarmed as agreed; Leatherman was. You couldn't tell a man to check his hands at the door.

Outside Brannigan heard the two leaders being berated by Leatherman and wondered if he should do anything before Carey got himself killed.

Snotty read his thoughts. "Don't even think about it, man."

Brannigan smiled weakly. "Ha-ha," he said. "One fuckin' man! One! You think that Bonner

can take on all of us and win? Do ya . . ."

"Leather," mewed Carey, "he's awful tough and

he ..."

"Tough! Sure he's tough. He's also dead." This was news. "Dead?" said Berger. "Bonner's dead?"

"Fucking right he is. I sent a couple of 'leps after him. They got him. They always get their man."

"You see his dead body?"

"Yeah," lied Leatherman. He had sent a 'lep after Bonner. That was as good as seeing it done himself.

"You sure?" said Berger.

"Yeah, I'm telling you, yeah."

"Promise?" asked Carey.

"Fuck yeah."

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"Pissed me off, that's all," said Leather.

"All you had to say ..." started Carey.

"So are you in or not?"

"Let's not be hasty here," said Berger. "What about my three points?"

"No problem, Berger. No problem."

"Oh yeah? How do you plan on getting near enough to Chicago without them tearing you apart? How about supply? How about all the shit I said."

"No problem," said Leatherman.

"Again with the no problem," said Berger disgustedly.

"I figured it all out. It's all taken care of," said Leatherman, smiling. He glanced at the sign on the wall. He wondered who the hell Thorn McAnn was.

"How? How have you figured it out?"

"Easy." Leather tossed himself back down onto the couch and put his feet on the footrest. "Easy."

"How?"

"I got me a secret weapon," said Leatherman, grinning.

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