"Your old man was all right. He knew how to take care of himself," Beck was saying to Starling, Junior. "A stand-up guy. You knew you could count on him."

Bonner smiled. He didn't doubt the sincerity of his words. Beck really had liked Starling, it was just that Beck had never had a good word for the rider back when Starling was alive.

The three men were walking down the street making their way to Dorca's bar. Beck had a stick that he leaned on but he didn't move very fast. He swung his leg awkwardly, dragging it just a little behind his good leg. The girl had told him that he was going to have to keep it in a splint for a good long time. Neither she nor Beck was sure how long. Beck was not pleased.

"I see you even use the same weapon as your dad," said Beck.

"Like father, like son."

"You any good with 'em?"

"He does okay," said Bonner. "I saw him in action."

"They pack the same punch as old Starling's arrows?"

"I never saw 'em," said Starling, Jr., "but they do a fair piece of damage. The other day I hit a truck. Musta been carrying gas or something, 'cause right after I blew the back axle . . ."

"SO ANYWAY," said Bonner loudly, "WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT LEATHER AND . . ."

"Pipe down, Bonner," said Beck suspiciously, "I want to hear the rest of what the kid was saying . . ."

"Yeah," Starling continued, "it was a real pain in the ass. Gave me a helluva shock, I can tell you . . ."

"C'mon, Beck, how many riding stories have you heard?" said Bonner hurriedly. "Heard one, you heard 'em . .."

"BONNER, I WANNA HEAR. FUCK." Starling looked mystified. "It wasn't much, really,

compared with what you guys have seen. I'm sorta new at this game, you know?" "No, kid, go on," ordered Beck. Behind Beck's shoulder Bonner waved his hands and mouthed: "No! No!" "1, uh, I, uh . . ."

"Yeah?" Beck stopped in the middle of the street. "I fired at a truck, blew out the rear axle, and the next thing you know the whole damn rig went up! Took me by surprise."

"Anyone survive?" said Beck through clenched teeth.

"I saw someone flying out of the truck but I figure he bought it. Must have. He was traveling when he got blown out of the cab of the truck."

Beck was very quiet for a moment and then he wasn't. He tossed his stick aside and grabbed Starling and lifted him up in the air. "THAT WAS ME, YOU LITTLE PRICK! ME! YOU HEAR ME?"

He slammed Starling against a conveniently placed wrecked car. "ME!"

"Beck," said Bonner, "for Christ's sake, how was he s'posed to know."

Starling was being tossed around like a puppet. The steel-shafted arrows in the quiver on his back were rattling. He was not a weak young man but all it took was one wriggle in Beck's grasp to know that he didn't have half the strength of the man-giant. The only way he could have broken free was if he had climbed out of his skin.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU COST ME?"

"Beck," yelled Sterling, "put me the fuck down."

"PUT YOU DOWN? PUT YOU DOWN? I AM GONNA FUCKING BREAK YOU IN EIGHTEEN PIECES!"

"C'mon, Beck," said Bonner.

"Stay out of this," barked Beck.

"C'mon, man," pleaded Bonner. "How many times have you taken out someone's haul? There ain't no rules about this . . ."

"You're right, Bonner. It happens all the time. I done it myself. But you gotta figure that if you find the man who cost you you gotta do something about it." Bonner stepped back from the two tussling men.

"Do me a favor. Beck. Let it ride."

Beck had drawn back one of his twenty-pound fists and was about to set about breaking some of Starling, Jr.'s face bones.

He paused a second. "A favor?"

"Yeah."

"To you?"

"To me."

Beck held Starling down with one hand. "Tell me if I'm wrong or what but if I do you a favor then that'll mean you owe me, right?"

Bonner shrugged. "Yeah, I'll owe you for this."

"Okay. I'll tell you right now what I want. I want

all of your next haul." "Fuck you, man!" screeched Starling. "Don't do it, Bonner."

"Sure, Beck, if that's what you want you can have it. Now put the kid down."

Beck lifted the pressure off Starling's chest and the kid slid to the ground. He picked himself up and dusted himself off. "Shouldn't have done that, man. I can take care of myself.''

"He would have killed you."

"Fuckin' right I would have," snarled Beck.

"Seems to me I broke your leg once."

"You little ..." Beck turned back to grab Starling. "Beck," cautioned Bonner.

"Yeah, a deal's a deal."

"Let's get to Dorca's. I'll buy you all a drink," said Bonner.

"Man," said Beck, hobbling along behind them, "you are gonna make me rich! Hear me, Bonner, rich!"

"I hear you," said Bonner.

As they entered Dorca's, Dorca, the proprietor, was tossing a very drunk rider out. Dorca was a very large, fairly good-humored man. He had a fatherly attitude about the men who came to his bar for the usual twelve or fourteen drinks, to pick up a whore or to pick a fight. He beat up troublemakers and threw them out, but he never took any of it personally.

"Hell," he'd say, "they're just blowing off a little steam."

He held the rider who had stepped across the line of decorum for Dorca's bar by the seat of his pants and the collar of a worn denim jacket. When Dorca saw Beck and Bonner, he stopped and smiled.

"Hey, gents," he said. "Who's the stranger?"

"Hey, Dorca," said Bonner, "remember Starling?"

"Hell, yeah!"

"Meet his son."

"No shit," bellowed Dorca. "Starling had a kid! Well I'll be ..."

"Hey, Dorca," mumbled the drunk, "you wanna get this over with?"

"Oh yeah, I'll be with you in a minute, fellas." He reared back and tossed the drunk into the street. The drunk bounced a few times and then settled on the sidewalk, happy to sleep it off where he fell.

Dorca wiped his beefy hands on his apron. "Pleased to meet you, son," he said, shaking Starling's hand. "I knew your pa real well. A good man."

"So I heard," said Starling.

"So c'mon in and have yourself a beaker."

They settled around the bar drinking the foul rotgut that Dorca sold. Amie the bartender placed the drinks in front of them and withdrew. Amie wasn't real fond of people.

"Good, huh?" said Beck, slapping Starling on the back.

"Great," said Starling, coughing a great deal.

"So what's news?" asked Dorca.

"Bonner's got news," said Beck.

"What's up. Mister Bonner?"

"Something funny going on on the outside. It was Starling who found out about it."

"Yeah," said Starling, "it's weird. I saw Leather-man and Berger and Carey get together down south a ways."

Dorca fingered the leg from a pool table he used to keep order in his joint. "That is weird."

"What do ya s'pose they're up to?" asked Beck.

"Trading?" suggested Dorca.

"Doubt it," said Bonner.

"Why not?"

"Not all three of them at once."

"Maybe," said Beck. "I mean they just all finished the fall roundups. Maybe Leather found gas and Carey the Kook found ammo, and Berger, he's got a lotta food. You know they traded all round . . ."

"That doesn't sound like the overlords we all know and love," said Bonner.

"No," agreed Dorca, "it don't. S'cuse me . . ." He picked up the club and wandered over to a table where two whores were having a loud argument about something.

"I hope you two ladies ain't thinking of going for your guns." "Bug off, you fat fuck."

"Mary Jane," said Dorca, "you'll get your little ass banned from here and you'll be looking for customers on the street. You don't wanna do that, do you?" "Fuck off."

"Goodnight, hon," said Dorca. He swatted her with the club, just enough to put her out and make her face puffy for a couple of days. He lifted her in one arm and tossed her out the front door.

"I hate bad language in a woman," he explained to his customers, "it ain't ladylike."

"Hey, Bonner," shouted someone from the back of the room. It was Wiggy, an old pal of Bonner's. "Seen Lucky?" "No," said Bonner.

"That's funny," said someone else. "I left a bike up there for him to work on. I went back the other day and he wun't there and the bike haint been worked on."

"Lucky never leaves Chicago," said Bonner.

"Where could he go?"

"Beats the crap out of me,"

"Strange," said Bonner. He decided he'd head up to the bus station and check it out.

"You leaving?" asked Starling.

"Yeah."

"Where you going?"

"Goodnight, all," said Bonner.

"Can 1 come?"

"No." Bonner hated to admit it but he was getting a little sick of Starting, Jr. There was something he couldn't quite put his finger on, something he didn't like.

Bonner found the bus station deserted—almost. He surprised a streetworker in the act of carrying away a ton of spares that Lucky had carefully stashed in the old lockers. When the streetworker saw Bonner he dropped the pieces of oily metal and stood rooted to the spot.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was your shit. Honest. 1 thought it was Lucky's and you know, he ain't coming back."

"What does that mean?"

"Like I said," sniffled the streetworker, "he ain't coming back. I saw a 'lep come in here the other night. He left with Lucky, only Lucky wasn't moving. I figure the 'lep came and got him. You know what happens when a 'lep takes a man. Hey, you don't come back, and that's a fact."

Bonner stared at the man. Could it be the same 'lep that Beck had killed in his apartment? Maybe, maybe not. What the hell were 'leps doing in the open city in the first place? And what did they want with Lucky? Things were getting stranger every minute.

"Take off," Bonner ordered. "And tell your friends. Somebody steals anything out of here, they're going to answer to me."

"Answer to you. You bet. I'll tell them." The streetworker scuttled out like a crab. Bonner got the Mean Brothers to watch over the place. The assignment bored them. But nothing got stolen, either.

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