me？ Big boy shouldn't know a cook's third even exists。'
'I don't know；' Pearly replied。 It was the truth。
Up ahead； standing at the head of what had been dubbed Eggbeater Alley； was Owen Underhill and some guy from the motorpool。 The motor…pool guy was almost shouting into Underhill's ear in order to make himself heard over the racket of the idling helicopters。 Surely； Perlmutter thought； they'd shut the choppers down soon； nothing was going to fly in this shit； an early…season blizzard that Kurtz called 'our gift from God'。 When he said stuff like that； you couldn't tell if Kurtz really meant it or was just being ironic。 He always sounded like he meant it 。 。 。 but then sometimes he would laugh。 The kind of laugh that made Archie Perlmutter nervous。 In the movie； Kurtz would be played by James Woods。 Or maybe Christopher Walken。 Neither one of them looked like Kurtz； but had George C。 Scott looked like Patton？ Case closed。
Perlmutter abruptly detoured toward Underhill。 Melrose tried to follow and went on his ass； cursing。 Perlmutter tapped Underhill on his shoulder； then hoped his mask would at least partially conceal his expression of surprise when the other man turned。 Owen Underhill looked as if he had aged ten years since stepping off the Millinocket School Department bus。
Leaning forward； Pearly shouted over the wind： 'Kurtz in fifteen！ Don't forget！'
Underhill gave him an impatient wave to say he wouldn't； and turned back to the motor…pool guy。 Perlmutter had him placed now； Brodsky； his name was。 The men called him Dawg。
Kurtz's mand post； a humongous Winnebago （if this were a movie…set； it would be the star's home away from home； or perhaps Jimmy Cameron's）； was just ahead。 Pearly picked up the pace； facing boldly forward into the flick…flick…flick of the snow。 Melrose scurried to catch up； brushing snow off his coverall。
'C'mon； Skipper；' he pleaded。 'Don'tcha have any idea？'
'No；' Perlmutter said。 He had no clue as to why Kurtz would want to see a cook's third with everything up and running in high gear。 But he thought both of them knew it couldn't be anything good。
2
Owen turned Emil Brodsky's head； placed the bulb of his mask against the man's ear； and said： 'Tell me again。 Not all of it； Just about the part you called the mind…fuck。'
Brodsky didn't argue but took ten seconds or so to arrange his thoughts。 Owen gave it to him。 There was his appointment with Kurtz； and debriefing after that … plenty of crew； reams of paperwork … and God alone knew what gruesome tasks to follow； but he sensed this was important。
Whether or not he would tell Kurtz remained to be seen。
At last Brodsky turned Owen's head； placed the bulb of his own mask against Owen's car； and began to talk。 The story was a little more detailed this time； but essentially the same； He had been walking across the field next to the store； talking to Cambry beside him and to an approaching fuel…supply convoy at the same time； when all at once he felt as if his mind had been hijacked。 He had been in a cluttery old shed with someone he couldn't quite see。 The man wanted to get a snowmobile going； and couldn't。 He needed the Dawg to tell him what was wrong with it。
'I asked him to open the cowling！' Brodsky shouted into Owen's ear。 'He did； and then it seemed like I was looking through his eyes 。 。 。 but with my mind； do you see？'
Owen nodded。
'I could see right away what was wrong； someone had taken the plugs out。 So I told the guy to look around； which he did。 Which we both did。 And there they were； in a jar of gasoline on the table。 My Dad used to do the same thing with the plugs from his Lawnboy and his rototiller when the cold weather came。'
Brodsky paused； clearly embarrassed either by what he was saying or how he imagined it must sound。 Owen； who was fascinated； gestured for him to go on。
'There ain't much more。 I told him to fish em out； dry em off； and pop em in。 It was like a billion times I've helped some guy work on somethin except I wasn't there … I was here。 None of it was happening。'
Owen said： 'What next？' Bellowing to be heard over the engines； but the two of them still as private as a priest and his customer in a church confessional。
'Started up first crank。 I told him to check the gas while he was at it； and there was a full tank。 He said thanks。' Brodsky shook his head wonderingly。 'And I said； No problem； boss。 Then I kind of thumped back into my own head and I was just walking along。 You think I'm crazy？'
'No。 But I want you to keep this to yourself for the time being。'
Under his mask； Brodsky's lips spread in a grin。 'Oh man； no problem there； either。 I just 。 。 。 well； we're supposed to report anything unusual； that's the directive； and I thought…'
Quickly； not giving Brodsky time to think； Owen rapped： 'What was his name？'
'Jonesy Three；' Dawg replied； and then his eyes widened in surprise。 'Holy shit！ I didn't know I knew that。'
'Is that some sort of Indian name； do you think？ Like Sonny Sixkiller or Ron Nine Moons？'
'Coulda been； but 。 。 。' Brodsky paused； thinking； then burst out： 'It was awful！ Not when it was happening； but later on 。 。 。 thinking about it 。 。 。 it was like being 。 。 。' He dropped his voice。 'Like being raped； sir。'
'Let it go；' Owen said。 'You must have a few things to do？'
Brodsky smiled。 'Only a few thousand。'
'Then get started。'
'Okay。' Brodsky took a step away； then turned back。 Owen was looking toward the corral； which had once held horses and now held men。 Most of the detainees were in the barn； and all but one of the two dozen or so out here were huddled up together； as if for fort。 The one who stood apart was a tall； skinny drink of water wearing big glasses that made him look sort of like an owl。 Brodsky looked from the doomed owl to Underhill。 'You're not gonna get me in hack over this； are you？ Send me to see the shrink？' Unaware； of course； both of them unaware that the skinny guy in the old…fashioned horn…rims was a shrink。
'Not a ch…' Owen began。 Before he could finish； there was a gunshot from Kurtz's Winnebago and someone began to scream。
'Boss？' Brodsky whispered。 Owen couldn't hear him over the contending motors； he read the word off Brodsky's lips。 And： 'Ohh； fuck。'
'Go on； Dawg；' Owen said。 'Not your business。'
Brodsky looked at him a moment longer； wetting his lips inside his mask。 Owen gave him a nod； trying to project an air of confidence； of mand； of everything's…under…control。 Maybe it worked； because Brodsky returned the nod and started away。
From the Winnebago with the hand…lettered sign on the door （THE BUCK STOPS HERE）； the screaming continued。 As Owen started that way； the man standing by himself in the pound spoke to him。 'Hey！ Hey； you！ Stop a minute； I need to talk to you！'
I'll bet； Underhill thought； not slowing his pace。 I bet you've got a whale of a tale to tell and a thousand reasons why you should be let out of here right now。
'Overhill？ No； Underhill。 That's your name； isn't it？ Sure it is。 I have to talk to you … it's important to both of us！'
Owen stopped in spite of the screaming from the Winnebago； which was breaking up into hurt sobs now。 Not good； but at least it seemed that no one had been killed。 He took a closer look at the man in the spectacles。 Skinny as a rail and shivering in spite of the down parka he was wearing。
'It's important to Rita；' the skinny man called over the contending roar of the engines。 'To Katrina； too。' Speaking the names seemed to sap the geeky guy； as if he had drawn them up like stones from some deep well； but in his shock at hearing the names of his wife and daughter from this stranger's lips； Owen barely noticed。 The urge to go to the man and ask him how he knew those names was strong； but he was currently out of time 。 。 。 he had an appointment。 And just because no one had been killed yet didn't mean no one would be killed。
Owen gave the man behind the wire a final look； marking his face； and then hurried on toward the Winnebago with the sign on the door。
3
Perlmutter had read Heart of Darkness； had seen Apocalypse Now； and had on many occasions thought that the name Kurtz was simply a little too convenient。 He would have bet a hundred dollars （a great sum for a non…wagering artistic fellow such as himself） that it wasn't the boss's real name … that the boss's real name was Arthur Holsapple or Dagwood Elgart； maybe even Paddy Maloney。 Kurtz？ Unlikely。 It was almost surely an affectation； as much a prop as George Patton's pearl…handled 。45。 The men； some of whom had been with Kurtz since Desert Storm （Archie Perlmutter didn't go back nearly that far）； thought he was one crazy motherfucker； and so did Perlmutter 。 。 。 crazy like Patton had been crazy。 Crazy like a fox； in other words。 Probably when he was shaving in the morning he looked at his reflection and practiced saying 'The horror； the horror' in just the right Marlon Brando whisper。
So Pearly felt disquiet but no unusual disquiet as he escorted Cook's Third Melrose into the over…warm mand trailer。 And Kurtz looked pretty much okay。 The skipper was sitting in a cane rocking chair in th