woman's eyes shift minutely in that direction。 She wanted to get back over there across the road； wanted to bag her limit before the game was gone。 Freddy knew how she felt。
'Send them in； lassie；' Kurtz said。 He was still standing over the cap on the floor （the floor that was still faintly stained with Cook's Third Melrose's blood）； still holding the deck of cards in his hand； but his eyes were bright and interested。 'Let's see who you found。' Jocelyn gestured with her gun。 A male voice at the foot of the stairs growled； 'The fuck up there。 Don't make me say it twice。' The first man to step past Jocelyn was tall and very black。 There was a cut down one of his cheeks and another on his neck。 Both cuts had been clogged with Ripley。 More was growing in the creases in his brow。 Freddy knew the face but not the name。 The old man； of course； knew both。 Freddy supposed he remembered the names of all the men he had manded； both the quick and the dead。
'Cambry！' Kurtz said； eyes lighting even more brightly。 He dropped the playing cards into the hat； approached Cambry； seemed about to shake hands； thought better of it； and snapped off a salute instead。 Gene Cambry did not return it。 He looked sullen and disoriented。 'Wele to the justice League of America。'
'Spotted him running through the woods along with the detainees he was supposed to be guarding；' Jocelyn McAvoy said。 Her face was expressionless； all her contempt was in her voice。
'Why not？' Cambry asked。 He looked at Kurtz。 'You were going to kill me； anyway。 Kill all of us。 Don't bother lying about it； either。 I can see it in your mind。'
Kurtz wasn't disfited by this in the slightest。 He rubbed his hands together and smiled at Cambry in a friendly way。 'Do a good job and p'raps you'll change my mind； buck。 Hearts were made to be broken and minds were made to be changed； that's a big praise God。 Who else have you got for me； Joss？'
Freddy regarded the second figure with amazement。 Also with pleasure。 The Ripley could not have found a better home； in his humble opinion。 Nobody liked the son of a bitch much in the first place。
'Sir 。 。 。 boss 。 。 。 I don't know why I'm here 。 。 。 I was in proper pursuit of the escapees when this 。 。 。 this 。 。 。 I'm sorry； I have to say it； when this officious bitch pulled me out of the sweep area and 。 。 。'
'He was running with them；' McAvoy said in a bored voice。 'Running with them and infected up the old wazoo。'
'A he！' said the man in the doorway。 'A total lie！ I'm perfectly clean！ One hundred per cent…'
McAvoy snatched off the watchcap her second prisoner was wearing。 The man's thinning blond hair was much thicker now； and appeared to have been dyed red。
'I can explain； sir；' Archie Perlmutter said； his voice fading even as he spoke。 'There is 。 。 。 you see 。 。 。 Then it died away entirely。
Kurtz was beaming at him； but he had donned his filter…mask again … they all had … and it gave his reassuring smile an oddly sinister look； the expression of a child molester inviting a little kid in for a piece of pie。
'Pearly； it's going to be all right；' Kurtz said。 'We're going for a ride； that's all。 There's someone we need to find； someone you know…'
'Owen Underhill；' Perlmutter whispered。
'That's right； buck；' Kurtz said。 He turned to McAvoy。 'Bring this soldier his clipboard； McAvoy。 I'm sure he'll feel better once he has his clipboard。 Then you can carry on hunting； which I feel quite sure you're eager to do。'
'Yes； boss。'
'But first； watch this … a little trick I learned back in Kansas。' Kurtz sprayed the cards。 In the crazy blizzard…wind ing through the door； they flew every whichway。 Only one landed faceup in the hat； but it was the ace of spades。
7
Mr Gray held the menu； looking at the lists of stuff … meatloaf； sliced beets； roast chicken； chocolate silk pie … with interest and an almost total lack of understanding。 Jonesy realized it wasn't just not knowing how food tasted； Mr Gray didn't know what taste was。 How could he？ When you cut to the chase； he was nothing but a mushroom with a high IQ。
Here came a waitress； moving under a vast tableland of frozen ash…blonde hair。 The badge on her not inconsiderable bosom read WELE TO DYSART'S； I AM YOUR WAITRESS DARLENE。
'Hi； hon； what can I get you？'
'I'd like scrambled eggs and bacon。 Crisp； not limp。'
'Toast？'
'How about canpakes？'
She raised her eyebrows and looked at him over her pad。 Beyond her； at the counter； the State Trooper was eating some kind of drippy sandwich and talking with the short…order cook。
'Sorry … cakepans； I meant to say。'
The eyebrows went higher。 Her question was plain； blinking at the front of her mind like a neon sign in a saloon window： was this guy a mushmouth； or was he making fun of her？
Standing at his office window； smiling； Jonesy relented。
'Pancakes；' Mr Gray said。
'Uh…huh； I sort of figured。 Coffee with that？'
'Please。'
She snapped her pad closed and started away。 Mr Gray was back at the locked door of Jonesy's office at once； and furious all over again。
How could you do that？ he asked。 How could you do that from in there？ An ill…natured thump as Mr Gray hit the door。 And he was more than angry； Jonesy realized。 He was frightened； as well。 Because if Jonesy could interfere； everything was in jeopardy。
I don't know； Jonesy said； and truthfully enough。 But don't take it so hard。 Enjoy your breakfast。 I was just fucking with you a little。
Why？ Still furious。 Still drinking from the well of Jonesy's emotions； and liking it in spite of himself。 Why would you do that？
Call it payback for trying to roast me in my office while I was sleeping； Jonesy said。
With the restaurant section of the truck stop almost deserted； Darlene was back with the food in no time。 Jonesy considered seeing if he could gain control of his mouth long enough to say something outrageous （Darlene； can I bite your hair？ was what came to mind）； and thought better of it。
She set his plate down； gave him a dubious look； then started away。 Mr Gray； looking at the bright yellow lump of eggs and the dark twigs of bacon （not just crispy but almost incinerated； in the great Dysart's tradition） through Jonesy's eyes； was feeling the same dubiety。
Go on； Jonesy said。 He was standing at his office window； watching and waiting with amusement and curiosity。 Was it possible that the bacon and eggs would kill Mr Gray？ Probably not； but it might at least make the hijacking motherfucker good and sick。 Go on； Mr Gray； eat up。 Bon…fuckin…appétit。
Mr Gray consulted Jonesy's files on the proper use of the silverware； then picked up a tiny clot of scrambled eggs on the tines of his fork； and put them in Jonesy's mouth。
What followed was both amazing and hilarious。 Mr Gray gobbled everything in huge bites； pausing only to drown the pancakes in fake maple syrup。 He loved it all； but most particularly the bacon。
Flesh！ Jonesy heard him exulting … it was almost the voice of the creature in one of those corny old monster movies from the thirties。 Flesh！ Flesh！ This is the taste of flesh！
Funny 。 。 。 but maybe not all that funny； either。 Maybe sort of horrible。 The cry of a new…made vampire。
Mr Gray looked around； ascertained that he wasn't being watched （the State Bear was now addressing a large piece of cherry pie）； then picked up the plate and licked the grease from it with big swipes of Jonesy's tongue。 He finished by licking the sticky syrup from the ends of his fingers。
Darlene returned； poured more coffee； looked at the empty dishes。 'Why； you get a gold star；' she said。 'Anything else？'
'More bacon；' Mr Gray said。 He consulted Jonesy's files for the correct terminology； and added： 'A double order。'
And may you choke on it； Jonesy thought； but now without much hope。
'Gotta stoke the stove；' Darlene said； a ment Mr Gray didn't understand and didn't bother hunting down in Jonesy's files。 He put two sugars in his coffee； looked around to make sure he wasn't observed； then poured the contents of a third packet down his throat。 Jonesy's eyes half…closed for a few seconds as Mr Gray drowned happily in the bliss of sweet。
You can have that any time you want it； Jonesy said through the door。 Now he supposed he knew how Satan felt when he took Jesus up on the mountaintop and tempted him with all the cities of the earth。 Not good； not really bad； just doing the job； selling the product。
Except 。 。 。 check that。 It did feel good； because he knew he was getting through。 He wasn't opening stab…wounds exactly； but he was at least pricking Mr Gray。 Making him sweat little blood…beads of desire。
Give it up； Jonesy coaxed。 Go native。 You can spend years exploring my senses。 They're pretty sharp； I'm still under forty。
No reply from Mr Gray。 He looked around； saw no one looking his way； poured fake maple syrup into his coffee； slurped it； and looked around again for his supplemental bacon。 Jonesy sighed。 This was like being with a strict Muslim who has somehow wound up on a Las Vegas holiday。
On the far side of the restaurant was an arch with a sign reading TRUCKERS' LOUNGE & SHOWERS a