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his left hand。 〃Thanks for your time。〃
Harold extended his left hand in return。 They clasped firmly if awkwardly and shook； mano a mano。
On the television； bars and tone； going boooooooo…oooooooooo 。。。
〃By the way；〃 Harold asked； 〃just out of curiosity； who was it that told you I would 'take a load' off your hands？〃 boooooooooooooooooooo 。。。
Bill Teague looked around the office； then back to Harold。 〃Oh； a friend of yours；〃 he said。 〃Name of Blake。〃
Harold felt his scrotum shrivel as if dipped in liquid oxygen。 The good ol' boy veneer dropped away like dross。 And two things became instantly clear。
Bill Teague's hand was smooth； uncalloused； thoroughly professional。
And Bill Teague's hand would not let go。
Harold's back was to the door； he caught a shadow of movement out of the er of his eye。 He tried to turn。 Bill Teague would not let go。 Harold screeched like a weasel as a much larger hand came down behind him； thick fingers clamping around his neck as if to pinch his head off。
The fingers found the pressure points in the clefts of Harold's collarbone as if they'd lived there all their lives。 They made themselves at home。
And squeezed。
Pain exploded in his head； his spine； his entire central nervous system。 Harold's threshold was low to begin with； and this was expert pain； as debilitating as it was economical。 It washed over his defenses like a tsunami over a sand castle。 Harold screeched and sank to his knees； assuming a position of purely functional prayer。
〃AHHHHH！ P…please 。。。 ！〃 he whimpered； wholly involuntary。 His head tried to sink into his shoulders like a turtle's； was held in place by the big cruel hand。 He could not turn； could not move； could breathe only with great effort。 He struggled like a two…hundred…forty…pound Roger Rabbit in a leg…iron trap。
〃Pul…l…leeeeease！〃
The pressure eased off； ever so slightly。 The contact remained； hovering on the brink of agony。 Harold blinked； tears brilliant in his eyes； and sucked air as if it were on sale。 He looked down； could barely make out the tips of shoes behind him。 Loafers。 With tassels。
Bill Teague was still holding his left hand； attached now to his fully outstretched arm。 Harold looked up； terrified。
〃W…whatdoyouwantwhyareyouhere？〃 he gasped； an inchoate verbal spew。 The pain returned； saying shut up。 Harold squeaked and obeyed。
〃Mr。 Blake asked us to e see how you're doing；〃 Bill said pleasantly。 〃And what you're doing。〃
He perused the opened file cabinets； the boxes on Harold's desk。 Harold followed his gaze as best he could； mewling all the while。 〃I was consolidating documents 。。。 〃 he blurted。
The big hand squeezed and Harold went oof。 His sphincter pooted a waft of purest eau de fear。 Bill Teague shook his head。
〃Tsk tsk tsk tsk。〃
He reached his right hand into the inside pocket of his hunting vest and withdrew a glassine packet。 He held the packet to his lips； delicately tearing the edge with his teeth。
〃What's that？〃 Harold creeched； terrified。 Bill Teague smiled and shook out the contents one…handed。 The glassine packet fluttered to the floor。
Harold glimpsed the contents。
〃NO！〃 he shouted； a statement of pure emphatic will…to…live。 He pushed upward with every ounce of strength he had and several that he didn't。
The spirit was willing。
But the flesh 。。。
It was ridiculous。 Harold Leonard was an overweight； aging amateur against professionals； and he was utterly at their mercy。 The sum total of his life…energy bought him a half an inch of freedom and another blindingly brutal clampdown。
For his part； Bill Teague just smiled a little harder and flipped off the safety cap。 He held the syringe up to the light。 The needle gleamed； short and sharp and businesslike。 Gracefully he pulled the plunger back； then twisted Harold's arm outward； pitting radius against ulna until the soft pocket in his elbow coughed up a faint bulge of vein。
Harold yowled like a cat trapped in a moving car。 Bill Teague twisted harder。 〃Shhh； shhhhh；〃 he said。 〃Hold still。〃 He placed hard needle against tender skin； resting it on the soft antecubital hump。
Harold blubbered； his breathing quickly giving way to sobs。 〃Wha…what are you putting in me？〃
Bill looked at him； as if genuinely surprised。 〃Why； nothing；〃 he said。 〃Nothing at all。〃
He smiled。
And plunged the needle in。
Harold went rigid as ten cee…cees of nothing at all was injected and went hurtling through his circulatory system； a runaway boxcar of oxygen on a collision course with his heart。 His assassins let go； no longer concerned。 He thrashed his way straight to the floor。
And there was maybe a second of useless； unbankable time left in Harold's cosmology。 Just long enough for panic to collide with regret。 Actualize futility。 Vaporize God's grand design。
Then the embolism hammered his heart； squashing it like an overripe tomato inside his chest。 His final moments harbored no thought at all。 Just meaningless pictures and pain。
And then； like yesterday's garbage； Harold Leonard went away。
They lingered a bit； till the twitching subsided。 They could afford to。 All on his own； Harold had done a good deal of their work for them。
By God； Bill thought； he even boxed it for us。
On the floor； Harold was turning just right。 Cool and livid。
Just right。
Bill Teague was pleased。 Normally； they didn't work Sundays； but what the hell。 They'd been hipped to the weakness； and offered a bonus if they made it seem natural。
Piece o' cake。
Careful not to leave any prints； he picked up the phone； punching in the number with the hypo's plunger。 The party picked up on the first ring。
〃Yes？〃
〃Uh； hi； just wanted to let you know that everything is fine。〃
〃Everything？〃
Bill checked Harold's postmortem progress。 Natural causes all the way。 Old ticker just gave out。 From the stress。
〃Couldn't be better；〃 he said。
There was a pause of audible relief on the other end of the line。
〃That's nice。〃
They hung up without saying good…bye。 The delivery was plete。 Now the pickup。
And then 。。。
On the tube； the Giants and the Eagles were back for action。 Bill Teague looked at his watch。 One…thirty。 He smiled and grabbed a box off the desk； motioned his partner to do the same。
〃C'mon；〃 he said。 〃It's Miller time。〃
Twenty…Seven
Boonie awoke to the sound of the front gate's annihilation。
Out of blackness； he rose： a blackness so deep and thorough that it rose up with him； refusing to succumb to the light。 He felt it in the heaviness of his flesh； the whispering hollowness of his bones。 He felt it buzzing inside his head； a million hornets in angry flight。
Or maybe it was the roar of the truck； echoing inside his head as it blew apart the gate； drew closer。 Echoing louder closer there； directly outside the shuttered window。 He struggled to pull himself upright； vision straining through the hair…thin Venetian slats of light。 But the muted sun needled in through his one good mucus…tacked eye。 It flooded his head； sagged him back to the sheets。
It was dim in the room； and the air was rich with sickly ammoniacal stench。 It cloyed in the tubes between nostril and bowel； esophagus and ischio…rectal ravine。 Woozy and weak to the brink of paralysis； he helplessly laid there and listened。
His face； against the pillow； felt all wrong。
Outside； the door of the truck flew open。 The door at the front of the trailer slammed shut。 Boonie could hear the whickering of the chains as Coonie and DamDog yowled and snapped； could hear his father's voice； bellowing anger as it poured down the steps。
Could hear the rage wilt and blacken to terror。
Could hear the terrible laughter begin。
〃Urn；〃 his own voice croaked。 〃Ah…harn。〃 His face； like the rest of him； refused to cooperate。 Like there was an inch of foam rubber and zero sensation between his cheek and the pillowcase； his body and the world。 It put even his panic at a distance as he squirmed against the surface of the sheets。
He heard the familiar crack of his old man's 。45。 It did not stop the laughter。 Over the howling…dog hysteria； something went snap。
And Otis's horror ballooned into scream。
Boonie began to move then； something sparking to life in his nervous system as he listened to his daddy die。 There was no second shot； but the screaming went on and on； ratcheting upward as thick bone snapped and wetly folded； doubled and snapped again 。。。
。。。 and Boonie rolled off the bed； plummeting to the floor as chewing sounds met screaming sounds and cranked them to a new plateau； high…pitched titter rising up to punctuate the mayhem 。。。
。。。 as a three…hundred…plus…pound Otis…shaped wishbone ruptured； fractured； tore apart while Boonie； inside； crawled across the floor； trying to escape the sounds it made 。。。
。。。 and then the scream died； swallowed and chawed and disappeared forever。
For a long crazy moment； there were only the dogs； tearing into each other； rabid with fear。
The moment stretched 。。。
Then he heard the footsteps ing； into the trailer and right down the hal