I don't think that lady likes you very much," said
King.

They watched policemen running for cover from flying
debris as the building continued to fall in pieces. 
One of the higher floors pancaked on the floor below
it.  A wall tumbled off to the right, bricks dropping
like hard leaves from a shook tree.  Slowly, a
stairway was exposed like a twisted naked lady.  The
person who'd blown up the building had known their
business; the problem was probably that he didn't have
enough explosives to do the job right.  The building
was destroyed, of course, but the overall effect was
quite messy.

"Would you believe that it was not the Spider Lady,
but a friend of mine who did that?"

"What did you do to make him mad?"

"As far as I can figure out," said Snake, "it happened
years ago.  Something very trivial, I suppose.  I have
no idea what it was."

"From the looks of that hotel, though, the guy really
knows how to hold a grudge."

Snake gestured at the crumbling Bonsoir d'Jour Hotel. 
"I must be losing my touch.  I should have realized
something like this could happen."

None of the policemen seemed to have been hurt in the
blast, although one police car was crushed by some
falling bricks.

Snake and King continued walking east.  After a few
minutes, they found a subway entrance.  Soon, they
were speeding uptown.

Without question, the subways of New York City are an
engineering marvel.  Without question, they have
drifted into a state of ancientness equivalent to the
model T on an interstate highway and need to be
replaced with modern trains in modern tunnels. 
Without question, they have become one of the more
dangerous areas of the city and the train cars teem
with not only the very worse of Manhattan, but the
very worse of the world.

Years ago, Snake had read a book called "Subways Are
for Sleeping."  The book made them seem very
picturesque.  They are not.  They have become rare
hellholes of America and you ride them, especially at
this time of night, at risk of being mugged or killed.

"Pretty rough-looking crowd," said Snake.

"One of them was probably me until a few days ago,"
King pointed out.

"You've changed somewhat."

"I don't know if I have or not," said King.  "Maybe
it's just a vacation from reality."

"Environment dictates what we become only if we let
it."

"Jury's still out about all that, I guess," said King.
 "Not that I want to argue about it.  But I'd like to
point out that not even the Snake can win them all."

"I suppose you're right," Snake said.  "On the other
hand, I would hate to lose a good friend.  Or, in this
particular situation, someone that I thought was a
good friend."

The subway train lurched as it leaped ahead from one
of the myriad stops along the way.  The noise it made
was that of a wounded rabbit, squealing in death
throes.  A moment later, it came above ground and
became an elevated train.
	
"I'll keep that in mind," King said thoughtfully.

Snake realized that King thought the statement was
about him.  And, maybe it actually did apply to him.

As they left the elevated train up in Harlem, Snake
tapped King on the shoulder.  "Everything's possible."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I was born in Brady, Texas.  You do not want to be
from Brady, Texas.  The whole town is on the wrong
side of the tracks.  Worse, the people there don't
know it.  Even worse than that, I'm not sure they'd
care if they did know it."

"Is this some kind of pep talk?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," said King and they walked on.

Half an hour later, they reached Pearl's place.  She
was overjoyed.  Her face beamed.  Two tickets for a
cruise of the western Caribbean had arrived by
messenger.

"I hope you can find someone willing to go with you,"
Snake said.

"Too late, big feller," said Wekser.  "I've already
volunteered."

"I thought you had a business to run."

"Elephant can run the business," said Wekser.  "I'm
suddenly a cruise person.  Turns out Elephant is a
whiz at numbers.  So, I'm going to let him handle most
of the business while I do what I like doing–jerking
sodas.  I make a phenomenal strawberry milkshake. 
Best in the business."

Elephant was wearing his Central Park Goodwill
tee-shirt.  Even this new one made especially for him
was slightly small.  "Funny how things work out.  I
used to beat people up.  Now I ring them up.  Ringing
them up is a lot easier on the psyche."

"Psyche!  Where did you learn words like that?" said
Montague.

"College," said Elephant.  "Education is good for the
psyche."

"How's the tournament coming?" asked Snake.

"Meeting tonight of the board of directors," said
King.

"The board is now almost 75 people," explained Rudy. 
"Everybody wants to be on the board."

"And some of these guys," said Montague, "you don't
tell no.  You want to come to the meeting?"

"Can't tonight, but it does sound like a lot of fun,"
said Snake.
	
Yeah," said Rudy.  "As long as no one pulls a gun or
knife."

"The most surprising thing is that the board elected a
chairman.  A guy from Astoria on Long Island," said
Montague.  "Getting these guys to agree on anything is
a miracle."

Montague threw a slightly nervous glance in King's
direction.

Snake noticed that King was purposely looking
somewhere else so he wouldn't have to meet anyone's
eyes.

"The man they elected actually finished high school,"
said Rudy.  "He was a shoo-in."

"May go back and finish school myself," said Montague.

Everyone stopped and stared at him.

"Well, why not?  I can do it," he said.  "I made
pretty decent grades in grade school."
	
Sounds like a winner to me," said Wekser.

"The only question," said Rudy, "is will they let you
back in."

"I will see to it personally," said Wekser.

All of them got into an excited discussion about
helping Pearl plan her trip.  Snake eased toward the
door.

King caught up with Snake as he reached the street. 
They stopped under a streetlight.

"You going somewhere?" asked King.

"Yes," said Snake.  "I have to talk to Caraboo."

"You could use the phone."

"I intend to, but not here.  We arranged for him to
call a pay phone down near Central Park.  I've got to
get down there."

"I'll go with you," said King.

"No.  Not this time."

"It's just about over, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Snake.  "Just about."

"You'll need help."

"Oh, that goes without saying.  But Caraboo and I can
handle it this time."

"I can watch your back."

"They won't get me in the back.  Count on it."

"I'm going with you," he said.  He grabbed Snake by
the shoulder.

"It's more important to me personally that you go to
that board meeting."

"Why?  They don't need me.  Hell, they elected someone
else, didn't they?  After me starting everything,
too!"

"Being general is not all that it's cracked up to be,
King.  Sometimes, you can get more done for the common
good when you're just a captain or even a lieutenant. 
Maybe even just a buck private.  Caraboo, he's a good
general; he does all of the worrying.  Me, I'm a good
sergeant; I do all of the fun."

King didn't say anything for a long moment.  Finally,
his hand dropped from Snake's shoulder.

"So that's how it's supposed to be.  I'm not sure
you've done me a favor.  Rudy, yes.  Montague, yes. 
Me?  The problem is that now I know the difference,
but I can't do anything about anything."

"Sometimes you've just go to go on paying dues until
the chance comes," said Snake.

"How long?  How long?"

"Maybe all your life."

"That doesn't sound too inviting," said King.

"Yeah?  Look at the alternatives."

"I am and both look like hell to me," said King.

"This I promise you," said Snake.  "Good things will
happen to the person I see now.  Maybe not soon, but
one day.  Meanwhile, be the best sergeant you can be,"
said Snake.  "Things will work out.  I promise."

He turned and walked rapidly south, afraid of further
response from King.

Quite a few people were on the streets at this hour. 
Once, two men purposely bumped into him, hoping for a
reaction.  Snake gave none.  He continued walking. 
One of the men yelled "ofay" at him.  Snake, lost in
thought about King's problems, didn't pay the men any
attention.

A couple of blocks further, he flagged down a taxi.

Everybody was irritated at something.  At their job,
at their relationships, at their life, at themselves. 
The two men had been spoiling for some kind of
confrontation.  But allowing them to vent their anger
wouldn't have solved anything.  They would still be
full of anger.  And Snake realized more and more that
he could not solve the problems of the world.  Perhaps
not even King's problem.

A few minutes later, he was standing at a pay phone
not too far from Wekser's store when the phone rang.

"Can you pick me up?"  Snake gave him the address and
added:  "Alone."

He stood there in the dark by the phone.  A guy passed
by, glancing nervously in his direction.

Because of all of the events of the last few days,
Snake was suspicious.  His muscles were tensed for
action, just in case the man made a potentially
threatening gesture.

Then, he realized that he was becoming obsessive.  No,
he was already obsessive.  Overwhelmed was a more
accurate description.

He'd just resolved to be less suspicious of his fellow
man when Caraboo pulled up at the curb in a blue
Mustang.

Without a word, without even the slightest hesitation,
Snake opened the door and climbed inside the car.

Caraboo pulled away from the curb.  The traffic, at
the moment, was almost none, a distant car further up
the one-way street.

"Where to?"

"Perhaps you can tell me," said Snake.

There was no response for a moment.

"Obviously, you suspect me."

"The car gave you away," said Snake.

"This car?  It belongs to Neva."

"Interesting," said Snake.  But he did not relax.  For
all he knew, Caraboo could be lying.  "Let's go see
Neva.  You know where she lives?"

"On Riverside Drive," said Caraboo.  "Yes, I know the
place."

"You've been there often?"

"You know the old story about secretaries falling in
love with their bosses.  Yes, I used to go there a
lot.  But not lately.  Not since she took up with
Sussie."

"Interesting," said Snake.

"I wish you wouldn't use that particular word," said
Caraboo.  "I know what it really means with you.  And
I have a request:  Don't kill me until you find out
what's really going on.  With anyone else, that would
be a ridiculous thing to ask.  With you, I consider it
a wise precaution."

"Sounds reasonable," said Snake.

"Would you please point that gun somewhere else?"

"I never touch guns," said Snake.

"Just the same, I feel like you've got a gun pointing
at my heart and your finger's itching for the
trigger."

"It was a knife," said Snake.

"God!" whispered Caraboo.

"I've put it away for the moment," said Snake.

"I have the strangest feeling that was a close
encounter," said Caraboo.

"This blue Mustang...or a blue Mustang...has been seen
at many of the events of the past few days," explained
Snake.  "I've seen it myself.  Once, someone rescued
the Spider Lady at the last second in this very car. 
And it was seen earlier tonight at the Bonsoir d'Jour
Hotel.  The license plates are still smeared."

"It wasn't me.  This is the truth: Neva ran an errand.
 When she came back, she wanted to use the limousine. 
I said okay.  She pitched the keys to the Mustang at
me."

"I've changed my mind," said Snake.  "Head uptown to
Harlem.  Fast!"

They had been heading westward through Central Park. 
Caraboo whipped the car around in the two-lane road
and sped back across Fifth Avenue.

Soon, they were heading north toward Harlem.

"Is Susman behind all of this?" asked Caraboo.
	
"Susman is dead," said Snake.

"What happened at the Bonsoir?"

"The Spider Lady and I had a talk.  That's all."

"I received reports of a bombing."

"Just an old building that had out-lived its time and
place.  It needed a bomb."

"King and the others okay?"

"They're okay.  Would you hurry!"

Already, Caraboo had run through two red lights after
slowing to make sure he wouldn't crash into an
on-coming car.

"Go left at the next corner," Snake ordered.

Caraboo made the corner on two wheels.

"Now right and stop," said Snake.

There was no place to park, but that didn't even cause
Caraboo to hesitate.  The car was left behind double
parked and he was right behind Snake as Snake ran up
the steps and into the hallway.  One of his throwing
knives was in his hand, the other in the right hip
pocket of his trousers, point up.

The door to Pearl's apartment was closed.  And, he
presumed, locked.

"The limo," whispered Caraboo at his right ear.

"I saw it," said Snake.

A black limousine that could have belonged to Caraboo
had been parked at the curb halfway down the street.

Snake leaned close to the door, listening for sounds
from inside the apartment.

"Disappear," Snake said softly.

"No," said Caraboo.

"Then stay away from me once we're inside," said
whispered Snake.

Caraboo immediately stepped to the side of the door
and stood near the wall out of view of anyone inside
the apartment, a snub-nosed revolver drawn and in his
right hand.

Almost casually, Snake knocked on the door of the
apartment.  Two short raps, a pause, then another rap.

It was suddenly silent beyond the door.

There was a long pause.

Slowly, the door opened.

"King is not home," said Pearl.  The inner glow was
gone from her face.  "The boys have gone to a
meeting."

She began to close the door.

Snake hit the door with his shoulder, shoving it all
the way open.  The door collided with someone who'd
been standing behind it.

"I didn't come to see King," said Snake.

He didn't move.  Whoever was inside the room would
have to move into his line of view in order to see
him.

"W..who?"

"Tell Wekser to come here," said Snake.

"He..he's...."

"I don't care.  Tell him I want to see him."

"I'll get him," she said.

She disappeared from view.  There was low conversation
in a far room.

Pearl's apartment was located half a flight up from
street level.  Below was the bicycle shop, one-half
flight down some steps in the old brownstone building.

Snake motioned to Caraboo to cover the lower entrance.
 Caraboo ran lightly back up the hallway and out the
front door.

"Come on in, Snake," said a voice that, although he
hadn't heard it in a long, long time, Snake recognized
instantly.  "I'm not dead after all."

Billy Susman came out of the kitchen door into the
living room.

He was followed by Pearl, Wekser, and Elephant. 
Behind them was the Spider Lady, alias Mary Sue
Landis.  The Spider Lady had company, an AK-47 loosely
in her left hand, but it would have been a mistake to
assume she was handling the weapon with a casual
carelessness.  Her air, in fact, was one of intense
professionalism.  The AK-47 was aimed, more or less,
at the center of Elephant's back.

"My wife gave me your message," said Susman.  "I was
disappointed that you'd figured everything out.  The
only solution seemed to be taking them...your friends
here...hostage as a precaution.  Security, perhaps.

"Your wife?"

"May I introduce you formally, Snake, to Mary Sue
Landis-Susman, alias the Spider Lady?  Mary Sue, this
is Snake Williams, a former comrade in arms of mind
and now, soon, a late friend.  I believe that's how
they say it still in Winters, Texas, do they not,
Snake?  They still say 'the late Hank Williams' down
there and he's been dead for more than 40 years.  They
probably won't even remember you at all, Snake. 
Anyway, it doesn't have much of a ring to it–the late
Snake."

"Perhaps the title is a little premature."

Susman turned to the Spider Lady.  "The Snake is very
elusive.  If he even blinks, please shoot him."

"Ah, Sussie," said Snake.  "So you're the one who
killed the Rabbit."

"The Rabbit?" asked Susman.

"One of the men I hired along the way," said Mary Sue.
 "A nobody."

"He was definitely somebody," said Snake.  "He wanted
to go fishing in Arkansas."

"I don't remember shooting any Rabbit.  But if he was
a quitter, why not?" said Susman.  "I can't stand
quitters."

"You shouldn't have killed Rabbit," said Snake.

"What does it matter?" said Susman.  He shrugged his
shoulders.  "A lot of people have died and some more
are on the way."

"Speaking of dead people, you really surprised
me...being alive like this."

"And you, Snake, you not only surprised me, you fouled
up everything that I tried to do."

"Evidently, I wasn't as good as I should have been. 
It took me a long time...much longer than
necessary...to figure out the reason for everything,"
said Snake.

"I always knew you were more lucky than bright," said
Susman.  "But I stayed out of sight anyway.  You would
have caught on a lot sooner, I suspect, except that I
let my wife handle everything."

"You wanted to take over Caraboo's operation," said
Snake.  "It was that simple.  You wanted to use the
operation for yourself."

"Well, I did get hold of Allied Global. 
Unfortunately, Caraboo had a fail-safe plan and was
able to move out before my men could kill him..  Dear
sweet little Neva was so irritated that she bumped one
of them off.  It was absolutely delicious!" said
Susman.  His laughter was a little too thin, a little
too drawn out.

"Why did you need Allied Global?"

"I was working for the wrong side.  No retirement
pension when it went down.  Decided to go on my own."

"You?  Worked for the KGB?"

Susman snarled.  It was so uncharacteristic of the
Susman that Snake had known, he was shocked.

"You forget.  I was also in special forces.  You and
the others always thought of me as a whimp.  That
mistake turned out to be highly useful.  Especially
after I was recruited at the same time as you were. 
Just by the other side."

"Hard to think of you, Sussie, as an agent."

His snarl this time was more of a sharp whine like a
ferret might make if irritated.

"I hate that nickname.  I was the one they should have
called Snake or something a bit more glamorous than
Sussie.  But, yes, I was an agent.  A very special
agent."

"That's how a man who only worked part time was able
to buy a condo and send his mother in Oklahoma $500 a
month."

"The part-time work was excellent cover.  I could be
gone for a few days and no one was the wiser."

"And the Spider Lady?"

"Agent," he admitted.  "When the Iron Curtain turned
to gauze, we were in the same situation.  The idea was
to take over Allied Global and sell our services to
the highest bidder; it was a perfect cover because of
the quasi government connections and the funding. 
However, I had to disappear in order to operate
everything.  So, we let it be known that I was
kidnapped or something like that.  Caraboo,
unfortunately, screwed everything up when he contacted
you to look for me."
	
"The $17,000, of course, was just for business
expenses."

"It was a mistake, perhaps, to put the money in the
bank, because I soon needed it to pay for...uh,
employees."

"Like Rabbit."

"It never occurred to me that you would figure
everything out.  Meanwhile, you made a lot of trouble
by refusing to get killed.  You could have helped us
immensely by stepping in front of a bullet."

"Or a bomb."

"I was really proud of that.  You'd be surprised how
few sticks of dynamite were used.  Unfortunately, you
didn't hang around for the real party."  Another laugh
erupted.  It, too, was too shrill, too long.

"I realized that you had been at the Bonsoir d'Jour
when I spotted the newspaper opened to the stock
market reports, but I didn't suspect the bombing,"
said Snake.  "I only thought the cherry pie was
poisoned.  How careless of me."

"No, no, no!  The pie was the best that could be
bought in Manhattan.  I got two of them.  Ate the
other myself."

"Then I wasted a good cherry pie," said Snake.

"I knew you weren't that bright," said Susman.  "Knew
it!"

"Well, perhaps not too dumb," said Snake.  "Actually,
you made a lot mistakes that gave me considerable
things to think about.  The pipe in your apartment
when Neva said you didn't smoke.  The fresh clothes
from the dry cleaner in the closet.  And, of course,
the parties were merely part of my research to prove,
beyond question, you were still alive."

"You'll never know how agitated I was Thursday night
when I discovered you'd actually come and was sitting
there on the roof of the hotel in the rain...in the
dark!

"I thought I noticed a shadow move the other night."

"I went up there to survey the scene before the party.
 I thought the real party was Saturday night."

"There was a party every night," said Snake.

"Of all of the stupidity, the audacity!"

"Perhaps, brilliance would be a better word," said
Snake.

"If I'd had a gun that night, I could have shot you
right there and avoided all of this mess now."

Susman glanced quickly at Pearl and Wekser and
Elephant.

The message was clear.  The three of them had to die
along with Snake.  Pearl and Wekser probably didn't
know that.  Elephant, of course, had been around the
game long enough to know what happened if you lost.

How much time did they have?  Susman's ego would only
delay him a minute or two more.  Then, he would get
down to the business of death.

Would Caraboo realize in time that something had gone
wrong up here and come charging in?

The problem was that, under the circumstances, Snake
couldn't afford to gamble, couldn't afford to wait.

"Ah, Sussie, at last you're going to be the top dog."

"True.  With you gone, taking over complete control of
Allied Global will be relatively easy."

"What if no one wants to work for you?"

"The operatives, or whatever you call yourself,
usually take orders without question.  If they ask,
they die."

"You've got it all worked out."

"Without question.  Including your funeral.  Shoot the
others, Mary Sue."

When she realized what was going to happen, Pearl
immediately fainted.  She fell at the feet of the
Spider Lady.

The Spider Lady looked casually down, sneered at the
weakness of the woman, then quickly focused her
attention on Elephant.  The muzzle of the AK-47 began
to lift in Elephant's direction.

Snake noticed Pearl looking carefully out from under
almost-closed eyelids.

"Too noisy," pointed out Snake.

"Who cares?" said the Spider Lady.  "We'll be gone."

"Not gone entirely, just gone down," said Snake.

Pearl got the message.  She reached up and grabbed the
skirt of the Spider Lady and jerked.

Then she rolled over and kicked at the Spider Lady as
hard as she could.

Snake was already moving.  He threw one knife at the
Spider Lady and, without waiting to see if the knife
even got close, he stepped forward and swung a fist at
Susman's face.

The fist flashed through vacant air.  Susman had
dodged the blow by dropping to one knee.

At the same time, Susman threw a short jab that landed
in Snake's solar plexus and shoved the wind from his
lungs.

Without even pausing, Susman caught Snake's shirt in
one hand and, using his own momentum, flung Snake head
first into the wall.

The collision almost knocked him unconscious even
though he rolled immediately to his feet.  He fought
off the waves of blackness that rushed at him.  For a
moment, he was completely vulnerable.  He was
surprised that Susman didn't take advantage of the
opportunity to kill him.

It turned out that Susman's ego got in the way for a
moment or two.

"Hah!  Unknowingly, you taught me a lot," said Susman.
 "That day when you defended me against a couple of
bullies, I realized that I needed to learn self
defense.  After I learned self defense, I studied a
few other things.  I'm afraid you're no match for me,
Snake.  Why do you think the KGB was so interested in
a whimp, eh?"

Snake, trying to get his breath back, recalled
something that Susman had once said.

"That was some accident, Sussie."

Susman was amused.  He laughed.  "No accident, Snake. 
Except that you always used strength.  I use brains. 
I have news for you:  Brains are better."

Snake's knife had hit the Spider Lady in the leg.  She
pulled the knife out without seeming to show the
slightest bit of pain.  Then she hit Pearl in the side
of the head with the AK-47.  Pearl, who'd been on her
knees, slumped unconscious to her side and sprawled on
the floor.  Wekser, in spite of the danger,
immediately knelt beside her and cradled her head in
his arms.

The Spider Lady motioned Elephant back against the far
wall.

Susman kicked Snake in the shoulder.  The kick turned
Snake's right shoulder numb for a moment.

"Hurt a little, didn't it?"

"Let me shoot him, dammit!" said the Spider Lady.

"Why?" said Susman.  "Why not let me have a little fun
first?"

"Screw your psychotic bullshit!"

"Screw you, my dear," said Susman.  He took careful
aim and kicked Snake in the chest.

Snake, still trying to rub the numbness out of his
shoulder with his left hand, found it difficult to
dodge the kick.  Instead, he relaxed, using the same
instant meditation technique he used prior to going to
sleep, and let the blow throw him back against the
wall.  But, instead of caving in his chest, the blow
only caused severe pain.

This time, he slumped to the floor, his legs at an
angle in front of him.

When Susman stepped forward again for another kick,
Snake pulled both of his legs to his chest and kicked
at Susman's groin with enormous force.

Susman, however, was as good as he'd said.  The blow
didn't quite land where expected.  Susman had slid to
the side.  One of Snake's shoes glanced off his hip
and spun him slightly around.  But he instantly
regained his balance and kicked Snake on the thigh.

The pain was intense.  However, Snake realized that if
he didn't get to his feet, he was a dead man.  He
leaned against the wall and used it for leverage to
pry himself up.  He lurched once.  Susman thought it
was because of his weakened leg.

The movement hid his hand as his reached into his
right pocket and pulled out the thin, coiled rope.

"Finish him off!" said the Spider Lady.

"With pleasure, my dear," said Susman.  He moved to
the right to get a better angle.  As Susman went into
a kicking motion, Snake tossed the rope at his face.

He blinked his eyes and ducked his head slightly. 
That gave Snake just enough time to fumble for the
vial.

Susman realized that Snake was reaching for a weapon
of some kind.  He shook off the thin nylon rope and
bounded forward to deliver a death kick.

The vial was in Snake's jacket pocket.  His hand
closed on the slender ball-point pen and it hung in
his pocket.  The mouth of the pocket was too narrow!

He was able to move aside just enough to cause
Susman's kick to miss.

The vial came free in his hand.  He twisted the top. 
His thumb found the tiny button.

He sprayed the mist directly into Susman's face.

The Spider Lady immediately popped off a shot from her
AK-47.  But Elephant had taken opportunity of the
disturbance to swing one of his huge fists at her.  He
used his fist as a hammer, hitting her on top of the
head.  She fell limp on the floor.

Susman's face had become the kind of mask you see on
Halloween.  His mouth stretched up and out.  His eyes
looked like the wide-open eyes of an owl that has just
had a nightmare.

He fought to stay alive long enough to deliver another
kick at Snake.

But he didn't make it.  His body arched like a bow,
then he jerked twice and dropped like a rock onto the
floor and twitched again.  And then was still.

Elephant was holding his hand at his side.  Blood
seeped through his Goodwill Team tee-shirt.

Wekser still bent over Pearl.  "She's going to be
okay," he told Snake.

"It's only a bullet wound," said Elephant.  He smiled
at Snake and nodded.

"Lucky for you she only shot once,"

"Yeah," said Elephant.  "Lucky for you I got a big
fist."

"Right," said Snake and laughed.

"Look what I bumped into," said Caraboo.  He walked
into the room beside Neva.  She appeared perfectly
poised.  He took a quick survey of the room.  "Wow,
what hit Susman?"

"I told you he was dead," said Snake.

"And that's the Spider Lady?  She still alive?"

Elephant bent over her for a moment.  "I think she has
a busted neck," he said.  "Unlucky for her, I got a
big fist."

"Hit her again," said Pearl, shaking her head
groggily.

"Did you take her gun away?" Snake asked Caraboo,
pointing at Neva.

"No.  Why should I?"

"I would give it serious thought," said Snake.  "She
has already killed a couple of people."

"They forced me to drive them here," said Neva.

"Sure, she killed one of the people who raided us the
other day," said Caraboo.  "But she was defending me."

"I doubt that," said Snake.  "I think she was mad
because they had failed.  I don't mind her killing
that guy.  But I can't overlook the fact that she
killed a nice guy named Rabbit.  Shot him dead center
in the back of the head execution style."

"You can't prove that!" Neva said.

"At first, I thought the phone was tapped.  Later, I
realized that someone had to have access to the
computer; some of the hired guns knew too much about
me."

"Prove it."

"Ah, but it's not even necessary to prove anything. 
Two hired guns were sent up to the Bonsoir d'Jour
Friday night; a ruse.  But Susman thought the real
party at the Bonsoir d'Jour Hotel was on Saturday
night.  There was only one way he could have known
that.  You."

Neva's hand darted toward her purse.

Snake pointed the vial at her hand and pushed the
button.  A thin mist fell over her hand as the gun was
pulled into view.

"A rabbit and now a snake," she said.

She aimed the gun at Snake's head and tried to pull
the trigger.  She was astonished that her finger
wouldn't move.  She tried several times to pull the
trigger of the .22 caliber revolver.

"It occurred to me several days ago that not even the
Spider Lady could tap into a new phone number that
fast.  There had to be someone on the inside.  It
could, of course, have been you, Caraboo."

Caraboo, a look of dismay on his face as he stared at
Neva, tried to say something to her.

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading.  She
attempted to talk and couldn't.

Caraboo, who knew what the mist in the vial could do,
finally was able to tell her what he wanted to say.

"Good-bye," he said.

(continued next week)

CNN Headline News is not headline news.  They ought to

either change the name or change the format.  Might

even be interesting to try a real news format on the

channel.  Yeah, that might work.  They certainly do

not come close at the moment.  Even so, it's better

than Fox News which is nothing more than a Republican

mouthpiece and quite disgusting (pure propaganda) to

watch, so we don't watch it in this house unless we

need a good laugh.  I wonder why someone doesn't

establish a real news channel, drawing in information

from the various news services around the world, a

channel free from bias?  Best newspeople on TV in my

opinion, and the opinion of my wife Barbara:  Chris

Matthews and Lou Dobbs.  As this indicates, we don't

watch much local or network TV.  With the exception of

football and basketball, of course.  Even then, I

prefer DirecTV.

Funniest thing though on TV at the moment is poker. 

It's on the sports channels (can you imagine lifting

weights and running wind sprints to get into shape for

poker?) and the travel channel and even Bravo and

other channels.  Taped.  Boring!  About as

entertaining as watching mud dry.  But also amusing (I

almost feel like laughing anyway and may even do so in

a few days) is the darts tournament on one sports

channel.  The world championship from England, folks! 

But if you missed watching the big event of the

American Tractor Pullers Association a Sunday ago,

hey, your whole week was absolutely bonkers.

OTHER STUFF

Just ran across a picture of me on the Internet with

John Kluge of Metromedia, Dick Carr, and Dean Tyler. 

At, obviously, a WIP, Philadelphia occasion.  Dick was

general manager, Dean was program director.  Many,

many years ago!  Funny thing is that I don't remember

the event.  The only time I remember meeting John

Kluge was one day when he stopped by Harvey Glascock's

office at WNEW in New York.  I was visiting Harvey. 

Funny about memories.

I sent a note to the website and just heard from Gerry

Wilkinson, vice president of Broadcast Pioneers of

Philadelphia, broadcastpioneers@hotmail.com: "Dean is

one of our members.  By the way, we are in the process

of moving our website of 1,500 pages from the free but

ad supported space to our own domain which will be ad

free (the space is donated by member Jerry Klein and

his wife's company, Anne Klein & Associates).  Just

mentioning this so that if sometime you look for that

page, it may be at a different location."

That website currently is: 

http://www.broadcastpioneers.com.

Michael J. Miranda, mike704@carolina.rr.com: "How

strange it seems to be on a first name basis with

someone I have never met.  Through your many Billboard

columns and the columns on your website I do know you

in a way.  I enjoyed the comment you made about

sitting around listening to an aircheck of Joey

Reynolds on WKBW.  I thought I was the only one who

did that!  In my mind Joey has never received the

credit he’s due.  Somehow he has the ability to be not

only funny but intimate and interesting.  I try to

catch some of his night time show most nights.  He was

great in the beginning but the last few years he has

been relying on in studio guests which takes away from

his genius, his own funny way of looking at life.

 Please don’t tell him I said that.  Maybe I’ll get to

meet him someday.  Listening to WKBW in my formative

years lead me to try radio myself.  I was fortunate to

work with some very good people.  Michael O’Shea and

Mike Harvey at WFTL in Fort Lauderdale, Dale Reeves at

WGBS, Miami,  and a very talented group of people at

WBT.  I was nowhere as good as these fine people, just

lucky to get in the door!  About 11 years ago I

realized all the fun had gone out of what I was

doing.  I was tired of the job insecurity, low wages

and working every weekend.  I left radio, something I

never thought I would ever do.  I went into the

computer field and it was good for awhile.  The last

job I had paid more than I had ever made before and it

was a simple desk side PC tech position.  They

outsourced my job 3 months ago.  The IT field is in

terrible shape with jobs that require more

certifications than I have and pay just $10 an hour! 

I’m both excited and more than a little scared about

what the future may bring.  I never was able to stay

at a radio station long enough to be even partially

vested in anyone’s pension plan and I only have about

3 years worth of work in a 401K.  This means I’ll

probably never be able to retire but who will hire an

old man?  Thinking about the kids growing up now, I

really feel badly for them.  If I were starting all

over again I have no idea what career I would want to

pursue.  There doesn’t seem to be any job security in

any field these days. The gap between the rich and the

poor gets wider each day.   Wow what a downer this is

turning into!  That was not my original intent.  Then

again I did title this message Random Thoughts.  I

guess in reality I never have gotten radio out of my

system.  Happy 2005."

Mike, I printed the stuff about Joey because he would

want to know something like that.  And I'm sure he'd

dearly like to meet you; he's a people person.  That's

one of the reasons for the radio guests and, frankly,

it's the thing to do in Manhattan.  Les Paul and Sid

Bernstein aren't just "guests," per se.  I used to

know Sid, the man who brought the Beatles to America. 

Never met Les; would consider it a great honor. 

Joey's supposed to be in town this weekend, but, heck,

with Joey you never can tell.  He was over helping

celebrate Soupy Sales' star in the Hollywood Walk of

Fame.  Mentioned meeting Shotgun Tom.

Sharon Sharpe, sharpecommunications@msn.com:  "Hello

the Halls! Although it's been a few years since we

visited you, the  memories are still fresh in my mind.

The column just keeps on kicking and that is so

wonderful to pop on the internet and go see what

radio-minded  people are thinking and talking about

via your  column.  I recently heard from my Godfather,

legendary record promoter Dick LaPalm. He sent my

mother some very disturbing news about a rewrite of

Top 40 radio that is going on. I think we talked about

that, and some of the key  people involved during our

visit. In fact, that is  what prompted me to seek you

out, to talk to you about Dad and his  contributions

to Top 40 radio.  I am looking over the materials and

want to respond to Mr. LaPalm soon."

Sharon mentioned that her son Roland, the grandson of

the legendary Bill Stewart, is doing great and is

attending the state honors high school, the New

Orleans Center for the Creative Arts, or NOCCA, in

Media Arts and loves it.  Her daughter Celeste will

start high school and finish at St. Margaret Mary this

year. And "Mom has moved to Slidell to be here to help

us. We're all doing well."

John Hall, johnalexhall@gmail.com:   "I do not know if

you heard, but artists Kelly Freas and Will Eisner

both died within the past few days.  Freas was due to

go to a paperback collectors show this March which I

had planned to attend.  I did enjoy seeing the Rose

Bowl and the Orange Bowl for different reasons.  The

Rose Bowl was a great game.  I was glad to see the

Longhorns win for obvious reasons.  As for the Orange

Bowl, Oklahoma was  pitiful.  DId you know that Cal

and UCLA did a better job?"

Had a note, obviously mass sent, from Kelly-Lange.com,

obviously a website, promoting her new mystery novel

"Graveyard Shift."  Wonder if something like that

would help me?  I think it was Joey Reynolds who

pointed out to me that I wrote for fun; selling a

novel was the work part.  Anyway, I sent out a few

hundred words on the science fiction novel that I'm

planning to run soon on my website and heard this from

Bill Bullard, a former student of mine,

wbullar1@nycap.rr.com: "I enjoyed 'down on the corner

of earth'...wishing you and Barbara a happy and

healthy new year...glad to be on your list."

Jim Rose, rosekkkj@earthlink.net, said, "Pretty neat

story. Made me long for tortillas and senoritas. Not

necessarily in that same order."

Bob Levinson, Jed222@aol.com: "Hearing from you the

other day came as a delight and a surprise. I'm

especially enjoying your commentaries, constantly

running into familiar names that trigger my own

memories of wonderful times and people I was fortunate

to meet and work (or play) with over the years.  I

still see or have occasion to bump into some of the

guys, e.g., Tommy The Noonan, Macey Lipman (most

recently at his art show at the Los Angeles County

Museum of Art), Harvey Geller, Jay Lowy, Spence

Berland, Dandy Don Whittemore, Stan Layton, Don

Graham, and it's always a reminder that those great

music business days no longer exist and they ain't

coming back. More the pity...."

Bob evidently has some novels published, i.e., "Ask a

Dead Man."  Checkout his website

www.robertslevinson.com.  Ah, jealousy!  My most

sincere congratulations, Bob.  And that's great about

Macey having an art show.  Good on you, Macey!

Mark Shands, music director of DMX MUSIC,

Mark.Shands@dmxmusic.com, says about my quite

shameless attempt at self-promotion: "Nice writing. 

Cool mannnnn!  I'll never forget when you mentioned me

in Vox Jox when I was at my first

station...1968...WKOR, Starkville, Mississippi!  My

first time to 'appear' in a trade!"

Roger Carroll, rckcr@yahoo.com, said: "Claude, If I

wasn't retired we'd make a movie."

Ron Jacobs, whodaguy@lava.net, said, "Good God,

Claude, you a veritable writing machine!   Good one. 

And  Haole Makahiki Hou to you and Miz Barbara.  Now

down to the serious shit: Pigskin.  I was going to

reply to yours  (about thinking about me during the

latest Rams nailbiters) and tell you that I was

pulling for the Horns to Hook 'em in the Grandaddy of

them All.  Whew!  You must have been on the threshold

of a stroke as it came down to the end.  But  winning

resescitates one quickly--when one's team wins on the

last play of the  game.  The Texas QB (at least to me)

was one of the most  exciting players to  watch during

the entire Bowl-A-Rama.  I don't know to what extent

you care about the Cowboys, but I can't  believe that

you are as emotionally invested in them, if at all,

like you are in the UT team and overall program.  And

I'm sure you weren't saddened to see USC Roto Rooter

them Okies a new asshole.  I just heard on the radio

that Auburn moved into #2, dropping da hapless Sooners

to #3.  I think I heard that one poll had Texas

leaping over someone to #5, after Utah at #4.  Part of

the  ENDLESSFFUCKINGDEBATE over how stupid the BCS is

(vis-a-vis having a short tourney) is that it would

have been interesting to see the Utes  play someone

stronger than Pitt.  Of course, if the NCAA resolved

its most popular sport in the manner that they do all

the  rest, well that would just be too common

sensible."

Like Ron, I love football (no, I do not exactly revere

Oklahoma; Jim Davis and Pat Rochelle and I actually do

bleed Longhorn orange) and basketball and some tennis

and some of this and that, but Ron Jacobs is a genius

(and absolutely the biggest Rams fan I know) at more

than just radio.  You can tell from the above that the

man parallels Jack Kerouac when it comes to writing

with passion.  Ron and I should be selling novels up

the old gazoo.  I'm just wondering how many people

would like to have a copy on CD of the interview that

I did with Ron when he was god almighty of KGB in San

Diego...not long after he left KHJ in Los Angeles.  I

ran across the cassette the other day.  Not sure that

I could transfer it over to CD.  Thinking about

trying.  But I'm curious about what people would be

willing to pay for something like this.  I would, of

course, split any proceeds with Ron.  Basic purpose

would be just to get the thing out there for the

world.  To prove we passed this way once upon a time. 

You want to hear something really nuts?  A few years

ago, some people were trying to rewrite KHJ history to

exclude Ron Jacobs.  KHJ WAS Ron Jacobs as well as

Robert W. Morgan, Charlie Tuna, and the others.  In

fact the entire history of radio in Los Angeles must

include Ron Jacobs in capitol letters.

Now and then I get a little pissed off at these 

revisionists who think they know what really happened

in radio and they were more than likely in the john at

the time.  If they were even around at all.

Larry Shannon, larryshannon@radiodailynews.com: "Have

a fine, fine year!  I just noticed.  You've written 87

columns now.   Doesn't seem like it's been over a year

and a half ago that you wrote the first one."

Tom Noonan, Tenoonan8@aol.com, sent me an interesting

diatribe from  Lefsetz@aol.com on the music business

that went first by Les Silver, moreisles@msn.com. 

Great stuff!  Somewhat pithy, too.  But seemingly

right on target.  Don't know the name behind the

source yet.  I'll keep you posted as I learn more. 

Also don't know if he wishes to expand his list.  I'll

try to find that out, too.

OTHER MATTERS

Storms, though we do not create all of them, will be

with us always.  Unfortunately.  The earth was

designed as a machine that cleans itself through

earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, volcanoes, floods,

etc., and now and then a good solid plague.  Quite

frankly, it was also designed to destroy itself at

some point in time.  Or be destroyed (there is no such

thing, incidentally, as a "black hole," but that's

another article); what you have instead is a galaxy of

suns, asteroids, planets whirlpooling toward a center

that eventually reaches critical mass and explodes to

form such universal beauties as the Horsehead Nebula. 

Fortunately, the earthly death knell is quite distant

and, if we survive our "storms," we most likely will

be able to move to a suitable place in space prior to