Leather lay on his bed and stared out the window watching the gas dome burn. The
explosions had died down but a bright orange ball of flame dominated the night sky. The
air was heavy with black smoke. The Cap that night was an evil place. Stormers stood in
little bands at street comers and in the bazaar talking in low tones. The Radleps were out
in force, maintaining order. They stood between Leather and mutiny.
Jojo entered Leather's room. "So," he asked, "should I give orders
to disarm the Stormers?"
Leather, calmer now, knew that whatever he did in the next few hours would either
save or destroy his empire. "No, leave 'em alone. Take away their guns and we'll just
stir them up. Put some extra leps on the liquor warehouse. I don't want anyone getting
drunk and starting a firelight. They are pretty mad about Colley, aren't they?"
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"Yeah. And they feel like shit because they were beaten by Bonner."
"Yeah. Bonner." Leather turned back toward the window. It all came back
to Bonner. Always Bonner . . . Leather had played his top card, his ace
Daraand Bonner had beaten him. Tears started into Leather's eyes. He was a fucking
cripple and his empire had been slammedall the work of Bonner.
Leather turned to Jojo. "I still want him dead. Now more than ever."
"Leather, please, let it ride."
Leatherman twisted his face into a grimace of hate. "No way, man. No
way." ,
The dark streets of Chicago were silent, save for the roar of Bonner's engine. It
was missing on six cylinders and he was running on rims; he couldn't be sure but it
sounded as if he had broken a piston ring. If he didn't put the car down soon the engine
would seize. He pushed the last ounce of power out of the tired engine, making for the bus
station and the soothing ministrations of Lucky. He steered the car up the long, curving
ramp and found the mechanic waiting in the bay, holding a kerosene lantern and his old
Colt.
"Heard you coming," said the little man. "Fucked the old girl
again, I see." He sighed heavily. "Boss. . . ."
"Yeah," said Bonner, as he took a few things out of the car, "I
know. I don't have any respect for machinery." He started down the ramp.
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"Well, you don't," shouted Lucky.
"Yeah, yeah," said Bonner.
"Did you get any oil, like I asked you?"
"Nope. Sorry."
"You'll be sorrier when you need it," shouted Lucky, his voice echoing
in the dark space.
"Take your time," said Bonner, "I'm not going to be riding for a
while."
Bonner walked through the dead streets. He told himself that he should go thank
Dorca for getting Seth out to meet them. He remembered that he had a present for the big
barkeep someplace . . . The hell with it, he thought, I'll do it tomorrow.
He climbed the dusty stairs to his rooms. The woman was still there. She smiled
tentatively at him as he entered. She put her arms around him and laid her body lightly
against his.
"I'm glad you're back," she said. He stroked her hair absentmindedly and
smiled, then gently disengaged himself. She understood and vanished into the kitchen. He
sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands . . .
Deep in the night tortured dreams of Dara and Leather and vicious firefights
awakened him. He opened his eyes in the darkness, the woman slept by his side. In the
streets he could hear the coarse-voiced singing of a drunk. He thought of Dara. He thought
of Leather. In his bones he felt the dull ache of failure. In his heart he felt the hot
need for revenge. The war was just beginning.