Now she felt a stirring within, an important change, and she wanted to live to see how it played out. But below prowled the golem-vagrant, hunting.

Connie breathed through her open mouth, slowly and quietly.

Moving among the fossilized dancers, the ma.s.sive creature turned its burly head left and then right, methodically scanning the crowd. It changed color as it pa.s.sed through frozen lasers and spotlights, red to green, green to yellow, yellow to red to white to green, gray and black when it moved between shafts of light. But always its eyes were blue, radiant and strange. When the s.p.a.ce between dancers narrowed, the golem shoved aside a young man in jeans and a blue corduroy jacket. The dancer toppled backward, but the resistance of all Paused things prevented him from completing the fall. He stopped at a forty-five-degree angle to the floor and hung there precariously, still poised mid-dance, with the same celebratory expression on his face, ready to complete the fall in the first fraction of a second after time started up again, if it ever did. Moving from front to back of the cavernous room, the hulking golem shoved other dancers aside, into falls and spins and stumbles and head-b.u.t.ting collisions that would not be completed until the Pause ended. Getting out of the building safely when real time kicked in again would be a challenge, because the startled ravers, never having seen the beast pa.s.s among them while they were Paused, would blame those around them for being knocked down and shoved. A dozen fights would erupt in the first half-minute, Pandemonium would break out, and confusion would inevitably give way to panic. With lasers and spotlights sweeping the crowd, the throbbing ba.s.s of the techno music shaking the walls, and violence inexplicably erupting at every turn, the rush to get out would pile people up at the doors, and it would be a miracle if a number of them were not trampled to death in the melee.

Connie had no special sympathy for the mob on the dance floor, since defiance of the law and policemen was one of the motivations that brought them to a rave in the first place. But as rebellious and destructive and socially confused as they might be, they were nonetheless human beings, and she was outraged at the callousness with which Ticktock was bulling through them, without a thought for what would happen to them when the world suddenly shifted into gear again. She glanced at Harry beside her and saw a matching anger in his face and eyes. His teeth were clenched so tight that his jaw muscles bulged.

But there was nothing they could do to stop what was happening below. Bullets had no effect, and Ticktock was not likely to respond to a heartfelt request.

Besides, by speaking out, they would only be revealing their presence. The golem-vagrant had not once glanced toward the loft, and as yet there was no reason to think either that Ticktock was using more than ordinary senses to search for them or that he knew they were in the warehouse. Then Ticktock perpetrated an outrage that made it clear he fully intended intended to cause Bedlam and leave b.l.o.o.d.y tumult in his wake. He stopped in front of a raven-haired girl of twenty, whose slender arms were raised above her head in one of those rapturous expressions of the joy that rhythmic movement and primitive driving music could sometimes bring to a dancer even without the a.s.sistance of drugs. He loomed over her for a moment, studying her, as if taken with her beauty. Then he grabbed one of her arms in both his monstrous hands, wrenched with shocking violence, and tore it out of her shoulder socket. A low, wet laugh escaped him as he threw the arm behind him, where it hung in the air between two other dancers. to cause Bedlam and leave b.l.o.o.d.y tumult in his wake. He stopped in front of a raven-haired girl of twenty, whose slender arms were raised above her head in one of those rapturous expressions of the joy that rhythmic movement and primitive driving music could sometimes bring to a dancer even without the a.s.sistance of drugs. He loomed over her for a moment, studying her, as if taken with her beauty. Then he grabbed one of her arms in both his monstrous hands, wrenched with shocking violence, and tore it out of her shoulder socket. A low, wet laugh escaped him as he threw the arm behind him, where it hung in the air between two other dancers.

The mutilation was as bloodless as if he had merely disconnected the arm of a mannequin, but of course blood would not begin to flow until time itself flowed again. Then the madness of the act and its consequences would be all too apparent.

Connie squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch what he might do next. As a homicide cop, she had seen countless acts of mindless barbarity-or the consequences of them-and she had collected stacks of newspaper stories about crimes of positively fiendish brutality, and she had seen the damage this particular psychotic b.a.s.t.a.r.d had done to poor Ricky Estefan, but the fierce savagery of the act he committed on the dance floor rocked her as nothing had before. The utter utter helplessness of this young victim might have been the difference that knocked the wind out of Connie and left her shaking not from any inner or outer chill but with icy horror. All victims were helpless to one degree or another; that was why they became targets for the savages among them. But this pretty young woman's helplessness was of an infinitely more terrible nature, for she had never seen her a.s.sailant coming, would never see him go or know his ident.i.ty, would be stricken as suddenly as any innocent field mouse pierced by the razor claws of a swooping hawk which it had never seen diving from on high. Even after she had been maimed, she remained unaware of the attack, frozen in the last moment of pure happiness and worry-free existence that she might ever know, a laugh still painted on her face though she had been forever crippled and perhaps condemned to death, not even permitted to know her loss or to feel the pain or to scream until her attacker had returned to her the ability to feel and react. helplessness of this young victim might have been the difference that knocked the wind out of Connie and left her shaking not from any inner or outer chill but with icy horror. All victims were helpless to one degree or another; that was why they became targets for the savages among them. But this pretty young woman's helplessness was of an infinitely more terrible nature, for she had never seen her a.s.sailant coming, would never see him go or know his ident.i.ty, would be stricken as suddenly as any innocent field mouse pierced by the razor claws of a swooping hawk which it had never seen diving from on high. Even after she had been maimed, she remained unaware of the attack, frozen in the last moment of pure happiness and worry-free existence that she might ever know, a laugh still painted on her face though she had been forever crippled and perhaps condemned to death, not even permitted to know her loss or to feel the pain or to scream until her attacker had returned to her the ability to feel and react.

Connie knew that, to this monstrous enemy, she was as shockingly vulnerable as the young dancer below. Helpless. No matter how fast she could run, regardless of the cleverness of her strategies, no defense would be adequate and no hiding place secure.

Although she had never been particularly religious, she suddenly understood how a devout fundamentalist Christian might tremble at the thought that Satan could be loosed from h.e.l.l to stalk the world and wreak Armageddon. His awesome power. His relentlessness. His hard, gleeful, merciless brutality.

Greasy nausea slithered in her guts, and she was afraid she might throw up. Beside her, the softest hiss of apprehension escaped Harry, and Connie opened her eyes. She was determined to meet her death face to face with all the resistance she could muster, useless as resistance might be.

On the floor of the warehouse below, the golem-vagrant reached the foot of the same set of stairs up which she and Harry had climbed to the loft. He hesitated there, as if considering whether to turn and walk away, search elsewhere.

Connie dared to hope that their continued silence, in spite of every provocation to cry out, had encouraged Ticktock to believe that they could not possibly be hiding anywhere in the rave. Then he spoke in that rough demonic voice. "Fee, fie, fo, fum," he said, starting up the stairs, "I smell the blood of hero cops."

His laugh was as cold and inhuman as any sound that might issue from a crocodile-yet contained an eerily recognizable quality of childlike delight.

Arrested development.

A psychotic child.

She remembered Harry telling her that the burning vagrant, in the process of destroying the condominium, had said, You people are so much fun to play with. You people are so much fun to play with. This was his private game, played by his rules, or without rules at all if he wished, and she and Harry were nothing but his toys. She had been foolish to hope that he would keep his promise. This was his private game, played by his rules, or without rules at all if he wished, and she and Harry were nothing but his toys. She had been foolish to hope that he would keep his promise.

The crash of each of his heavy footsteps reverberated across the wood treads and up through the entire structure. The floor of the loft shook from his ascent. He was climbing fast: BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

Harry grabbed her by the arm. "Quick, the other stairs!"

They turned away from the railing and toward the opposite end of the loft from where the golem was ascending.

At the head of the second set of stairs stood a second golem identical to the first. Huge. Mane of tangled hair. Wild beard. Raincoat like a black cape. He was grinning broadly. Blue flames flickering brightly in deep sockets.

Now they knew one more thing about the extent of Ticktock's power. He could create and control at least two artificial bodies at the same time.

The first golem reached the top of the stairs to their right. He started toward them, ruthlessly kicking a path through the tangled lovers on the floor.

To their left, the second golem approached with no greater respect for the Paused people in his way. When the world started up again, cries of injury and outrage would arise from end to end of the wide loft.

Still gripping Connie's arm, pulling her back against the railing, Harry whispered, "Jump!" "Jump!" BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, the thud of the twin golems' footsteps shook the loft, and BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, the pounding of her heart shook Connie, and the two sounds became indistinguishable from one another. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, the thud of the twin golems' footsteps shook the loft, and BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, the pounding of her heart shook Connie, and the two sounds became indistinguishable from one another.

Following Harry's example, she put her hands behind her on the railing, pushed up to sit on the handrail.

The golems kicked more viciously at the human obstacles between them and their prey, closing in faster from both sides.

She lifted her legs and swung around to face the warehouse. At least a twenty-foot drop to the floor. Far enough to break a leg, crack open her skull? Probably.

Each of the golems was less than twenty feet away, coming toward her with all the irresistible force of freight trains, gas-flame eyes burning as hot as any fires in h.e.l.l, reaching for her with ma.s.sive hands.

Harry jumped.

With a cry of resignation, Connie pushed with her feet against the bal.u.s.ters and her hands against the handrail, launching herself into the void- -and fell only six or seven feet before coasting to a full stop in midair, beside Harry. She was facing straight down, legs and arms spread in an unconscious imitation of the cla.s.sic skydiving position, and below her were the frozen dancers, all of them as oblivious of her as they were of everything else beyond the instant when they had been spellbound.

The deepening chill in her bones and the rapid depletion of her energy as they fled through Laguna Beach had indicated that she was not making her way through the Paused world as easily as it seemed, certainly not as easily as she moved through the normal world. The fact that they did not create their own wind when they ran, which Harry also noticed, seemed to support the idea that resistance to their motion was present even if they were not conscious of it, and now the arrested fall proved it. As long as they exerted themselves, they could keep moving, but they could not rely on momentum or even the pull of gravity to carry them far when exertion ceased. Looking over her shoulder, Connie saw that she had managed to launch herself outward only five feet from the loft railing, though she had shoved away from it with all her might. However, combined with a five-or six-foot vertical drop, she had gone far enough to be beyond the reach of the golems.

They stood at the loft railing, leaning out, reaching down, grasping for her but coming up only with handsful of empty air.

Harry shouted at her: "You can move if you try!"

She saw that he was using his arms and legs somewhat in the manner of a swimmer doing a b.r.e.a.s.t.stroke, angled toward the floor, pulling himself downward by agonizing inches, as if the air wasn't air at all but some curious form of extremely dense water.

She quickly realized she was unfortunately not weightless like an astronaut in orbit aboard the s.p.a.ce shuttle, and enjoyed none of the motive advantages of a gravity-free environment. A brief experiment proved she couldn't propel herself with an astronaut's ease or change direction on a whim.

When she imitated Harry, however, Connie found that she could could pull herself down through the gluey air if she was methodical and determined. For a moment it seemed even better than skydiving because the period of the dive when you had the illusion of flying like a bird was at comparatively high alt.i.tudes; and with features on the ground rapidly enlarging, the illusion was never fully convincing. Here, on the other hand, she was right over the heads of other people and airborne within a building, which even under the circ.u.mstances gave her an exhilarating sense of power and buoyancy, rather like one of those blissful dreams of flying that too seldom informed her sleep. Connie actually might have enjoyed the bizarre experience if Ticktock had not been present in the form of the two golems and if she had not been fleeing for her life. She heard the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM of their heavy hurried footsteps on the wooden loft, and when she looked back over her shoulder and up, she saw they were headed for opposite sets of stairs. She was still ten or eleven feet from the warehouse floor and "swimming" downward at an infuriatingly slow speed, inch by grinding inch through the colorful fixed beams of the spotlights and party lasers. Gasping for breath from the exertion. Getting rapidly colder now, colder. If there had been something solid for her to push against, such as a nearby wall or roofsupporting column, she'd have been able to achieve greater propulsion. But there was nothing besides the air itself off which to launch-almost like trying to lift herself entirely by her own bootstraps. pull herself down through the gluey air if she was methodical and determined. For a moment it seemed even better than skydiving because the period of the dive when you had the illusion of flying like a bird was at comparatively high alt.i.tudes; and with features on the ground rapidly enlarging, the illusion was never fully convincing. Here, on the other hand, she was right over the heads of other people and airborne within a building, which even under the circ.u.mstances gave her an exhilarating sense of power and buoyancy, rather like one of those blissful dreams of flying that too seldom informed her sleep. Connie actually might have enjoyed the bizarre experience if Ticktock had not been present in the form of the two golems and if she had not been fleeing for her life. She heard the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM of their heavy hurried footsteps on the wooden loft, and when she looked back over her shoulder and up, she saw they were headed for opposite sets of stairs. She was still ten or eleven feet from the warehouse floor and "swimming" downward at an infuriatingly slow speed, inch by grinding inch through the colorful fixed beams of the spotlights and party lasers. Gasping for breath from the exertion. Getting rapidly colder now, colder. If there had been something solid for her to push against, such as a nearby wall or roofsupporting column, she'd have been able to achieve greater propulsion. But there was nothing besides the air itself off which to launch-almost like trying to lift herself entirely by her own bootstraps.

To her left, Harry was about a foot ahead of her but making no better time than she was. He was farther along only because he had started sooner.

Kick. Pull the arms. Struggle.

Her sense of freedom and buoyancy swiftly gave way to a feeling of being trapped. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, the footfalls of their pursuers echoed flatly through the huge chamber.

She was perhaps nine feet off the floor, moving toward a clear s.p.a.ce among the dancers. Kick. Pull. Kick and pull. Keep moving, moving. So cold.

She glanced over her shoulder again, even though she was afraid that the act of doing so would slow her down.

At least one of the golems had reached the head of one set of stairs. He descended the steps two at a time. In his cloaklike raincoat, shoulders hunched, burly head lowered, leaping down in the rollicking manner of an ape, he reminded her of an ill.u.s.tration in a long-forgotten storybook, a picture of an evil troll from some medieval legend.

Struggling so fiercely that her heart felt as if it might explode, she drew herself within eight feet of the floor. But she was angled headfirst; she would have to pull herself laboriously all the way to the concrete, which would provide the first solid surface against which she could regain her equilibrium and scramble to her feet.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

The golem reached the bottom of the stairs.

Connie was exhausted. Freezing.

She heard Harry cursing the cold and the resisting air.

The pleasant dream of flying had become the most cla.s.sic of all nightmares, in which the dreamer could flee only in slow motion, while the monster pursued with terrifying speed and agility.

Concentrating on the floor below, seven feet from it now, Connie nevertheless saw movement from the corner of her left eye and heard Harry cry out. A golem had reached him. A darker shadow fell across the shadow-layered floor directly below her. Reluctantly, she turned her head to the right.

Suspended in midair, with her feet above and behind her, like an angel swooping down to do battle with a demon, she found herself face to face with the other golem. Regrettably, unlike an angel, she was not armed with a fiery sword, a bolt of lightning, or an amulet blessed by G.o.d and capable of knocking demons back into the fires and boiling tar of the Pit. Grinning, Ticktock gripped her throat. The golem's hand was so enormous that the thick fingers overlapped the fat thumb where they met at the back of her head, completely encircling her neck, though it did not immediately crush her windpipe and cut off her breath. She remembered how Ricky Estefan's head had been turned backward on his shoulders, and how the raven-haired dancer's slender arm had been ripped so effortlessly from her body. A flash of rage burned away her terror, and she spat in the huge and terrible face. "Let go of me, s.h.i.thead." the back of her head, completely encircling her neck, though it did not immediately crush her windpipe and cut off her breath. She remembered how Ricky Estefan's head had been turned backward on his shoulders, and how the raven-haired dancer's slender arm had been ripped so effortlessly from her body. A flash of rage burned away her terror, and she spat in the huge and terrible face. "Let go of me, s.h.i.thead."

A foul exhalation washed over her, making her grimace, and the scar-faced golem-vagrant said, "Congratulations, b.i.t.c.h. Time's up."

The blue-flame eyes burned brighter for an instant, then winked out, leaving deep black sockets beyond which it seemed that Connie could see to the end of eternity. The vagrant's hideous face, writ large on this oversize golem, was abruptly transformed from flesh and hair into a highly detailed monochromatic brown countenance that appeared to have been sculpted from clay or mud. An elaborate web of hairline cracks formed from the bridge of his nose, swiftly spinning in a spiral pattern across his face, and in a wink his features crumbled.

The giant vagrant's entire body dissolved, and with a shattering detonation of techno music that resumed full-blast in mid-note, the world started up again. No longer suspended in the air, Connie fell the last seven feet to the warehouse floor, face-first into the moist mound of dirt and sand and gra.s.s and rotting leaves and bugs that had been the golem's body, cushioned from injury by the now-lifeless ma.s.s but gagging and spitting in disgust.

Around her, even above the pounding music, she heard screams of shock, terror, and pain.

5.

"Game's over-for now," the golem-vagrant said, then obligingly dissolved. Harry dropped out of the air. He sprawled on his stomach in the remains, which smelled strongly of nothing more than rich damp earth.

In front of his face was a hand formed entirely of dirt, similar to-but larger than-the one they had seen in Ricky's bungalow. Two fingers twitched with a residue of supernatural energy and seemed to reach toward his nose. He slammed one fist into that disembodied monstrosity, pulverizing it.

Screaming dancers stumbled into him and collapsed across his back and legs. He scrambled out from under the falling bodies, onto his feet.

An angry boy in a Batman T-shirt rushed forward and took a swing at him. Harry ducked, threw a right into the kid's stomach, planted a left uppercut under his chin, stepped over him when he fell, and looked around for Connie.

She was nearby, dropping a tough-looking teenage girl with a karate kick, and then swiveling on one foot to drive her elbow into the solar plexus of a muscle-bound youth who looked surprised as he went down. He obviously thought he was going to polish his shoes with her and throw her away. If she felt as rotten as Harry did, she might not be able to hold her own. His joints still ached with the cold that had seeped into them during the Pause, and he felt tired, as if he had carried a great weight on a journey of many miles.

Joining up with her, screaming to be heard above the music and other noise, Harry said, "We're too old for this c.r.a.p! Come on, let's get out of here!"

For the most part, on every side, the dancing had given way to fighting, or at least to vigorous pushing and shoving, thanks to the tricks that Ticktock had played earlier on his way through the Paused crowd. However, not all of the partiers seemed to understand that the rave had devolved into a dangerous brawl, because some of the pushers and shovers were laughing as if they believed they had merely been caught up in a boisterous, relatively good-natured slam dance. Harry and Connie were too far from the front of the building to make it out that way before an understanding of the true nature of the situation swept the crowd. Though there was nothing as immediately threatening as a fire, the tendency of a panicked crowd would be to react to the violence as if flames had been seen. Some of them would even believe they had had seen fire. Harry grabbed Connie's hand to keep them from being separated in the turmoil, and led her toward the nearer rear wall, where he was sure there would have to be other doors. In that chaotic atmosphere, it was easy to understand why the revelers would confuse real violence for make-believe, even if they hadn't been on drugs. Spotlights swung back and forth and swooped across the metal ceiling, intensely colored laser beams slashed complex patterns across the room, strobes flashed, phantasmagoric shadows leaped-twisted-twirled through the energetic crowd, young faces were strange and mysterious behind ever-changing carnival masks of reflected light, psychedelic film images pulsed and writhed over two big walls, the disc jockey pumped up the volume on the manic music, and the crowd noise alone was loud enough to be disorienting. The senses were overloaded and apt to mistake a glimpse of violent confrontation for an exhibition of high good spirits or something even more benign. seen fire. Harry grabbed Connie's hand to keep them from being separated in the turmoil, and led her toward the nearer rear wall, where he was sure there would have to be other doors. In that chaotic atmosphere, it was easy to understand why the revelers would confuse real violence for make-believe, even if they hadn't been on drugs. Spotlights swung back and forth and swooped across the metal ceiling, intensely colored laser beams slashed complex patterns across the room, strobes flashed, phantasmagoric shadows leaped-twisted-twirled through the energetic crowd, young faces were strange and mysterious behind ever-changing carnival masks of reflected light, psychedelic film images pulsed and writhed over two big walls, the disc jockey pumped up the volume on the manic music, and the crowd noise alone was loud enough to be disorienting. The senses were overloaded and apt to mistake a glimpse of violent confrontation for an exhibition of high good spirits or something even more benign.

Far behind Harry a scream rose unlike any of the others, so shrill and hysterical that it pierced the background roar and called attention to itself even in that cacophony. No more than a minute had pa.s.sed since the Pause had ended, if that long. Harry figured the new screamer was either the black-haired girl coming out of shock and discovering that her shoulder ended in a gory stump-or the person who had suddenly found himself confronted by the grisly detached arm. Even if that heart-stopping wail didn't draw attention, the crowd would not party on in ignorance much longer. There was nothing like a punch in the face to dislodge fantasy and snap reality into place. When the change in the mood penetrated to a majority of the ravers, the rush to the exits would be potentially deadly, even though there was no fire.

A sense of duty and a policeman's conscience encouraged Harry to turn back, find the girl who had lost an arm, and try to administer first aid. But he knew that he would probably not be able to find her in the churning throng, and that he wouldn't have a chance to help even if he did manage to locate her, not in that growing human maelstrom, which already seemed to have reached the equivalent of hurricane force.

Holding tight to Connie's hand, Harry pushed out of the dancers and through the now-clamorous onlookers with their bottles of beer and balloons of nitrous oxide, all the way to the back wall of the warehouse, which was deep under the loft. Beyond the reach of the party lights. Darkest place in the building.

He looked left, right. Couldn't see a door.

That wasn't surprising, considering a rave was essentially an illegal drug party staged in a deserted warehouse, not a chaperoned prom in a hotel ballroom where there would be well-lit red exit signs. But, Jesus, it would be so pointless and stupid to survive the Pause and the golems, only to be trampled to death by hundreds of doped-up kids frantically trying to squeeze through a doorway all at once.

Harry decided to go right, for no better reason than that he had to go one way or the other. Unconscious kids were lying on the floor, recovering from long hits of laughing gas. Harry tried not to step on anyone, but the light under the loft was so poor that he didn't see some of those in darker clothes until he'd stumbled over them.

A door. He almost pa.s.sed by without spotting it.

In the warehouse behind him, the music continued to thump as ever, but a sudden change occurred in the quality of the crowd noise. It became a less celebratory roar, darkened into an uglier rumble shot through with panicky shrieks.

Connie was gripping Harry's hand so tightly, she was grinding his knuckles together. In the gloom Harry pushed against the door. Pushed with his shoulders. Wouldn't budge. No. Must be an outside door. Pull inward. But that didn't work either.

The crowd broke toward the outer walls. A wave of screaming swelled, and Harry could actually feel the heat and terror of the oncoming mob that was surging even toward the back wall. They were probably too disoriented to remember where the main entrances were. He fumbled for the door handle, k.n.o.b, push-bar, whatever, and prayed it wasn't locked. He found a vertical handle with a thumb latch, pressed down, felt something click. The first of the escaping crowd rammed into them from behind, Connie cried out, Harry shoved back at them, trying to keep them out of the way so he could pull the door open- please G.o.d don't please G.o.d don't let it be a restroom or closet we'll be crushed smothered let it be a restroom or closet we'll be crushed smothered-kept his thumb down hard on the latch, the door popped, he pulled it inward, shouting at the crowd behind him to wait, wait, for G.o.d's sake, and then the door was torn out of his grasp and slammed all the way open, and he and Connie were carried outside into the cool night air by the desperate tide of people behind them. More than a dozen ravers were in a parking area, gathered around the back of a white Ford van. The van was draped with two sets of green and red Christmas-tree lights, which operated off its battery and provided the only illumination in the deep night between the back of the building and the scrub-covered canyon wall. One longhaired man was filling balloons from a pressure tank of nitrous oxide that was strapped to a handtruck behind the van, and a totally bald guy was collecting five-dollar bills. All of them, both merchants and customers, looked up in amazement as screaming and shouting people erupted through the back door of the warehouse.

Harry and Connie separated, bypa.s.sing everyone behind the van. She went around to the pa.s.senger-side door, and Harry went to the driver's side.

He jerked open the door and started to climb in behind the steering wheel. The guy with the shaved head grabbed his arm, stopped him and pulled him out. "Hey, man, what do you think you're doing?"

As he was being dragged backward out of the van, Harry reached under his coat and drew his revolver. Turning, he jammed the muzzle against his adversary's lips. "You want me to blow your teeth out the back of your head?"

The bald man's eyes went wide, and he backed up fast, raising both hands to show he was harmless. "No, hey, no man, cool it, take the van, she's yours, have fun, enjoy." Distasteful as Connie's methods might be, Harry had to admit there was a certain time-saving efficiency when you handled problems her way.

He climbed behind the steering wheel again, pulled the door shut, and holstered his revolver. Connie was already in the pa.s.senger seat.

The keys were in the ignition, and the engine was running to keep the battery charged up for the Christmas lights. Christmas lights, for G.o.d's sake. Festive bunch, these NO dealers. He released the handbrake, switched on the headlights, threw the van in gear, and tramped hard on the accelerator. For a moment the tires spun and smoked, squealing like angry pigs on the blacktop, and all the ravers scattered. Then the rubber bit in, the van shot toward the back corner of the warehouse, and Harry hammered the horn to keep people out of his way.

"The road out of here's going to jam tight in two minutes," Connie said, bracing herself against the dashboard as they rounded the corner of the warehouse not quite on two wheels.

"Yeah," he said, "everyone trying to get away before the cops show up."

"Cops are such party p.o.o.pers."

"Such n.u.m.b.n.u.t.s."

"Never any fun."

"Prudes."

They rocketed down the wide driveway alongside the warehouse, where there was no exit door and therefore no panicked people to worry about. The van handled well, real power and a good suspension. He supposed it had been modified for quick escapes when the police showed up. Out in front of the warehouse, the situation was different, and he had to use the brake and the horn, weaving wildly to avoid fleeing partiers. More people had escaped the building more quickly than he had imagined possible.

"Promoters were smart enough to roll up one of the big truck doors to let people out," Connie said, turning in her seat to look out the side window as they went past the place.

"Surprised it even works," Harry said. "G.o.d knows how long the place has stood empty." With the pressure inside so quickly relieved, the death toll-if there was one-would be substantially smaller.

Hanging a hard left into the street, Harry clipped a parked car with the rear b.u.mper of the van but kept going, blowing the horn at the few ravers who had made it that far and were running down the middle of the street like terrified people in one of those G.o.dzilla movies fleeing from the giant thunderlizard.

Connie said, "You pulled your gun on that bald guy."

"Yeah."

"I hear you tell him you'd blow his head off?"

"Something like that."

"Didn't show him your badge?"

"Figured he'd have respect for a gun, none at all for a badge" She said, "I could get to like you, Harry Lyon."

"No future in it-unless we get past dawn."

In seconds they were past all of the partiers who had left the warehouse on foot, and Harry tramped the accelerator all the way to the floor. They shot by the nursery, body shops, and recreational-vehicle storage lot that they had pa.s.sed on the way in, and were soon beyond the partiers' parked cars.