"Of course not." Melford nodded. "Just tell yourself that, and the rip in the fabric of reality will mend itself. Soon you'll even doubt you ever met me. Everything in your experience will tell you that I must have been a figment of your imagination, and reality will swallow up poor Melford into the oblivion of bills and TV commercials and a weekly paycheck."

"I'll miss you," I said, "but I'm kind of looking forward to it, too."

When I looked up I saw Desiree running toward us. Her scantily covered b.r.e.a.s.t.s swung wildly, and she was gesturing with her hands. I didn't know what it meant, but it looked significant.

She threw open the back door and jumped in. "Drive fast," she said to Melford.

He put the car into gear and slammed down on the gas. It was an old car and didn't respond exceptionally well, but it still responded, and we were off the farm and on the dirt road, heading toward the highway, before Melford even had a chance to ask.

"It's the lab," she said. "I rigged it to blow, but I'm not sure how much time we have. I figured it would be best to make sure we were away from the explosions and toxic fumes."

There's no arguing with good logic, I thought. Still, her panic proved unnecessary, and we were a good three or four miles away before the thick cloud of black smoke rose behind us. We never heard the blast, just the long serenade of police sirens.

Chapter 37.

BY THE TIME WE GOT BACK to the motel, there were half a dozen or more county sheriff's cars parked outside, their lights flashing silently against the black cloud we'd left behind us. All the guests stood outside their rooms, some fully dressed, some in bathrobes or pajamas or boxer shorts. A little girl in a pink nightgown clutched a stuffed giraffe in one hand and her distracted mother's sweatshirt in the other. to the motel, there were half a dozen or more county sheriff's cars parked outside, their lights flashing silently against the black cloud we'd left behind us. All the guests stood outside their rooms, some fully dressed, some in bathrobes or pajamas or boxer shorts. A little girl in a pink nightgown clutched a stuffed giraffe in one hand and her distracted mother's sweatshirt in the other.

We got out of Melford's car just in time to see the cops leading the Gambler away. He was in handcuffs and bent over, doing what I would later hear called "the perp walk." Just behind him, a pair of cops were leading away Ronny Neil and Scott. Officer Toms was taking statements from some of the people from the Gambler's crew. Bobby stood by, looking stunned. Maybe before I'd learned about his little trick I'd have felt bad, even guilty, about ruining his career. I figured unemployment was the least he deserved.

"This is unexpected," I said softly.

"To you, perhaps. Didn't you wonder why I showed up at the motel room to tell them you were my source? In part it was to get your enemies in trouble, sure. But there was more."

"And what was that more?"

"I planted a few choice items from b.a.s.t.a.r.d's trailer in the room and then made an anonymous call. It won't take that much digging for them to connect the Gambler to the drug trade he had going with Jim Doe and the rest of them. It will all make perfect sense."

I shook my head. "The Gambler's a bad guy, don't get me wrong, but he didn't kill all those people. He's going to be charged with multiple murders."

"Yeah," Melford said. "All he really did was use his encyclopedia salesmen to peddle speed to teenagers, many of whom are no doubt dead. Of those who live, virtually all will lead lives only a shadow of their former potential. Boy, how unjust his punishment will be."

"But don't you think that . . ."

"That what? That I should take the blame myself so the Gambler can walk free? Forget it. I'm a post-Marxist vigilante, and I have a job to do. I make the world a better place. And that world will do very nicely without the Gambler on the streets."

"Is the world better off without B. B. Gunn, too? He's dead, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Either the Gambler or Doe killed him, so either way, justice is served."

"Your justice."

"Who is fit to judge all mankind if not me?" He went around to the back of the car and opened up the hatchback. He lifted up the carpeted floor and revealed a briefcase. "That's yours. Not right now when there are cops everywhere, but before we part ways."

"What is it?"

Melford laughed. "Don't play dumb with me, boy. You know what it is. It's the forty thousand dollars they've been looking for. You take it and go to college. Who knows, you might even still be able to secure a place for the coming year."

"Holy s.h.i.t." What else do you say at a time like that? "Why do you want to give it to me?"

Melford shrugged and slammed shut the hatch. "Because if I take money for what I do, I become corrupted. I can't ever think, not for a second, that I'm engaging in an action for the money or I'll lose my way. You've felt the tendrils of ideology, and I have to do all I can to resist them. I think I've set you on the right path over the past few days. You go off, get a good humanities education. Study literature and philosophy, get your fill of the social sciences, and try to do something useful with your life."

"I'm supposed to refuse to take it," I said. "Call it dirty money, tell you I want no part of it."

"I'll be very disappointed if you do that. Don't be another automaton, Lemuel, who embraces a false morality while ignoring the real evil all around you. Take the money and escape from Florida."

I nodded. "Okay. I will."

Melford laughed. "I think we're getting somewhere with you."

Then I felt someone grab me. I almost lashed out with an elbow to the a.s.sailant's head, but something in my reptile brain recognized a scent, and I froze. It wasn't a grab, it was a hug. I turned and saw Chitra smiling at me. Her eyes were wide, her lips red and slightly parted.

"I thought I told you to leave town," I said.

"I didn't listen. I'm so glad you are all right. But why are you dressed like that?"

I looked down at my sweats. "Long story." I kissed her, comfortably, as though we'd been together for so long that we didn't have to think about kissing.

"I'll give you two kids a minute," Melford said. He walked over to the car and got inside. I heard him put on some music, and watched while he nodded his head to the beat.

Chitra pulled away, but not unkindly. "I think that probably ends things for the encyclopedia business."

"Looks that way." I thought about her father needing money, and I thought about the suitcase in Melford's hatchback. All I needed for college was thirty thousand, several thousand of which I'd already saved. That meant I had a comfortable surplus. "How squeamish are you about matters of ethics when it comes to money?" I asked her.

"Not very," she said.

"Good." I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, breathing in the wonderful musty scent of her hair.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

I performed a robotic search of my systems. It took a moment, but I realized I was hungry. "Very," I said.

"Then maybe it's time we got that hamburger."

"Does your offer still stand?"

She smiled at me. "Maybe yes, maybe no. You eat the hamburger, and then I'll tell you."

Her grin was so delightfully devilish, it made my knees weak. I had been so much, seen so much. I'd almost died in the worst way humanly imaginable. I'd seen a man eaten alive by pigs. Never had I felt more alive.

"It's very tempting," I said. "It's hard to say whether or not you'll abandon your principles until you are tested by temptation."

"You're being tested by temptation now," she said. "And I am very curious to see what happens."

I thought about it for a minute. Maybe two. And then I gave her my answer.

Acknowledgments.

More so than with my previous novels, I've relied on the advice of smart and attentive readers to help me figure out what worked and didn't. I owe a great deal to Sophia Hollander, Jim Jopling, Mark Haskell Smith, Tammar Stein, and Billy Taylor for their time, attention, patience, encouragement, and excellent suggestions.

Many people a.s.sisted me in my research for this novel, so I am truly grateful to everyone who gave of their time and energy: Jim Leljedal of the Broward County Sheriff's Department; Joe Haptas and Ingrid Newkirk at the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals; animal rights activist extraordinaire Don Barnes; Jimmy the SHAC guy, last name unknown; and the animal liberators with whom I corresponded, currently serving time in prison, whose names I withhold upon their request. While animal rights issues were always at the core of this project, the novel began with a very different story, and I must thank those who helped me research the material for the earlier incarnation, even though I didn't end up using it: Michael L. Wiederhold of the University of Texas Health Science Center; and Jon Ronson, author of the absolutely terrific Them: Adventures with Extremists. Them: Adventures with Extremists. I'll write a book about the Bilderberg Group one of these days. I'll write a book about the Bilderberg Group one of these days.

Once again, I must thank the incomparable Liz Darhansoff for her tireless efforts and support. I'd hate to think where I'd be without her, but it would surely be someplace dingy. Likewise super-editor Jonathan Karp, whose advice, guidance, friendship, and open-mindedness helped make this book possible. And since I am lucky enough to live in a parallel universe in which an author gets to keep the same terrific publicist for all his books, let me put a long overdue thanks in print to Sally "the Marvinator" Marvin.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

DAVID L LISS is the author of is the author of A Spectacle of Corruption, The Coffee Trader, A Spectacle of Corruption, The Coffee Trader, and and A Conspiracy of Paper, A Conspiracy of Paper, winner of the 2000 Edgar Award for Best First Novel. He lives in San Antonio with his wife and daughter, and can be reached via his website, winner of the 2000 Edgar Award for Best First Novel. He lives in San Antonio with his wife and daughter, and can be reached via his website, www.davidliss.com.

ALSO BY DAVID LISS.

A Conspiracy of Paper

The Coffee Trader

A Spectacle of Corruption