Desperation

“Okay,” Steve said, “but how are we going to set it off with no booster. You were right, boss-no dynamite, no blasting caps. Just a guy with a.30-.30 haircut. The demolitions foreman, I assume.”

Joh

“Why.” Cynthia asked instantly.

“Because I need to,” Joh

Mary said, “I hardly think this is the time-”

The boss had been signalling him-signalling urgently-with his eyes. “It’s okay,” Steve said. “It’ll be quick.”

“And don’t go empty-handed,” Joh

“My understanding is that without something explosive to boost it, it’s more like Instant Campfire,” Ralph said.

“I want to know what’s going on here,” Cynthia said. She sounded worried.

“Nothing,” Joh

“Really.”

“The fuck there ain’t,” Cynthia said morosely, but she went with the others, each of them carrying a bag of ANFO.

Before Joh

“is everything okay.” David asked. He glanced briefly at Steve, but it was Joh

“Yes. Steve, give David a bag of ANFO.”

David stood a moment longer, holding the bag Steve handed him, looking down at it, lost in thought. Abruptly he looked up at Joh

“What-” Steve began.

Joh

He unbuckled the chaps, turned out the pockets of his jeans underneath, handing Steve his goods-the famous wallet, his keys, the hammer which had been stuck in his belt-to hold as he did. He bowed forward so David could look into his shirt pocket. Then he unbuckled his pants and pushed them down. Underneath be was wearing blue bikini briefs. His not inconsiderable gut hung over them. I–Ic looked to Steve like one of those rich older guys you saw strolling along the beach sometimes. You knew they were rich not just because they always wore Rolexes and Oakley sunglasses, but because they dared walk along in those tiny spandex ballhuggers in the first place. As if, once your income passed a certain figure, your gut became another asset.

The boss wasn’t wearing spandex, at least. Plain old COttOn.

He did a three-sixty, arms slightly raised, giving David ill the angles and bruises, then pulled up his jeans again.

The chaps followed. “Satisfied. I’ll take off my boots, if you’re not.”

“No,” David said, but be poked a hand into the pockets of the chaps before stepping back.

His face was troubled, but not exactly worried. “Go on and have your talk. But hurry it up.”

And he was gone, leaving Steve and Joh

The boss moved to the rear of the powder magazine, as far from the door as possible.

Steve followed. Now he could smell the corpse in the dynamite chest under the stronger fuel-oil aroma of the place, and he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

“He wanted to make sure you didn’t have a few of those can tahs on you, didn’t he. Like Audrey.”

Joh

“I guess he is.” Steve shuffled his feet, looked at them, then back up at the boss. “Look, you don’t need to apolo-gize for buzzing off. The important thing is that you came back.

Why don’t we just-”

“I owe a lot of apologies,” Joh

“All right.”

“And this really does have to be speedy. David already suspects I’m up to something; that’s another reason why he wanted me to turn out my pockets. There’ll come a moment-very soon now-when you’re going to have to grab David. When you do, make sure you get a good grip, because he’s going to fight like hell. And make sure you don’t let—“Why.“

“Will your pal with the creative hairdo help if you ask her to.”

“Probably, but-”

“Steve, you have to trust me.

“Why should I.”

“Because I had a moment of revelation on the way up here. Except that’s way too stiff; I like David’s phrase better. He asked me if I got hit by a God-bomb. I told him no, but that was another lie. Do you suppose that’s why God picked me in the end. Because I’m an accomplished liar. That’s sort of fu

“What’s going to happen. Do you even know.”

“No, not completely.” Joh

“I can’t do what you want,” Steve said flatly. “I don t trust you enough to do what you want.”

“You have to,” Joh

“But-”

Joh

“David thinks God means him to die in order to close Tak up in his bolthole again. The final sacrifice, so to speak. But David’s wrong.” Joh

“What-”

Joh

“Do you know how to set this shit off without any dyno or blasting caps.” Steve asked.

“You think you do, don’t you. What’s going to happen. Is God going to send down a lightning-bolt.”—“That’s what David thinks,” Joh

They walked out into what was left of the night and joined the others.

At the bottom of the slope, twenty yards below the ragged yawn that was China Shaft, Joh

He slipped one of these pairs around his own neck, the sacks hanging down on either side of his chest like the counterweights of a cuckoo clock. Steve took another pair, and Joh