Bonner battled a snowstorm most of the way back to Chicago. The Mean Brothers crouched in the back of the car, dozing most of the way, getting out only when Bonner needed their vast strength to pull his tortured vehicle clear of a heavy snowdrift.

J.B. and the Habs were somewhere behind him. They all planned to meet in the city and divide up the spoils when Seth arrived.

Chi was cold and quiet when Bonner arrived deep in the night. He woke up Lucky, who grumbled about being disturbed and the cold and a lot of other things.

"I'll bet you fucked up your automobile too," he said acidly.

"Yeah," said Bonner, "probably."

"As fucking usual. Did you get the gas?"

"Yeah. We got it." "Well at least you did something right. Not much gas around these days. You'll be earning yourself quite a heap of slates."

Bonner walked through the snow-blown streets. It was too cold for even the lowliest street worker to be out looking for an easy bringdown like a vulture. The lights were on at Dorca's, but the usual ruckus didn't spill out into that unfriendly night. The world was asleep, thought Bonner, or dead.

He walked wearily up the four flights of stairs that led to his book-lined lair. He swung open the door and called into the darkness.

"It's me." He heard the girl put down the shotgun that he knew she had leveled at him. A second later she raced out of the darkness and enfolded him in her arms. She smelled warm and clean, and suddenly he caught the acid smell of his own unwashed and exhausted body.

"Are you hurt?" she asked,

"No."

"Tired?"

"They got Starling."

Good, she thought. Kill them all. Kill all these damn adventurers who lured Bonner out onto the road with vows of friendship and tales of riches.

Bonner lowered himself onto the bed. He could feel the warmth where her body had lain waiting for him. In his mind he took down the ledger in which he kept the list of scores to be settled. To the cruel death of Dara and the fiery demise of Cooker and Harvey, Bonner now added a new name: Starling. An Outrider. Dead for a few gallons of gas.

The tiny flames of mercy and forgiveness that burned within the Outrider guttered and died. As they were snuffed out, the furnace of hate and revenge in his heart grew hotter—as hot as the flames of hell that Leather would one day suffer, Bonner would be the one that sent him there. That he swore silently on the names and memories of his dead friends.

The girl snuggled down at his side. Safe.

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