The elite of Leatherman's empire had gathered in the Throne Room waiting for the Man himself to show up. Apparently he had something he wanted them all to hear. The Radleps stood around the big statue of the bearded man who sat in the big marble chair looking very wise. No one was too clear on who the old guy was but there was a rumor that it was some relation of Leatherman's. That seemed about right.

The Radleps—not all of them, of course, just the elite of Leather's bodyguard—stared at the other people in the room wishing, hoping, that one of them would try something. Nobody liked 'leps and the 'leps weren't exactly fond of their fellow man. If one of the Tax Generals or Stormers that crowded the Throne Room made a move towards Leatherman, the Radleps would have an excuse to pull out their weapons and start blazing away. When a Radlep started killing he was indiscriminate and very hard to stop.

The elite of the Slavestates jammed themselves up against the dirty marble walls, keeping their distance from the leps. A couple of the higher officers of the Stormtroopers, the Slavestate official army, looked with contempt at the 'leps.

Marko, a Stormer colonel and the right-hand man to the present Stormer General, Doug (known as "Doug the Bug"), turned to his superior and with a contemptuous toss of his head indicated the Radlep bodyguards.

"They ain't so tough," he snarled.

Doug the Bug looked over at the Teps. They were a very ugly-looking collection of hard guys. "Yes they are," he said.

Leather entered the Throne Room with a minimum of ceremony. He didn't like the Throne Room much. It was here that Bonner and a band of crazies came busting in and shot up a large hunk of Leatherman's forces. Even today Leatherman couldn't believe it. Bonner brought his band into the very heart of the Cap, Leather's stronghold, took out a shitload of men, and left. They all got away, too—more or less all of them. Bonner's force had also blown up the Slavestates' gas reserves. But worse. It was here, in the Throne Room itself, that Leatherman had lost his hands to an axe wielded by Bonner. If you looked close, you could see two deep cuts in the stone floor where the axe blade had hit.

No, the Throne Room didn't hold too many fond memories for the President for Life of the Slavestates. But to stop using it would be to admit defeat. And Leatherman could not afford to look weak—especially in front of his own men. He had no illusions about their loyalty. They all said that they were behind him a hundred percent and they groveled and kissed ass but they were all waiting for him to make a serious error. Then it was goodnight, Leatherman. They were all waiting to get a bigger share of Leather's pie. All, of course, except the Radleps.

Leatherman looked with great affection at the hideously scarred men that clustered around the throne. A really good bunch of guys. They would die for him without thinking twice about it.

There was a lot of cheering and clapping as Leather entered the room.

He smiled and bowed from the waist, waving his hooks in a sort of benediction. "Ass lickers," he whispered to Woolcott.

Walking just behind Leather and his chief councilor was Snotty and a couple of 'leps. They, too, glowered around them as anxious as the other bodyguards to do some damage.

Behind them, trailing behind a little, came Al. Since his hair-raising meeting with Leather a day or two before he found that the Man had decided to look with favor on him. Leatherman insisted that he give up the tax work and move over to the big house to sit in on meetings between Leather and Woolcott. Every so often Leather would stop his monologue and say suddenly:

"What do you think, Al?"

Al would stutter and gulp and finally manage to get out some kind of bullshit that more or less satisfied the Man—that, is, if the Man was ever satisfied.

Al liked his sudden change of position. He had gotten pretty high up in the Tax Corps and thereby had won himself a measure of respect from the thugs that lived and worked in the Cap. His inclusion in Leatherman's inner circle had raised him even further. But Al was no fool. He was also slightly scared of his proximity to power. He knew that Leather could change his mind in a second and blow someone away just because he suddenly decided he didn't like your looks. Al decided that he was going to have to watch his step.

Leather hoisted himself up into the lap of the marble man and looked down at his subjects. They looked back at him expectantly.

"Okay," he shouted, "listen up."

The courtiers gave their undivided attention to their leader.

"I been doing some thinking and this is what I decided. I decided that I want to talk to Carey and Berger."

"Great idea!" shouted someone anxious to curry favor.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth. You ain't heard why yet."

The man who shouted, a Stormer captain, shrunk back hoping that he would be allowed to go on living a little longer. Three dozen Radlep eyes, hungry like the eyes of a dog prevented from attacking a bowl of meat, stared at him.

"We are going to talk to Carey of the Snowstates and Berger from the Coldstates and we are gonna come to a little understanding. From right now on, I don't want you to go killing no Lightning Squaders or Devils. Got it? We gotta get a truce going because I wanna talk to those two fucks. Okay?"

Everyone said okay and tried to sound enthusiastic about it, but the truth was they weren't happy about it at all. The Slavestates were the sworn enemies of not just the riders in Chicago but of Carey's Snowstates and Berger's Hotstates. If a Stormer or a 'lep ran into a Snowman or a Devil then there was only one thing to do: kill them. True, there had been instances in the past where one state did business with the other. But that was business. A truce was bad news. "Any questions?" demanded Leatherman. Doug the Bug shifted uneasily and coughed. "What is it, Dougie?" asked Leather. "Ah, nothing much, Leather. I just want to get this clear. You want us to keep away from the Snows and the Hots for a while so you can work out some shit with Carey the Kook and Berger, right?"

"Fucking right. You stay out of the Snows. You stay out of the Hots. But more'n that. You find Devils or Snowmen in the Slavestates, you just escort 'em to the border. I don't want some maniac to go killing a load of Snows while I'm set on working out a deal."

The truce had been Woolcott's idea. It was a very bad idea and every fighting man in the room knew it.

"Escort 'em?" snorted Marko.

"Yeah, that's right," shouted Leather, "got any trouble with that, Marko?"

"Hey, it's cool, Leathennan. Cool." Marko smiled warmly.

Leather's eyes seemed to bore through Marko. The Stormer colonel shuffled his feet.

Snotty croaked something in Leather's ear.

Marko could see Leather shake his head and say something that sounded like "not yet."

"Okay," said Leather, "that's it. Fuck off, all of you."

The room cleared slowly. Subdued voices talked about what they had heard.

Later, in Stormer headquarters, Marko took a swig of some rotgut alcohol that he had found and told Doug straight out:

"He's fuckin' losing his mind. It's gonna be time real soon to take him down. Escort! Sure. That'll be the fuckin' day."

Doug whispered a reply, acutely aware of the fact that the words he hissed were treasonous. "Sure, Marko, I'll move against Leathennan. Just as soon as you do something about the Radleps."

"No problem, Doug. I'll just escort them into an early grave." Marko laughed at this a great deal.

Doug shook his head and regarded his second-in-command sadly. "The trouble is you don't take these things serious."

Marko was already a marked man. Doug knew that. He could tell by the way Leather had looked at him in the Throne Room. Briefly, Doug considered shooting Marko and telling Leather that he did it because Marko had been trying to stir up a revolt. It would certainly earn him some badly needed points. After a moment's reflection he decided that for the time being he would let it ride. But he tucked the plan away in his mind—he might use it when he needed to.

Leathennan looked closely at the four Radleps that he had ordered brought to him. Snotty had said they were the meanest and toughest that the entire Radlep Corps possessed. And that was saying something.

The four were Jake, Mike, Billy, and Whitebait and they stood around the round room looking impassively at their leader. Snotty stood by Leather looking at the four men like a concerned teacher, afraid that his pupils would make a mistake in front of the principal.

"Okay," said Leather, "this is the plan. Jake, I want you to head for the Hots and take my message to Berger. Mike, you get Carey." The two men nodded.

"Leave tonight and don't waste no time." Leather turned to Woolcott. "Give them the letters."

Solemnly, Woolcott handed over two pieces of paper wrapped in old plastic bags.

"So what are you waiting for?" barked Snotty. "Move out."

Silently the two men left.

The remaining two looked on impassively. "Okay," said Leather, "Snotty here tells me that you two are about the best 'leps going,"

The two men nodded. It was a statement of fact. They were good. A couple of the psycho-'leps were more cruel, but they were, as the name suggested, permanently nuts. You could count on a psycho to kill, but you couldn't count on him for much more. Billy and Whitebait were cruel, tough, and cunning. They were going to need to be.

"It's simple," said Leather. "You two are going to Chi-town."

The 'leps nodded again.

"One of you kill Bonner. The other get me Lucky. Make sure he ain't hurt. Just bring him back. I don't care who of you does which, just do it. Got it? Good luck."

"Scram," said Scotty.

Woolcott shook his head. Kill Bonner. Get going. Good plan, but real unlikely.

The Radleps left. Snotty with them. The mankillers may have been gone, but their memory lingered on— literally. There was no smell quite like a Radlep. It was their slowly rotting flesh, their breath, yet there was another smell worse than the first two. It was the smell of white-hot, devil-driven hate. It always made Woolcott a little sick.

"So," said Leather, "what do you think?"

"Great," said Woolcott, "whole thing looks really great."

"You know, you're right. I have a real good feeling about all this." His eyes were bright and happy. "I am gonna end up in charge of this whole fuckin' continent."

Jojo would have said, "What the fuck for? You got the best piece ..."

"Yes," said Leather, "I'm gonna rule the whole fuckin' thing."

Jojo would have said: "Got any idea how many men that's gonna take? How much gas? Ammo? There ain't gonna be anything left over for us. You'll be spending it all on the rest of the big C. Cool it, Leather. Cool it. There's nothing out there. Nothing but the title 'King of the Continent.' "

But Woolcott didn't say any of that. Instead, he said:

"Right on, Leatherman, and you deserve it. Goddam!"

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