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before; now it blackened with anger as he confronted the trucker. "Who the fuck's that?"
        He shrugged. "Found 'im. Out on the road."
        Harley's buddy, with the welder's mask pushed up on top of his head, came around from the other side of the shack and looked in the truck. He was smiling, gaps showing in his yellow teeth, when he came over to them.
        "Looks like somebody doesn't like him too much." Harley's buddy scratched his bare chest, grinning away.
        "Shit. Jesus fucking Christ." Harley shook his head. "What the hell did you bring him here for?"
        "What was I supposed to do?" The trucker gestured toward the Peterbilt and the slumped figure visible inside. "Leave him out there?"
        Harley put his hands on his hips and nodded. "Yeah, actually. That's exactly what you should've done. This stupid fucker, whoever he is, he gets his ass in a jam, it's no skin off our noses."
         These assholes … The trucker kept his face impassive as he listened to Harley. How the hell did I get hooked up with them ?
        "Why do you think somebody like that gets dumped off in the middle of nowhere? Huh? Tell me."
        The trucker shrugged.
        Harley looked over his shoulder, then back to the trucker. "He probably burned somebody in some fuckin' dope deal. So he gets what he deserves, the stupid shit."
        The other ape laughed, just thinking about that.
        "Yeah, but… come on…"
        "Don't give me that shit." Harley's face looked as if it were going to explode. "I don't want to hear it. What the hell do you think we're doing out here, man? We got thirty, forty tons of scrap to break up and get hauled out of here before somebody finds out what we're doing. This is illegal , man. You know what that means?"
        "I know what it means." The shit he had to take from this guy; it wasn't worth it.
        "No, you don't. It doesn't just mean that if we get popped, you don't get your share of the profits. It means that if we get popped, me and my buddy here, we go back in. And I've been in before, and I don't want to go in again-you got me? We get popped, the D.A. hits me with the fucking bitch-you know? Fuck, man, I'll get fucking seven just for breaking my fucking parole. And you want to haul some beat-up, dying dope dealer in here? You're out of your fucking mind."
        "So what the hell am I supposed to do with him, then? Look, the guy's gonna die anyway-"
        Harley cut him off. "Hey, I don't give a fuck. So let him die somewhere else, okay? Just get rid of him. Haul him back out to where you found him…"
        
***
        
        The voices woke him. Shouting, somewhere in the distance.
        He managed to drag his eyes open, a slit that let in stinging light. His face was against glass, the side window of the truck's cab. He turned his head-slowly; there was a rod of dull fire under his spine-until he could see where the voices came from.
        Through the open door of the cab, he saw them. The man who had been driving the truck, who'd picked him up. And another one, with a red, sweating face. That one's voice was louder, angrier. He could just make out the words.
        … get rid of him … haul him back out … found him …
        The voice twisted in his ear, echoing. At the same time, the faces blurred and doubled, the truckdriver's and the red, angry one. He couldn't see them anymore. He closed his eyes, and part of him, the small part that heard and remembered, drifted in night over a blind world. The darkness welled beneath him, in synch with the heavy tide of his pulse, carrying him farther from the earth.
        Farther away. The last thing, before there was nothing.
        … get rid of him … The echo… rid …
        
***
        
        He looked at Harley in disgust.
        "Oh yeah, that's a great idea." The trucker's own anger was starting to rise. He shook his head, one corner of his mouth twisting