〃Of　course。　The　manager。〃　Lloyd's　smile　broadened；　but　his　eyes　were　socketed

in　shadow　and　his　skin　was　horribly　white；　like　the　skin　of　a　corpse。　〃Later　he

expects　to　see　to　your　son's　well…being　himself。　He　is　very　interested　in　your

son。　Danny　is　a　talented　boy。〃

The　juniper　fumes　of　the　gin　were　pleasantly　maddening；　but　they　also　seemed

to　be　blurring　his　reason。　Danny？　What　was　all　of　this　about　Danny？　And　what　was

he　doing　in　a　bar　with　a　drink　in　his　hand？

He　had　TAKEN　THE　PLEDGE。　He　had　GONE　ON　THE　WAGON。　He　had　SWORN　OFF。

What　could　they　want　with　his　son？　What　could　they　want　with　Danny？　Wendy　and

Danny　weren't　in　it。　He　tried　to　see　into　Lloyd's　shadowed　eyes；　but　it　was　too

dark；　too　dark；　it　was　like　trying　to　read　emotion　into　the　empty　orbs　of　a

skull。

（It's　me　they　must　want　。。。　isn't　it？　I　am　the　one。　Not　Danny；　not　Wendy。

I'm　the　one　who　loves　it　here。　They　wanted　to　leave。　I'm　the　one　who　took　care

of　the　snowmobile　。。。　went　through　the　old　records　。。。　dumped　the　press　on

the　boiler　。。。　lied　。。。　practically　sold　my　soul　。。。　what　can　they　want

with　him？）

〃Where　is　the　manager？〃　He　tried　to　ask　it　casually　but　his　words　seemed　to

e　out　between　lips　already　numbed　by　the　first　drink；　like　words　from　a

nightmare　rather　than　those　in　a　sweet　dream。

Lloyd　only　smiled。

〃What　do　you　want　with　my　son？　Danny's　not　in　this　。。。　is　he？〃　He　heard　the

naked　plea　in　his　own　voice。

Lloyd's　face　seemed　to　be　running；　changing；　being　something　pestilent。　The

white　skin　being　a　hepatitic　yellow；　cracking。　Red　sores　erupting　on　the

skin；　bleeding　foul　smelling　liquid。　Droplets　of　blood　sprang　ou