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like to go back to the room,' said Jocundra firmly.

Richmond hurled the ball against the side of the van. Silvery pieces flew into the front seat, and Jocundra swerved.

'Be fuckin' reasonable!' yelled Richmond. 'You been stickin' to the room so damn much, Sealey's gonna think we kidnapped you! I ain't boostin' no car 'less I eat.'

Sealey's was frigid with air conditioning, poorly lit by lights shining through perforations in the ceiling board. A plate glass window provided a view of highway and scrub. The kitchen was laid out along the rear wall, partitioned off from two rows of black vinyl booths, interrupted by the entrance on one side, a waitress station and cash register on the other. A long-nosed, saw-toothed fish was mounted above the grill, and there were photographs stapled beneath the health classification, all yellowed, several of children, one portraying a younger, less bulbous Sealey in Marine blues. At the end of the aisle a juke box sparkled red and purple, clicking to itself like a devilish robot. They took the booth beside it. Sealey remained behind the register, indifferent to their presence until Richmond called for service; then he stumped over to them. Donnell asked to see a menu.

'Ain't got no menus,' said Sealey. 'I got burgers and fries, egg salad. I got fish, beer, Pepsi, milk.'

He clanged his spatula on the grill as he cooked, clattered their plates on the table, and dumped their silverware in a pile. He folded his arms and glowered at them.

'You folks leavin' tomorrow?'

'Yeah,' said Donnell, and Jocundra chipped in with, 'We'll be getting an early start.'

'Well, I don't mind,' said Sealey, regarding them with a mix of superiority and distaste.

'What kind of fish is that?' asked Donnell, pointing to the trophy above the grill, meaning to placate, to charm.

Sealey pitied him with a stare. 'Gar.' He scuffed the floor in apparent frustration. 'Damn,' he said; he scratched the back of his neck and refolded his arms. 'It ain't that I don't need the business, and I don't give a damn what you do to each other...'

'We ain't doin' shit, man,' said Richmond.

'But,' Sealey continued, 'that don't mean I got to like what's goin' on.'

'I think you've got the wrong idea,' said Jocundra meekly.

Sealey sucked on a tooth. 'If you was my daughter and I seen you with these two in some motel...' He shook his head slowly, staggered by the prospect of what he might do were such the case, and stumped back to the register, muttering.

His professed hunger notwithstanding, Richmond did not eat. He fed quarters to the jukebox, syrupy country and western music welled forth, and he danced in the aisle with an imaginary woman. 'Broken dreams and heartsick mem-o-rees,' he howled, mocking the sappy lyrics as he dry-humped his invisible partner. He ordered beer after beer, taking pleasure in stirring Sealey off his stool, and each time the man brought him a fresh bottle, Richmond would weave threats and insults into his rap. 'Some people you can just fuck with their minds and they'll leave your ass alone,' he said, squinting up at Sealey. 'But some people's so dumb and ugly you gotta terrorize them motherfuckers.' Sealey either ignored him or did not catch his drift; he retook his seat behind the register and thumbed through a magazine whose cover showed soldiers of different eras marching beneath a tattered American flag.

It would soon be necessary, thought Donnell, to part company with Richmond; he was becoming uncontrollable. Richmond would not mind them deserting, he only wanted to flame out somewhere, but the idea bothered Donnell; he felt no loyalty whatsoever to Richmond, and this lack reflected on his inhumanity. They should share a loyalty founded on common trials, the loyalty of prisoners and victims, yet they did not; the bonds of their association were disintegrating, proving to be as meager as those between strangers traveling on a bus. Perhaps loyalty was merely a chemical waiting to be released, a little vat of sparkling fluid hidden away in some area of his brain as yet uninfested by bacteria, and when the bacteria spread to it, he would light up inside with human virtues.

'Some people you gotta waste,' said Richmond, deep into his rap. 'You gotta go to war with 'em, otherwise they won't let you be.' He had untied his pony tail, and his hair spilled down over his sunglasses; his skin was drawn so tightly across his bones that whenever he smiled you could see complex knots of