〃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