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anymore.”
    “Well, that’s rough,” said Bobby. “It’s tough out there on the road.”
    “Yeah,” said Zoot. “It really is.”
    Some of the tension was gone, but certain delicate ethical questions remained to be settled.
    “I’m Lucius,” said a voice. “Warlord of the Purple Monsters.” The flashlight came on him. He was huge. He was like Cornelius, only he was big all the way to the ground. His feet looked like blunt I-beams sticking out of the bottom of his jeans. His purple satin jacket was a bright fluorescent blot on the night. “I hate to break up this chitchat—” he glared at Bobby “—but the fact is you people are on Purple Monster territory, and some tribute needs to be exacted.”
    Ray was digging in his pocket for nickels and dimes.
    “Not money. Something that will remind you not to do this again.”
    “Tell you what,” said Leroy. He had worked himself away from Slim. “You think Bobby and the Bombers can sing?”
    “Easy!” said Lucius to Bobby, who had started forward with the Bombers.
    “Yeah, kid. They’re the best damn group in the city.”
    “Well, I think we can outsing ’em,” said Leroy, and smiled around his dead cigar.
    “Oh, jeez,” said Zoot. “They got a record, and they’ve—”
    “I said, we can outsing Bobby and the Bombers, anytime, any place,” said Leroy.
    “And what if you can’t?” asked Lucius.
    “You guys like piss a lot, don’t you?” There was a general movement toward the Kool-Tones. Lucius held up his hand. “Well,” said Leroy, “how about all the members of the losing group drink a quart apiece?”
    Hands of the Kool-Tones reached out to stifle Leroy. He danced away.
    “I like that,” said Lucius. “I really like that. That all right, Bobby?”
    “I’m going to start saving it up now.”
    “Who’s gonna judge?” asked one of the Bombers.
    “Same as always,” said Leroy. “The public. Invite ’em in.”
    “Who do we meet with to work this out?” asked Lucius.
    “Vinnie of the Hellbenders. He’ll work out the terms.”
    Slim was beginning to see he might not be killed that night. He looked on Leroy with something like worship.
    “How we know you guys are gonna show up?” asked Bobby.
    “I swear on Sam Cooke’s grave,” said Leroy.
    “Let ’em pass,” said Bobby.
    They crossed out of the freight yard and headed back for the projects.
    “Shit, man!”
    “Now you’ve done it! I’m heading for Florida.”
    “What the hell, Leroy, are you crazy?”
    Leroy was smiling. “We can take them, easy,” he said, holding up his hand flat.
    He began to sing “Chain Gang.” The other Kool-Tones joined in, but their hearts weren’t in it. Already there was a bad taste in the back of their throats.
    Vinnie was mad.
    The black outline of a mudpuppy on his white silk jacket seemed to swell as he hunched his shoulders toward Leroy.
    “What the shit you mean, dragging the Hellbenders into this without asking us first? That just ain’t done, Leroy.”
    “Who else could take the Purple Monsters in case they wasn’t gentlemen?” asked Leroy.
    Vinnie grinned. “You’re gonna die before you’re fifteen, kid.”
    “That’s my hope.”
    “Creep. Okay, we’ll take care of it.”
    “One thing,” said Leroy. “No instruments. They gotta get us a mike and some amps, and no more than a quarter of the people can be from Monster territory. And it’s gotta be at the freight dock.”
    “That’s one thing?” asked Vinnie.
    “A few. But that place is great, man. We can’t lose there.”
    Vinnie smiled, and it was a prison-guard smile, a Nazi smile. “If you lose, kid, after the Monsters get through with you, the Hellbenders are gonna have a little party.”
    He pointed over his shoulder to where something resembling testicles floated in alcohol in a mason jar on a shelf. “We’re putting five empty jars up there tomorrow. That’s what happens to people who get the Hellbenders involved without asking and then don’t