ould come up with? Or did Toby and Linda cook it up?"

Fede held his hands out, palms first. "What are you talking about, buddy? What's
wrong with you?"

Art shook his head slowly. "Come on, Fede, it's time to stop blowing smoke up my
cock."

"I honestly have no idea --"

"*Bullshit!*" Art bellowed, closing up with Fede, getting close enough to see
the flecks of spittle flying off his lips spatter Fede's face. "I've had enough
bullshit, Fede!"

Abruptly, Fede lurched forward, sweeping Art's feet out from underneath him and
landing on Art's chest seconds after Art slammed to the scratched and splintered
hardwood floor. He pinned Art's arms under his knees, then leaned forward and
crushed Art's windpipe with his forearm, bearing down.

"You dumb sack of shit," he hissed. "We were going to cut you in, after it was
done. We knew you wouldn't go for it, but we were still going to cut you in --
you think that was your little whore's idea? No, it was mine! I stuck up for
you! But not anymore, you hear? Not anymore. You're through. Jesus, I gave you
this fucking job! I set up the deal in Cali. Fuck-off heaps of money! I'm
through with you, now. You're done. I'm ratting you out to V/DT, and I'm flying
to California tonight. Enjoy your deportation hearing, you dumb Canuck
boy-scout."

Art's vision had contracted to a fuzzy black vignette with Fede's florid face in
the center of it. He gasped convulsively, fighting for air. He felt his bladder
go, and hot urine stream down his groin and over his thighs.

An instant later, Fede sprang back from him, face twisted in disgust, hands
brushing at his urine-stained pants. "Damn it," he said, as Art rolled onto his
side and retched. Art got up on all fours, then lurched erect. As he did, the
axe head in his pocket swung wildly and knocked against the glass pane beside
his office's door, spiderwebbing it with cracks.

Moving with dreamlike slowness, Art reached into his pocket, clasped the axe
head, turned it in his hand so that the edge was pointing outwards. He lifted it
out of his pocket and held his hand behind his back. He staggered to Fede, who
was glaring at him, daring him to do something, his chest heaving.

Art windmilled his arm over his head and brought the axe head down solidly on
Fede's head. It hit with an impact that jarred his arm to the shoulder, and he
dropped the axe head to the floor, where it fell with a thud, crusted with blood
and hair for the first time in