She strode up to the old woman's body. Hocked up a good loogie and spat it right on Ethel's chest.

"Feel better, snookums?" Barclay said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Uh-uh. Not until we've roasted every last one of them evil bitches."

"Reckon so." Barclay leaped onto the pedestal beside Martin, regarding him on his haunches. "So here we are at last, huh, Marty?"

As he got to his feet he raised the knife, twirling it between his fingers, bringing the edge of the blade perilously close to Martin's face. Martin wouldn't give him the satisfaction of cringing. He didn't even flinch. After everything they'd been through today, Barclay's taunts seemed feeble.

"Found yourself caught in a pit of vipers here, did ya? Well, that's okay. I reckon we could put this grudge of ours on layaway for a minute."

"That's real gracious of you, Barclay."

"Hey, we're all friends here. Call me Jimmy. Ol' Gimme Jimmy's come to the rescue. Ain't that fuckin ironic?"

"Then cut me free or put me out of my misery. Your breath is killing me."

"Aw, it ain't that bad." The killer threw a look over his shoulder. "Is it, Clara?"

Clarabelle shrugged. She dropped her cigarette and crushed it into the asphalt.

"You an' me is gon' be friends for a while, Marty." Barclay grinned as he worked at the ropes behind Martin's back with the knife. "I'm not an unreasonable man. And I b'lieve you come to realize there are things in this world an ordinary man might attempt, rather feebly, to rationalize. Things like these old broads. Clarabelle tells me they got the whole town under a spell, ain't that right, sugarbush?"

Clarabelle grunted noncommittally.

"Some kind of supernatural phenomenon I have yet to ascertain. Looked to me like she was right, judging by the way those folks scattered once the spell lifted. What do you think about that, Marty?"

The rope snapped and Martin shook his arms loose, numb from the elbows down. "I think you got lucky. You can rationalize what you did to those girls, to Letitia May. To Qurban. You can call it your purpose or a mission from God. But the truth is, you enjoy killing. Whether you were born a killer or you grew into the role, I can't say. But you're a coldblooded murderer now, Barclay. That's all you'll ever be."

Barclay stood in silence a moment, while Clarabelle and Sheila watched him, awaiting his retort. Then he chuckled. "I guess it takes one to know one, huh, Killer?"

Martin drew back a fist but stopped when Barclay pointed the tip of the blade at his solar plexus.

"Come on, now, Marty! Let's put this feud of ours behind us. We have a common enemy, the four of us. Don't you just love those scenes in the movies when the good guy and the bad guy team up to take down an even bigger bad guy? Or lady, as the case may be?"

Clarabelle grunted or chuckled, Martin couldn't tell which.