"You have to go on and win. Even I know that."

Murray's smile became somewhat superior. "It's not as easy as that."

"I never imagined it was easy. I found that out at the audition."

"There are ways that it could be made a little easier for special players."

Wanda-Jean didn't like the way the conversation was going, but she kept it to herself. She made her eyes round and innocent. "You're not saying that the games can be fixed?"

Murray made a hasty gesture. "No, no, I'm not saying that at all. There's nothing dishonest about 'Wildest Dreams.' "

"So what are you talking about?"

Murray smiled and leaned back in his seat. He spread his legs so Wanda-Jean was presented with a clear display of the tight material that covered his crotch. "You ever heard the expression 'an inside track'?"

"No."

"It means that some players, selected players, can get a slight edge. It's not a fix, it's just a technique we use to build a more entertaining show."

Wanda-Jean felt a slight chill grab at her. This was the pitch. It was dirty, but there was no way around it. She asked the obvious question. "And which players get this edge?"

"The attractive ones. The ones who really want to win badly enough."

"You think I'm attractive?"

"Very attractive."

"You're pretty nice yourself."

"That's good."

"Is it?"

"Oh, yeah, it really helps if a player's a special friend of one of us who put the show together.''

That was it. Wanda-Jean's mind clicked over at high speed. She loathed creeps who didn't have the confidence to get laid on their own account, the ones who thought they had either to bribe you, blackmail you, or get you so stoned that you didn't notice. Shit, he wasn't even bad-looking, she'd have picked him up on a slow night. It was his attitude she objected to. He probably didn't swing all that much muscle on the show. He was more likely to be Bobby Priest's gofer than his right arm. She doubted that there was all that much that he could do for her. On the other hand, if she didn't come across, he probably had enough clout to spoil it for her.

Wanda-Jean made up her mind. She had fucked guys who didn't appeal to her just because she was bored, or she didn't want to be on her own. At least if she fucked this creep it might do her some kind of good.

She smiled and looked at the creep from under her eyelashes. "It'd be good to be someone's special friend."

"You could be mine."

Wanda-Jean put on her best provocative smile. "Really?"

"Really."

She slid out of the chair, letting the kimono fall open slightly. She moved to the floor by Murray's feet. She put a hand on the inside of his thigh. "I think I'd like to be your special friend, Murray."

Her hand made its way up his leg. Her fingers went to work on the zip of his pants. She slipped her hand inside. As she began to manipulate him, she glanced up. Murray's eyes were closed. She stuck out her tongue and pulled a face. Then she inclined her head and went down on him.

HE WAS A VIOLENT, THRUSTING GIANT, little short of a monster, plunging into the girl beneath him, giving loud animal cries of passion. His whole being was centered on the uncontrollable power in his loins. The girl rose to meet him, squirming sinuously, her head rolling from side to side, her black hair matted with sweat. Her arms twined desperately around him like urgent seeking snakes. Her nails drew blood from his back. She too cried and moaned as her legs gripped his waist and her sharp white teeth sank into his shoulder.

The power mounted inside him going further and further beyond control and even past the point that he could bear. The threatening explosion rolled nearer and nearer like thunderheads born on a barbaric wind. The girl thrashed about on the hard ground with even greater ferocity.

And finally he came. He burst with a tearing, throbbing cry. The girl also screamed, arching her back as though her spine was going to crack. For long seconds they clung to each other in rigid tension, then, bit by bit, it ebbed away. They sank down, hot sweating flesh pressed against hot sweating flesh. Their limbs tangled together.

With slow leaden movements he disengaged himself. The girl made small soft noises, but he ignored her. He rose to his feet and, drawing himself up to his full height, he raised his arms to the black sky, the pale moon, and the cold stars. His lips parted and a high scream of defiance was drawn from him.

The scream echoed off the dolmens of the stone circle and out across the ancient lake. Even the shamans broke off in their ritual torture of the princess. The circle of ghost girls halted their dance and came toward him. Their pale hands reached out. Their cold, dead fingers touched his skin. He shuddered as the living warmth seemed to be drawn out of him.

The stars above him whirled faster and faster. The scene around him grew dim. The power within him failed. It ebbed away and everything became dark. For a terrible instant he was absolutely alone in silent, empty darkness.

There were noises around him. A light shone into his face. He tried to blink it away. Hands were gently lifting him into a sitting position. A woman's face swam into his blurred vision.

"You'll feel just fine in a moment, Mr. Flynn. Just drink this."

A container of hot liquid was placed in his hands. Flynn was back in the real world.

"How did you enjoy Savage Ceremony VI, Mr. Flynn?"

RALPH MOVED WITH THE HEAVY-footed, less than steady stealth of the near drunk. His vision had the crystal clarity that comes at the point when focus is all but lost. One more belt from the bottle and it would be all gone. Ralph, however, hadn't had that belt yet.

Ralph was creeping up on Sam. He had been off on the other side of the vault section, drinking by himself. He had heard Sam talking. Sam had gone on and on talking. Ralph had become partly irked and partly curious. He had decided to creep up on Sam and find out what was happening.

Ralph turned the corner of the row from where Sam's voice was coming. Sam was standing up. That in itself was quite a surprise to Ralph. Sam was usually too tran-quilized to stay on his feet for any long space of time. That wasn't the only surprise, though. Sam was staring into the clear plastic cover of one of the cabinets. His face was animated by anxiety. His tone was pleading. Every few seconds he twisted his fat hands together in gestures of extreme frustration.

"How come you got to lie there like that? You must have had so much. You're beautiful and all, and you must have been rich. I mean, you know… You could have had it made on the outside. What you want to be lying down here for? You ain't no slob like me. Now me, I couldn't do no better than this, but you… You got all the things you could…"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Sam swung around. Guilt froze his face. He slowly turned a deep crimson. "Unh…"

"Have you gone quite crazy?"

"I… er…"

Ralph advanced quickly on Sam and grabbed him by the front of his overalls. "You're babbling to a fucking stiff!"

Sam's face was still bright red, but as soon as Ralph took hold of him the flush seemed to take on a different meaning. Ralph was about to make a crack on the lines of Sam getting like Artie when he abruptly changed his mind. An instant flash of drunken insight took in Sam's florid face and whitening knuckles. Ralph quickly let go of him and took a step back. Sam glowered at him. "I don't like for you to be touching me that way, Ralph."

Ralph took another pace backward and bit his lip. He didn't like the look of this transformed Sam. He wished he were still across the other side of the section, sucking on his bottle. He looked down at the cabinet Sam had been talking to.