"Cut the crap, Zinsser. Eight times out of ten, people who use that term are bigots and creeps. Anti-PCism is the current last refuge of the incorrigibly narrow and mean-spirited. So, is the FFF just more political correctness run amok? Is that what it was when you were part of it in the seventies?"

"I am neither ashamed of nor embarrassed by my years in the FFF. But if that's why you're here-which appears to be the case-let me assure you I have had no association whatsoever with the Forces of Free Faggotry since 1977. And I know for a fact that the organization fell apart soon after I left it. These people who are hassling Plankton and who kidnapped Leo Moyle are not FFFers. I am certain of that because whatever we were, we were never violent and we were never childish."

I looked at him helplessly. This was not the Kurt Zinsser I was hoping or expecting to find. After a moment, I said, "You've done quite a one-eighty over the last twenty years, Zinsser."

Looking smug, he said, "Oh, I have at that."

"Do you remember Thad Diefendorfer?"

"Sure, the Mennonite-farmboy-turned-cat-burglar. I once had a crush on him for about ten minutes. But he was joined at the hip at the time to Sammy Day, another member of the organization. Why do you ask?"

"He's over in the barn."

"Thad is? What's he doing here, with you?"

"We're looking for Leo Moyle. Thad wants to help clear the FFF's good name, and I'm working for… a client."

"Which client? Who is it?"

"My client prefers to retain his privacy."

Zinsser's eyes got bright. "It's Jay Plankton, isn't it? You're accepting the filthy lucre of this man you malign behind his back. Ha! I love it!"

"I malign Plankton to his face, and he maligns me right back. You've heard his show.

You know how these J-Bird people communicate with one another."

"Trading insults is how certain types of heterosexual men show affection for one another," Zinsser said. "Many gay men do too, in their own way. But you really mean it.

You hate your employer. What a duplicitous asshole you are."

"Actually, Plankton's not too crazy about me either, and says so sincerely. In any case, I've taken the job mainly as a favor to an old acquaintance, a New York City cop who once saved my life. He thinks my contacts with the old FFF might help me sort out this current thing."

Zinsser laughed. "And so you've come over here thinking I might have Leo Moyle trussed up in a dungeon behind my root cellar. Is that it?"

"You were not selected as a suspect randomly, Zinsser. The neo-FFFers, as you may know, have been harassing Jay Plankton for several weeks with insults and rude items sent to him through the mail. One of the substances, labeled 'excrement for the execrable,' has been identified under scientific analysis as llama shit. Any idea where it might have come from? I'm sure your supply here is ample."

He hesitated just perceptibly as something seemed to go through his mind. Then he said quickly, "If that's somebody's idea of advancing the cause of gay rights, it sounds ineffective to me. I can certainly assure you I had nothing to do with anything so juvenile, and so perfectly lame. As I said, I've got to be in Great Barrington in twenty minutes. But you're welcome to scour the premises here in search of Leo Moyle bound and gagged, if that's what you've come all this way for. Feel free to turn the place inside out."

"Thanks. I would like to look around. Eliminate you as a suspect or whatever."

Zinsser checked his watch. "Darren can show you around. Darren's my partner.

Although, he can't leave the visitors' center for long. People show up and want to see the operation and sample the product."

"Do visitors always take to your cheese immediately, or does eating it require some getting used to?"

"Nearly all our visitors," Zinsser said with a look of satisfaction, "are longtime customers before they arrive. For many of them, coming here is a kind of pilgrimage."

"And the Berkshires, luckily, are more convenient than the Andes."

"I should say hello to Thad," Zinsser said, quickly backing away now toward his pickup truck. "But I'm going to be late for a meeting if I don't get moving. Tell Thad I'm sorry I missed him. What's he doing now, anyway?"

"Farming. In central New Jersey."

"That sounds wholesome enough," Zinsser said, climbing into his truck. "He's not raising llamas, is he?"

"No, mostly eggplants."

"Ah, is moussaka an Amish dish?" Zinsser said. "Who would have guessed." He waved once and drove off fast.

Chapter 13

Timmy said, "We're onto something here."

"You bet we are," Thad added.

"We are?"

No sooner had Zinsser departed than Timmy and Thad emerged from the barn picking hair out of their teeth. As we spoke, they repeatedly spit into Zinsser's parking lot, which I now noticed was strewn with tiny strands of gnarled wool.

"Zinsser's boyfriend Darren, who's in there reading an ancient Incan text while he's minding the cash register," Timmy said, "gave us the lowdown on three kids who work for Zinsser during the week making cheese."

"They're trouble," Thad said, "and Zinsser is actually meeting a couple of other guys in Great Barrington right now that he wants to hire to replace these kids he doesn't get along with."

"These three," Timmy went on, "are young and gay and angry and out of control, according to Darren. And, not only do they have constant personality and ideological clashes with Zinsser, recently they fought over which radio station to have on in the cheese-making room during the morning. The kids want WRPI for the music they like and the Pacifica news. Zinsser is always present to supervise- apparently getting the wool-to-cheese blend just right can be tricky-and he insists that the radio be tuned into… guess who?"

"Interesting."

"And so," Thad said, "there's this constant tension in the morning, with the kids their names are Charm, Pheromone and Edward-mocking and berating Jay Plankton all the time, and Zinsser refusing to change the station."

"Why haven't the kids quit? Or why hasn't Zinsser replaced them sooner?" I asked.

Timmy said, "They live up the road in Charm's father's house. He's one of Zinsser's financial backers. The father's in Provence for the summer with his new wife. But Charm can only live there and have her checking account replenished periodically if she's willing to work for Zinsser. She had academic and drug problems, and this is part of her rehab program. Zinsser has to keep her around-and where Charm goes, Pheromone and Edward go too-so he's canning the Mexican illegals who now do the field and barn chores, Darren says, and Zinsser's getting the three young people out into the open air where he won't have to listen to them dis the J-Bird all morning long."

I thought it over and said, "None of this is what I expected to find here." I described to Timmy and Thad my encounter with Kurt Zinsser, angry neolefty turned angry neocon.

"Unless his devotion to Jay Plankton is all a cunning pose, which I don't think it is, Zinsser is as unlikely a harasser of Plankton or kidnapper of Leo Moyle as we're likely to come across. These kids do sound like better bets, sort of. Certainly they would have access to llama droppings. And if they couldn't stand Zinsser and wanted to mess with his mind and get away with it, they could go after his hero, the J-Bird. Except, of course, they're… kids. Three young students in rural Massachusetts who stage a kidnapping in New York? I don't know about that."