"Penn State Cuntfest."

Timmy and Thad had remained outside, out of sight. Timmy was in the car, parked at the end of the lane leading to the Stankewitz house, scoping out who came and went.

Thad was to use his FFF guerrilla skills to surreptitiously check out a barn and several smaller outbuildings on the property, whose name, according to a discreet sign hung from a post, was Beech Hill.

I had decided to use a direct approach with Charm, Pheromone and Edward. They were unloading groceries from a Jeep Cherokee when I strolled up to them, identified myself as a private investigator looking into Leo Moyle's kidnapping by the Forces of Free Faggotry, and told them that Kurt Zinsser's old FFF connections had led me to the Berkshire Woolly Llama Cheese farm and its employees. Pheromone and Edward had looked startled- near panic was evident just beneath the surface of Edward's frozen gaze-but Charm hardly blinked and immediately invited me into the carriage house. She welcomed me to Bitch Hill and handed me a case of Budweiser to carry up the steps.

"I think it's hilarious," Charm said, "that you think you might find out anything about Leo Moyle's kidnapping from Kurt, that neofascist chucklehead. Politically, he hasn't been able to get it up for about a thousand years, and anyway Jay Plankton and his gang of right-wing enforcers are cultural icons of Kurt's. Fm having a lot of trouble conceptualizing a role for Kurt in what sounds to me like an authentic act of people's justice."

Charm blew more clove-flavored smoke, and Edward and Pheromone sat and stared at me. Charm was slight and wiry in yellow shorts and an orange tank top, with a pug nose, breasts to match, intelligent green eyes and a buzz cut. Pheromone and Edward had the same basic haircut as Charm's, but both were taller, wore jeans and Tshirts, and had long faces with an assortment of studs and rings affixed to them. I could have hung Grandma Strachey's entire set of Christmas tree ornaments on Edward without having to puncture his skin additionally. All three of them were tattooed like sailors out of Jean Genet, with some of the graphics, such as barbed armbands, of the in-your-face variety, and others, among them small anthropods and amphibians, benign or even friendly.

I said to Charm, "I see your point about Kurt. Fie seems to have turned into Andrew Sullivan with wool in his teeth. But it wasn't just Kurt's history with the FFF that led me here."

I described the harassment-by-mail series of incidents that led up to Leo Moyle's abduction, including the arrival on Jay Plankton's desk of a carton of llama turds,

"excrement for the execrable." As I spoke, Charm eyed me coolly, while Pheromone fidgeted and Edward perspired and grew whiter and whiter.

"That's a riot," Charm said after I'd run through the alphabetical list ending in "//for hostage." She puffed on her exotic cigarette and added, "I hope that the / attack is

'irritants for the irritating' or even 'injuries for the injurious.'"

Pheromone and Edward both flinched at this, and I said, "Deliberately injuring someone is a felony. You can go to jail for battery."

"We really wouldn't hurt anybody," Pheromone blurted out, and her brown eyes misted up.

"And kidnapping," I went on, "is a federal crime sometimes punishable by death.

Personally, I'm against capital punishment for both practical and moral reasons, but the US government is still in no mood to join me and the rest of the civilized world in this regard. Whatever his private inclinations, Clinton goes along with public opinion, which remains predominantly bloodthirsty, and Al Gore shows no sign of deviating from the harsh party line. And, of course, should George W. Bush be elected president-which has to be considered both laughable and highly unlikely-you can be assured that he will do at the national level what he has done in Texas. Which has been to snicker as he casually balls up clemency petitions and lobs them into the nearest wastebasket.

Kidnappers, now and for the forseeable future in the United States, can frequently expect to be dispatched to kingdom come via lethal injection, electrocution or firing squad with a minimum of ceremony. Kidnappers who haven't thought about these consequences are making a disastrous mistake."

Pheromone wore a look of horror, and poor Edward, whose only word to me so far had been a barely audible "hi," seemed about to burst into tears. I was not enjoying making these two young people suffer, but my approach did seem as though it would serve to expedite the investigation I had agreed to conduct.

Charm was unimpressed by my theatrics, however, and said so. "You talk such a load of shit, Strachey. If you're trying to get us to confess to assaulting anybody or kidnapping Leo Moyle, you're wasting your time and ours. As much as I savor the picture of that misogyno-fascist Moyle strung up by his tiny balls in some cellar full of rats, I can promise you we wouldn't do it ourselves, and we didn't do it ourselves, or with anyone else. What do you take us for? Do we look like the Tupac Amaru, or what?"

This denial was couched with such exquisitely evasive calculation-Charm Stankewitz was going to make a great White House chief of staff someday-that what should have been obvious for some time now hit me like a ton of Woolly Llama Cheese.

I said, "So the three of you carried out the harassment of Jay Plankton, but not the kidnapping of Leo Moyle? Is that what you're telling me?"

"We're not telling you anything? Charm said emphatically, "but if you want to draw the harmless conclusion of your choice and then be on your way, that would be so-o-o-o cool. Am I making myself sufficiently clear?"

Pheromone and Edward watched me with a look of hope. I said to them, "Your friend Charm is a brilliantly precocious advocate for your various good causes. I just hope she doesn't lead you into… well, I'm sure you've given it a lot of thought. Some remote cell block in the Peruvian penal system, or-more likely-the newly redecorated federal execution suite in Terre Haute."

"Shit!" This was Edward.

"Oh God!" That was Pheromone.

"Charm's right, we didn't kidnap that guy," Edward said plaintively.

"Fuck, no," Pheromone added, underlining the declaration.

"But you sent menacing and repellent notes and substances to Jay Plankton through the mail?"

Charm sat examining her dark cigarette and looking blase, while Pheromone and Edward gave their final freeze-frame look of fear.

"And you filled Plankton's SUV full of toilet paper during a party at his manager's house in Mamaroneck?"

Before Pheromone and Edward had the chance to faint, or shriek and bolt out the door, Charm said, "Sure we did, and so what!"

"I'm no fan of Plankton's either, but you may have broken a few laws."

Charm sneered. "Plankton and his stupid little boys are floaters in the malfunctioning toilet of American broadcasting. What we did was good for the J-Bird and Leo Moyle, and I think it is totally terrific that somebody obviously took our cue and went after these rotten turds in the manner they deserve. Down in the cheese room, we had to listen to these assholes day after day after day, while Kurt ha-haed and hee-heed. I mean, what were we supposed to do, call OSHA? Yes, we did it, and we're proud we did it!"

This last statement may have been too sweeping for Pheromone and Edward, who still stared at me apprehensively. I said, "And you lobbed the tear-gas canister into Plankton's studio yesterday?"

"No way!" Pheromone exclaimed. "We, like, mailed in that shit and stuff, but we didn't throw tear gas, and we never kidnapped that guy, no way!"