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e suspected that Jonesy wasn't in very good shape for a man in the middle of his life。 Part of that was the accident he'd been in； but it also had to do with his job； He was an 'academic'。 As a result； he had pretty much ignored the more physical aspects of his life； which stunned Mr Gray。 These creatures were sixty per cent emotion； thirty per cent sensation； ten per cent thought （and ten per cent； Mr Gray reflected； was probably on the generous side）。 To ignore the body the way Jonesy had seemed both willful and stupid to Mr Gray。 But； of course； that was not his problem。 Nor Jonesy's； either。 Not anymore。 Now Jonesy was what he had apparently always wanted to be： nothing but mind。 Judging from the way he'd reacted； he didn't actually care for that state much once he had attained it。
On the floor of the plow； where Lad lay in a litter of cigarette butts； cardboard coffee cups； and balled…up snack…wrappers； the dog whined in pain。 Its body was grotesquely bloated； the torso the size of a water…barrel。 Soon the dog would pass gas and its midsection would deflate again。。 Mr Gray had established contact with the byrum growing inside the dog； and would hence regulate its gestation。
The dog would be his version of what his host thought of as 'the Russian woman'。 And once the dog had been placed； his job would be done。
He reached behind him with his mind； feeling for the others。 Henry and his friend Owen were entirely gone； like a radio station that has ceased to broadcast； and that was troubling。 Farther behind （they were just passing the Newport exits； sixty or so miles north of Mr Gray's current position）； was a group of three with one clear contact： 'Pearly'。 This Pearly； like the dog； was incubating a byrum； and Mr Gray could receive him clearly。 He had also been receiving another of that group … 'Freddy' … but now 'Freddy' was gone。 The byrus on him had died； 'Pearly' said so。
Here was one of the green turnpike signs： REST AREA。 There was a Burger King here； which Jonesy's files identified as both a 'restaurant' and a 'fast…food joint'。 There would be bacon there； and his stomach gurgled at the thought。 Yes； it would be hard in many ways to give this body up。 It had its pleasures； definitely had its pleasures。 No time for bacon now； however； now it was time to change vehicles。 And he had to be fairly unobtrusive about it。
This exit into the rest area split in two； with one road for PASSENGER VEHICLES and one for TRUCKS AND BUSES。 Mr Gray drove the big orange plow into the parking lot for trucks （Jonesy's muscles trembling with the strain of turning the big steering wheel）； and was delighted to see four other plows； practically identical to his own； all parked together。 He nosed into a space at the end of the line and killed the engine。
He felt for Jonesy。 Jonesy was there； hunkered in his perplexing safety zone。 'What you up to； partner？' Mr Gray murmured。
No answer 。 。 。 but he sensed Jonesy listening。
'What you doing？'
No answer still。 And really； what could he be doing？ He was locked in and blind。 Still； it would behoove him not to forget Jonesy 。 。 。 Jonesy with his somehow exciting suggestion that Mr Gray forgo the imperative … the need to seed … and simply enjoy life on earth。 Every now and then a thought would occur to Mr Gray； a letter pushed under the door from Jonesy's haven。 This sort of thought； according to Jonesy's files； was a 'slogan'。 Slogans were simple and to the point。 The most recent said： BACON IS JUST THE BEGINNING。 And Mr Gray was sure that was true。 Even in his hospital room （what hospital room？ what hospital？ who is Marcy？ who wants a shot？）； he understood that life here was very delicious。 But the imperative was deep and unbreakable： he would seed this world and then die。 And if he got to eat a little bacon along the way； why； so much the better。
'Who was Richie？ Was he a Tiger？ Why did you kill him？'
No answer。 But Jonesy was listening。 Very carefully。 Mr Gray hated having him in there。 It was （the simile came from Jonesy's store） like having a tiny fishbone stuck in your throat。 Not big enough to choke you； but plenty big enough to 'bug' you。
'You annoy the shit out of me； Jonesy。' Putting on his gloves now； the ones that had belonged to the owner of the Dodge Ram。 The owner of Lad。
This time there was a reply。 The feeling is mutual； partner。 So why don't you go someplace where you're wanted？ Take your act and put it on the road？
'Can't do that；' Mr Gray said。 He extended a hand to the dog； and Lad sniffed gratefully at the scent of its master on the glove。 Mr Gray sent it a be…calm thought； then got out of the plow and began to walk toward the side of the restaurant。 Around back would be the 'employee's parking lot'。
Henry and the other guy are right on top of you； asshole。 Sniffing up your tailpipe。 So relax。 Spend as much time here as you want。 Have a triple order of bacon。
'They can't feel me；' Mr Gray said； his breath puffing out in front of him （the sensation of the cold air in his mouth and throat and lungs was exquisite； invigorating … even the smells of gasoline and diesel fuel were wonderful）。 'If I can't feel them； they can't feel me。'
Jonesy laughed … actually laughed。 It stopped Mr Gray in his tracks beside the Dumpster。
The rules have changed； my friend。 They stopped for Duddits； and Duddits sees the line。
'I don't know what that means。'
Of course you do； asshole。
'Stop calling me that！' Mr Gray snapped。
If you stop insulting my intelligence； maybe I will。
Mr Gray started walking again； and yes； here； around the er； was a little clutch of cars； most of them old and battered。
Duddits sees the line。
He knew what it meant； all right； the one named Pete had possessed the same thing； the same talent； although likely not as strongly as this puzzling other； this Duddits。
Mr Gray didn't like the idea of leaving a trail 'Duddits' could see； but he knew something Jonesy didn't。 'Pearly' believed that Henry； Owen； and Duddits were only fifteen miles south of Pearly's own position。 If that was indeed the case； Henry and Owen were forty…five miles back； somewhere between Pittsfield and Waterville。 Mr Gray didn't believe that actually qualified as 'sniffing up one's tailpipe'。
Still； it would not do to linger here。
The back door of the restaurant opened。 A young man in a uniform the Jonesy…files identified as 'cook's whites' came out carrying two large bags of garbage； clearly bound for the Dumpsters。 This young man s name was John； but his friends called him 'Butch'。 Mr Gray thought it would be enjoyable to kill him； but 'Butch' looked a good deal stronger than Jonesy； not to mention younger and probably much quicker。 Also； murder had annoying side effects； the worst being how quickly it rendered a stolen car useless。
Hey； Butch。
Butch stopped； looking at him alertly。
Which car is yours？
Actually； it wasn't his but his mother's； and that was good。 Butch's own rustbucket was back home； victim of a dead battery。 He had his Mom's unit； an all…wheel…drive Subaru。 Mr Gray； Jonesy would have said； had just rolled another seven。
Butch handed ove