Alone again, just how I liked it. The hotel, however, had other ideas.

I passed through a pair of French doors and into a large room filled with rows of Stairmasters and universal weight machines. A red ribbon of carpet snaked around a group of treadmills and over to a steamed bath that continuously gushed and frothed over. The atmosphere was warm, inviting. I half expected to find Keeley pedaling off those extra pounds on one of the stationary bikes, but there was no sign of him.

No sign of anyone in this perfectly manicured estate.

Water gushes in, filling the empty space around me. Slowly the level rises, lifting me to the edge as I drift back to consciousness.

"Awfully rude of you not inviting me to the party," says a voice from behind.

I squint my eyes, trying to make sense of the blobs of light floating around me. "What is this?" I say, fishing myself out of the pool. "I put a bullet in your head."

We were about a hundred yards from the blast when reinforcements arrived. There were about a dozen soldiers in all, but not Hangman�s. You�d never find that many in one place. They were Las Manos Rojas--The Bloodied Hands. Here, in the blender with us.

The rest of way was far too quiet and that bothered me. Finally I'd had enough. Enough of the small talk. "Where's the access point?"

I led her through the jungle close and tender because I like to be a gentleman with the ladies. It was a series of sharp turns through dense foliage. The kind that thread you in circles if you're not careful. The kind that can get you killed.

No witnesses, that's what they told me. Made me pledge to it on my life. But I wasn't feeling patriotic, especially after numb nuts dropped me onto a concrete slab. "You're welcome," I replied.

The flash from my barrel was the last thing they saw before I laid them down, one-by-one. I was quick, methodical. I snapped the last soldier's neck with one arm as his rifle fired harmlessly into the foliage. I was their shadow, their plague.

Eight thirty. The campfire spreads from the floor to the ceiling. Damn. Looks like I've got to blow this joint after all. The party's over and the guests are ravenous. I toss as many as I can into the fire. Give one the guitar. There are barbecued ribs, grilled flank steaks, and roasted nuts. For a moment they lose all interest in me and devour their charred comrades. I guess raw meat isn't all that it's cracked up to be--just try telling that to the Japanese.

Seven o'clock. They poured in like Siafu. I could barely keep up with their numbers. Three fell, twenty more rose. Chop, chop, chop. And they didn't seem to take a hint. A human with a minimum of intellect would flee the carnage, especially with something gnawing at their entrails.

I knew I was screwed the moment Billy overbite took a chunk out of me. Now no one wanted to claim me as their own. The living gawked at the crater in my arm and got a little twitchy with the trigger finger. I could turn at any moment. They knew this, as did I. And it was a hard point to argue. Better off putting a bullet in my head.