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alone because other people make you feel bad about yourself. And you are afraid. Do you ever feel that something is beginning in you deeper than you can even feel yet? Where you can look at yourself and see yourself for what you are? You are reaching an age where you are at the very dawn of self-awareness.”
    So far she totally got him wrong. But she was too spectacular to walk away from. She held him closer, took his hand, placed it on her breast.
    “I’m here to guide you with love.”
    She had a Gulfstream 6. She took him high over Brutalia. Sitting with her, he saw her legs above the boots. The boots almost reached her knees and the dress was pulled back so that her legs showed. Her legs glowed pale through dark blue silk stockings. The stockings had a texture he could see, feel with his vision. He wanted to see more.
    She had him touch her breast. It was covered by the velvet dress. The dress was tight across her large breasts, turning them into a beautiful rack; he had been wanting to touch them since he first saw her. Touching the breast felt good. It was soft and warm. Kissing it was better. The way it pressed his face and lips…it felt the way he felt about boys. This was the first female who made him feel that way.
    He was feeling what he wanted to feel now. He wanted to feel it deeply and feel more of it. It was scary. But he couldn’t resist it.
    Then she took him by the hair. She said, “Even twinks like boobs, huh? Boobs are fun.”
    Now when she talked the British accent was gone.
    “Let’s make it simple. You’re a captive of the OSD. Sit still. Or die quickly.”
    The New Age love fest was over. That was what happened when you tried to feel too deeply, you got in too deep then it turned dangerous. People were dangerous. Women were dangerous. Everyone was dangerous and they all wanted to hurt him. She didn’t speak to him again and he stayed silent in return.
    She left the cabin. He turned on his super-feminine hearing, heard her on her phone. She said, “I have the key. Where’s the door?”

8
    T hat night the Blue Boss Mustang crashed through the fence of Dwight Vink’s body shop. It exo-formed into the Blue Boss, who walked among the auto bodies, picked up two voices from the garage, followed them. In the office he saw Dwight Vink and the big guy now identified as Sonny Ditlow. The Blue Boss drew the big blue gun, stepped inside. Their heads turned his way.
    Dwight said, “Look, man, I just found the shit out. I’m not involved.”
    Sonny Ditlow grabbed Dwight, whipped-out a hunting knife, put the blade to Dwight’s throat.
    “Give me the gun,” Ditlow said.
    The Blue Boss aimed the gun at his face.
    Ditlow said, “I’ll slit his throat.”
    The Blue Boss said, “Fuck him.”
    The hunting knife drew blood. Dwight stood there, his head awkwardly crooked inside Ditlow’s big arm, staring at the Blue Boss for help. Ditlow looked like it was all he could handle concentrating on the hunting knife.
    “Sonny Ditlow. Tell me why you did it.”
    “Fuck you.”
    “You want to tell someone, tell me.”
    “You couldn’t handle it.”
    “Tell me anyway.”
    “Fuck you.”
    “Then I’ll tell you,” the Blue Boss said. “You worked as an airport security asshole, reading comic books, hassling men, strip searching women. One got you fired. You hate women. You spend your time in strip clubs. You targeted strippers. You went to the Customizers, ordered eight strippers dead. You would take the credit, become a three-namer, go out with cyanide on the Internet.”
    Ditlow’s pupils took the shape of skulls. Pure OSD.
    “Who are The Customizers?”
    “The Customizers never let me or anyone else have direct access to them. Even if I knew anything and told you, you still couldn’t stop The Customizers. The Customizers are unstoppable.”
    Ditlow began stepping sideways with Dwight, drawing more blood with the hunting knife until it dripped down Dwight’s t-shirt. The Blue Boss followed him