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“That’s twice you’ve missed an easy shot,” Neal said.

“Carey! It took you long enough to fuck her.”

“It’s not too late for me to shoot you.”

“You won’t. You’re not the type. If you were going to use it, you’d have done it when I had my eyes closed. In fact, give me back the gun before you hurt yourself. I think I need some stitches.”

“Put your hands up where I can see them.”

Simms didn’t move. “Did you hear that line on television? It won’t do you any good, Carey. As soon as the cobwebs clear, I can take you, pistol and all.”

“So maybe I should shoot you right now.”

“You won’t. You’re a pussy-whipped, sniveling little traitor, but you don’t have the balls to squeeze the trigger.”

Which pretty much sums it up.

“Get up,” Neal said.

“Okey-dokey.”

Simms wobbled to his feet. Blood dripped from his chin.

“Walk over to the edge of the cliff.”

“Oh, come on.”

Neal’s shot whizzed well clear of Simms’s head, but made its point anyway.

“Well, well,” Simms said. He started walking. “That was a pretty nifty block you threw on me. Did you play football in school?”

“No, I saw it on television. How about you?”

“I’m from basketball country. Used to be a white man’s game.”

“Sit on the railing, facing me.”

Simms looked at the spindly wooden railing that served as a shaky barrier between him and a three-hundred-foot sheer drop.

“Uhhh, Carey … this doesn’t look like it was built by the Army Corps of Engineers.”

“Gee, you might fall. Hippety-hop.”

Simms eased himself onto the railing, gripping it tightly with both hands. Neal sat down on the ground and steadied the pistol on his knees. “Let’s talk.”

“Can I smoke?”

“No.”

“You are a vindictive little bastard, Carey. You have got to stop taking these things so damn personally.”

“Pendleton doesn’t make herbicides, never did.”

“You just figured that out?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a minor-leaguer, Carey. A good minor-leaguer, but you don’t have what it takes to make it in the bigs.”

“So what’s the big deal? Why is he so important? Why not let him come over here and grow a little food?”

Simms gave him that arrogant sneer that made Neal want to pull the trigger.

“A little food?” Simms echoed. “A little food, Carey? Grow up.”

“Age me.”

“It’s all about food, boy. All about food. China has one quarter of the world’s population. One out of every four people filling his mouth on God’s good earth is a citizen of the People’s Republic of China. And that’s not to mention the countless Chinese in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore, Vietnam, Malaysia, Indonesia—”

“I think I get it.”

“No, you don’t. Indonesia, Europe, and yes, America. Let’s talk about America for a second, Carey, as if you cared. How many Chinese did you ever see on welfare? Cashing in food stamps, in prison?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“These people work their asses off, Carey. They save their money, they study like hell, they break their balls to make it. And they do. You let them out of this enormous open-air prison here, and they make it. In fact, they kick our butts. Now, what do you think would happen if mainland China stopped being a prison? What would happen if the Chinese here could do what their expatriate relatives have done?”

“Gee, I don’t know. What?”

“We’d be finished, Carey. The good old U.S.A. couldn’t hack the competition. Not with our standard of living, our unions, our big cars, our little savings accounts … our small population, our lack of discipline. The Chinese are organized, Carey, or haven’t you noticed? Have you seen a dirty street here? Litter on the roadside? They organize brigades to sweep and clean. In three years, during the Great Leap Forward, they reorganized their entire population into teams and brigades. Why, you let these people finally get their act together, and we couldn’t sell so much as a dress shirt on the world market. It would start with textiles, then it would be electronics, then steel and iron, automobiles, airplanes … then banking and real estate,