Becker dragged himself off the floor of the bus and collapsed inan empty seat.

"Nice move, dipshit." The kid with the three spikessneered. Becker squinted in the stark lighting. It was the kidhe'd chased onto the bus. He glumly surveyed the sea of red,white, and blue coif-fures.

"What's with the hair?" Becker moaned, motioningto the others. "It's all…"

"Red, white, and blue?" the kid offered.

Becker nodded, trying not to stare at the infected perforationin the kid's upper lip.

"Judas Taboo," the kid said matter-of-factly.

Becker looked bewildered.

The punk spit in the aisle, obviously disgusted withBecker's ignorance. "Judas Taboo? Greatest punk since SidVicious? Blew his head off here a year ago today. It's hisanniversary."

Becker nodded vaguely, obviously missing the connection.

"Taboo did his hair this way the day he signed off."The kid spit again. "Every fan worth his weight in piss hasgot red, white, and blue hair today."

For a long moment, Becker said nothing. Slowly, as if he hadbeen shot with a tranquilizer, he turned and faced front. Beckersurveyed the group on the bus. Every last one was a punk. Most werestaring at him.

Every fan has red, white, and blue hair today.

Becker reached up and pulled the driver-alert cord on the wall.It was time to get off. He pulled again. Nothing happened. Hepulled a third time, more frantically. Nothing.

"They disconnect 'em on bus 27." The kid spatagain. "So we don't fuck with 'em."

Becker turned. "You mean, I can't get off?"

The kid laughed. "Not till the end of the line."

Five minutes later, the bus was barreling along an unlit Spanishcountry road. Becker turned to the kid behind him. "Is thisthing ever going to stop?"

The kid nodded. "Few more miles."

"Where are we going?"

He broke into a sudden wide grin. "You mean you don'tknow?"

Becker shrugged.

The kid started laughing hysterically. "Oh, shit.You're gonna love it."