"I know what you're thinking, but forget it!" the snapping voice of the auburn-haired girl intuitively ordered. "We're doing this my way, just as we planned! Understand?"

"Right, right, your way, Priscilla," Anderson quickly agreed, though his own vengeful thoughts were far from forgotten. "Just name the time."

"Tonight, if I can inveigle DesirЋe Denning out here to the ranch. Unless I've lost my grip, you can count on it," Priscilla swore, her words reaching him with a somewhat snakelike hiss. "I'll call you back to verify everything within an hour or so. I want Mark Denning's balls tacked right up over my bed, Clete, you understand?"

"Right, I know! You can count on me!" Anderson answered in a half-drunken, private viciousness of his own.

"I better be able to! Get some camera equipment ready, video and an SLR, and don't forget to see your little friend and get the acid," she reminded him. "We'll catch the whole scene on film – but remember, keep my face out of it, understand! Do what ever you want with the rest of me."

"Right," Clete said, lustfully grinning at the prospective thought. "Don't worry, honey, they'll be pictorial gems."

"Okay, okay, I can just imagine what's going through that lecherous brain of yours. You just sit there and think about it until I call you and verify that it's on, and don't come out here drunk," warned Pickford's Meadows' richest and most powerful bachelorette. "Or I might just have two pair of balls hanging over my bed!" Priscilla turned away and picked up the phone. "Now I think I'll give the little angel a discreet phone call. Do you mind?"

"No problem," Clete said. "But first let me call Johnny Canning and have him round up some LSD or something for you," Clete said, dialing the young pusher's portable number. He had to wait a long time before Canning answered. "Yeah, Johnny. Meet me out on the south road in an hour. Yeah, and bring some LSD and other things." He smiled at Priscilla. "Now you can call little DesirЋe and start the ball rolling."