The Eternal Frank bobbed on the dashboard, one hand held high in the holy pot-mitten; the other cradled the talisman Fendercaster. Glib took it for a sign of approval; the rhythm of its rocking matched the panting of Glib's lung sacs. Now if it could just fit the female into the car and depart, maybe Matecca would let it explain. Why wouldn't she listen to Bobbibrown's offer? So disorganized, it decided, no wonder her bar was a dump. At least she wouldn't get arrested...

A black limo pulled up. A door opened. Pain shocked through Glib's torso. It staggered against the car banging Matecca into the side. Her nails raked Glib's ocular igniting a bright hazy red just before a curtain of blackness- A confused tingling fills Bardog's maw. Its Big Tongue stiffens, lengthening out to prod the tarmac. Some dim memory of this from before the bar, before Bernie of the Tinkering Hands. After a moment, Big Tongue droops and retracts. Bardog shakes its head, puzzled. Only grayness before Bernie; nothing to remember. Sadness, dimly tasted, seeps through Bardog. A haunting need to do something that it can't remember. There, a cigarette b.u.t.t!

Bardog hunkers down, pokes the b.u.t.t, and extends its snout. What will this bring? A gold band encircles the tan paper. Never tried one of these before.

-Gambo roared with laughter as his limo sped away. "You Hee-Haw loving b.i.t.c.h!"

"Watch your mouth." The woman across from him spat, pushed herself as far from the limp alien as the car allowed. Her eyes widened, almost luminous in the limo's gloom; she stared at the creature. "Jesus, you kill it?"

"I didn't do anything." Gambo sat back, let the seat cradle him, and admired the rip in her blouse. "That's Bullson's forte."

"Aww, Mr. Gambo," Bullson's bashful voice came from the driver seat.

"Shut up," he answered. No point in telling her that Bullson had used a stunner. He grinned at Matecca. "It's ever so romantic, if somewhat disgusting, that you're concerned about your boyfriend."

"I ought to slap you," Matecca said. "The d.a.m.n thing tried to abduct me."

"Oh please." Gambo smoothed his hair. "That only happens in vids. The Taltos are too religious for mischief."

"What's that have to do with the price of beer?" Matecca finally noticed his eyes and fumbled with her blouse.

"I'm not quite sure." He smiled at her, such delightful modesty for a tramp. "But I'm getting closer to finding out."

"So find out. Go ahead. But let me out. My place of business is in shambles."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Gambo carefully put his hands on his knees so as not to disturb the crease in his slacks, and gave her his most sincere look. "I'd like to buy you out."

"I'd rather sleep with Hee-Haw here." Matecca glared back at him.

"Mr. Gambo," Bullson broke in. "If we dump the Hee-Haw at the bar won't the police find it? And if your little friend here isn't around, who they gonna figure is responsible?"

"Why Bullson, that's quite clever." He stared at the back of his bodyguard's head with new respect. I should have thought of that myself, Gambo decided. Five years ago, he would have, but lately the rackets seemed so dull. How he longed for something different.

Something clean with life's bright spark. The placid peacefulness of a park. With country air, the song of a lark...

"It's blackmail," Matecca said.

"Or murder." Bullson chuckled. "Mr. Gambo wants Broken Dreams, girl. Otherwise, you or the Hee-Haw, someone gets dumped."

Gambo shook his head and opened his eyes. Had he been daydreaming again? "Hold on now." He flicked a nonexistent speck from his lapel. "Just hear me out-"

The b.u.t.t dwindles to liquid nothingness and slides down its throat. Bardog stares at the tarmac and moans. The more the Flavors connect the stronger they get. Spicy with needs, pungent with desires.

This Flavor has become so... much... more! Why hasn't Bardog noticed this before? No memories. Only little Flavors, no more than mere tastes, dull and gray as tarmac, that never seem to go anywhere.

But this new Flavor, Bardog stops and tries to think. It's like... bandnoise. Glib calls it heavenly; Jason calls it... Blues.

Bardog rocks back on its haunches. It stares at the parking lot with a fresh eye. Bandnoise changes, not quite the same every night. And if bandnoise can change, can Flavor?

Jason changes the bandnoise. Who can change the Flavor?

Leaving the lot, Bardog ambles up the steps and squeezes through the biom door. All the little tastes are so distracting. But this new Flavor, it's more than something in the maw; Bardog wants to chew on this.

Bandnoise? Coming from downstairs. Soft and tinny, not like the usual bandnoise. Bardog c.o.c.ks its head. Bandnoise from the bas.e.m.e.nt. This has never happened before. Bardog oozes down the stairs.

Traces of the Flavor tingle on the air. Bardog finds a place beneath the stairs. It waits; it watches. When they leave, one helping the other, Bardog comes out.

A little triangular plastic piece, white with gold lettering, lies on the floor. Bardog sucks it in. It's Jason's, and there, there's the Flavor!

"-never heard of him." Jason shook his head, frowning at the d.a.m.ned Hee-Haw. It lay on the bunk that made up half of Matecca's cramped office. He eased the Fendercaster onto his knee and tried a G-minor riff.

"From Him begat the Mothers, who in one of their many incarnations called forth Joe's Garage," Glib explained. The creature squirmed, excitedly writhing into a sitting position. "Then came Thing-Fish, and finally the great and wondrous Yellow Shark. The power of His music, His heavenly solos, the divine Inspiration of His melodies foretold the universe, time past, present, even future."

Jason decided the Talto looked a little better now, not like when he'd first found it. He strummed a few major chords from the Fendercaster, grinned at the Hee-Haw's sudden intake of breath. "So what's all this got to do with the price of beer?"

"Everything! Broken Dreams lies upon the ancient ground. A hundred years ago, here stood the Fillmore West. Triumphant concerts blossomed from this very spot, many of His finest."

"And you think Gambo knows this? He knows about Frank Zappa?"

"Soon he does. For Bobbibrown, our crechepriest, approached him. Bobbibrown too would see this relic resurrected. I sought to make the offer but no one would listen. Now Bobbibrown will try a human envoy. Gambo-"

The plastic melts into a savory film in Bardog's maw. Bardog whines, and snuffles around. Up on the bunk, there, another lump of goo. Bardog noses it, then slurps it in. Careful not to eat too fast, this one also has the Flavor.

-The pain in his craw still seemed as nothing to the agony in Glib's heartring. It studied the human, the long tendrilled hair, dark with dirt, the banded scars that marred the creature's face, making this Jason look more like a fish than a mammal.

Only the hands, as they touched the Fendercaster, only the hands poised upon the frets with the delicate grace of a proper tentacle. Had The Eternal Frank's hands once looked so?

"We've got to find her," Jason said. The chord he strummed sent shivers down Glib's nerve tubes.

"Find her? Dare not go near her. She almost blinded me. Not to mention Gambo."

"Oh, she's always like that." Jason's head shook, his next chord turning sour in Glib's auditories. "But Vincent Gambo, man, he's a tough one. Runs some of Los Frisco's top rackets."

"Out of our minds." Glib wobbled from the bunk. The floor seemed far away when it finally found its pseudopods. Even the walls appeared none too solid.

"What about this Bobbibrown?" The human asked. "Can we go to it?"

"Unwise. Much trouble is mine." Glib spread its tentacles, mimicking a human shrug. "It probably thinks I'm still in the chapel, copying ancient alb.u.m covers as punishment for failure. And if Bobbibrown learns of my attempt on Matecca..." Glib rested a limp ocular on a tentacle and stared at the floor. Humans were such filthy things, so much dirt here, dirt to clog the pseudopods and Zappa knew what kinds of germs. Where was their biom? Health laws required one now.

"Maybe there's something else we can do." Jason stroked a series of chords.

Glib's pain vanished beneath the rhythmic waves of sound.

The human shifted on the chair, played again. Glib stretched, and the redness had vanished from its ocular. It gazed at the human. "Plan?"

"Let's go upstairs." Jason rose. "I think better with an amp-"

Bardog's Big Tongue throbs and pokes the sheets. The Flavor vanishes. Big Tongue seems to do what it wants. Big Tongue brings the haunting sadness of before memory. Takes a long time for Bardog to retract it back into its maw.

Bardog looks around, finds nothing marked with any Flavor, climbs from the bed, and shakes itself. It starts for the stairs, gazes hungrily at the shadows overhead.

Parking lot beckons. Tarmac must be clean by nightblack.

Nightblack. Launch plumes light the sky and bandnoise shakes the parking lot. Bardog hides in the shadows by the back steps. Little tastes everywhere, but so what? Cars jam the lot, but plenty of room around back for the limo when it pulls up.

The driver emerges and opens the side door. Twin red dots arc past him. Matecca and Gambo climb out. White dress Matecca, white suit Gambo. Arm in arm they sweep past the shadows, past Bardog, and inside. The driver waits, face brightening as he lights a cigarette.

Bardog scoots beneath the limo, inches up behind shiny black shoes that smell rather yummy. Two cigarette b.u.t.ts still smolder by the driver's toe. Little Tongue flicks out, sweeps one in. Hot but no matter. Bardog drops it, brings its eye closer and stares.

How to change Flavor? Must savor first, but can't eat. Slowly its snout tightens; Little Tongue extends to poke the cigarette b.u.t.t. Gently now. Just savor.. Just savor...

"-a deal?" Gambo asked her, holding the champagne bottle above Matecca's gla.s.s.

"Indeed we do." She smiled and he poured. Matecca didn't even flinch when his hand brushed hers. A cashier's check for a cool million lay folded against her left breast. More money than she'd ever thought about. Far more than Broken Dreams could ever be worth.

Sure, the a.s.shole would make another million in profit. Talk about gullible, the Taltos had offered him two million, intending to tear down the place and build some sort of shrine. Why her bar she didn't know and didn't care, not after this kind of money.

"We're almost there, sir,'' Bullson called from the driver's seat.

"Sure you don't want to hang around for another bottle?" Gambo asked.

"If it's all the same to you," Matecca crossed her legs and sipped champagne. "I'll just pick up a few items and clear out."

"I don't see a problem." Gambo pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered her another. Matecca shook her head and took another puff from her own, plainer brand. Perhaps those fancy brown things were an acquired taste. Maybe she'd find out when she reached France.

In the cool clear Alps, she'd find a place. Somewhere she could be alone and take up painting again. Goodness, it had been ages since she picked up a brush. Not since art school...

The limo halted. Matecca gazed at the shabby square of brick that had been her life for ten years. d.a.m.n, what an ugly shack. Filled with ugly people too, like that Jason.

Bullson opened the door for them. Gambo carelessly flicked his b.u.t.t past the driver's ear, and giggling, Matecca did likewise. Ignoring the hurt look on Bullson's face, she brushed by him and started into Broken Dreams- No more Matecca? Bardog whines then hushes when Bullson's feet move. Still beneath the limo, Bardog stares at Matecca's cigarette.

No more Matecca. No more Broken Dreams. No more parking lot? No more food? Or Flavor?

Bardog wrinkles its snout, spreads its maw, and tries to extend Big Tongue. Big Tongue is stronger than Little, does different things that Bardog still can't remember. Big never used in the parking lot, but only from before.

Big Tongue wraps around the cigarette stub and savors, savors deeply. Down to the single bits, the tiniest portions of Flavor that tell Bardog who the smoker is, what she looks like, even what she's made of.

Big Tongue takes the Flavor apart. Bardog puts it back together.

"-So we have a deal?" Gambo asked, holding the champagne bottle carefully above Matecca's gla.s.s.

"No, we don't." She smiled and he poured. She pulled the check from her bra, a check for a cool million. More money than she'd ever thought about. Matecca dropped it in Gambo's drink.

"Well, okay then." Gambo shrugged. "As long as you keep Broken Dreams open."

"And the parking lot full." Matecca clinks her gla.s.s against his. They smile- There, Bardog decides. Much better. Plenty of food now, forever. Having changed the b.u.t.t's Flavor, Bardog lets it dissolve gleefully in the back of its maw.

Still hungry, Bardog extends its snout for the other b.u.t.t, past Bullson's tapping foot, and wraps Little Tongue around it.

"-So we have a deal." Gambo paused with the bottle directly over the woman's gla.s.s. Don't let her change her mind, he prayed, don't let her change a d.a.m.n thing.

"Indeed we do." She smiled so he poured. Things had worked out better than he'd ever imagined. The Talto crechepriest had offered a sweet twenty-five million for that wretched little flytrap of a bar.

Gambo had made quite a tidy profit. He could even retire. How tedious his life had been with all the cheap-a.s.s wheels and deals, bodyguards and killers, on the take cops and greedy hookers. It was all so dull, so senseless.

What he really wanted was a place where he wouldn't be disturbed. An estate as far from Los Frisco as he could get, a country place in another country, say England. He would write poetry, why he hadn't thought about that in years.

"We're almost there, sir," Bullson called from the driver's seat.

"Sure you don't want to hang around for another bottle?" Gambo asked. Within hours she and all the rest of them, even that suck-up s.a.d.i.s.tic Bullson would be out of his life. Bobbibrown would be here in the morning- Bardog howls! The cigarette dissolves. Bardog scoots from beneath the limo right between Bullson's feet.

"Hey!" Bullson jumps, then, as Bardog zips under the next car. "What the h.e.l.l kind of biom is that?"

Bardog huddles next to the back steps. Changing the Flavor of one only changes that one's Flavor. Why hadn't it realized?

Nothing could be done. Not even with Big Tongue. Perhaps that's the difference between little tastes and Flavor. Little tastes just don't matter. Flavor is Flavor, and maybe so sweet because it can't be changed.

The bandnoise cuts off. Something going on inside. Bardog rises, oozes up the stairs and inside.

No sooner through the biom door than the human door bursts open. Bardog tumbles into the wall as Bullson runs by. Bardog rolls to its feet and follows.

So much excitement, Big Flavors, little tastes, all spread everywhere. Jason up on stage points a gun at Gambo.

"No, wait, you don't understand." Matecca steps between them.

"Put it down, a.s.shole," Bullson shouts, stance wide, gun aimed toward Jason.

"Not, I think," Glib eases up behind Bullson; a weapon clutched in both tentacles touches Bullson's back.

"Stop it, all of you!" Matecca shouts. "Jason, don't you dare hurt him."

"But..." Jason stares at her, blank-faced.

"He's the new owner." Matecca slips the check from her blouse and holds it in the air. "Vincent Gambo paid a great price for Broken Dreams. Now it's his."

Jason lowers his gun.

Bullson lowers his gun.

Bardog crawls under a table.

"Cheater! Hurter!" Glib shoves Bullson over Bardog's table. Glib's weapon comes up; a blue beam burns a hole above Vincent Gambo's head.

Bullson stumbles, almost stepping on Bardog's ped. Bullson fires, knocking Glib into the wall. Sap spatters everywhere; a dollop clings to Bardog's maw.

Jason drops his gun and runs to the Talto. He kneels down, feels a place just below Glib's limp oculars. "Oh my G.o.d."