Luke always found that the more fat content in a person, the better they smelled when they were cooking. It took them longer to go, though. The screaming was always so much longer and more perverse. He watched from the corner in just a pair of jeans and a tee shirt with a utility jacket thrown on, hands in his pockets, as the guy barring the way into the car started to convulse. He took a step forward, as if Axel could offer him any help, and spit a gob of boiling blood just in front of his boot. He had a good old time writhing around before the men in the car freaked out and finally stepped on the gas.

They didn't get far. A little melting of their fuel tubes stopped their car dead. They slammed into a brick wall at about ten miles an hour. It was enough to hurt them, but not kill them.

Luke strolled up the alley to nod a little at Axel, still holding his bag of money.

"Ready?" Most of the guy at his feet was split open, like he had been stuck in an oven for awhile. "Taco Bell for dinner?"