WITH A NEW DECADE LOOMING, Aloysius Archer was on a creaky busheaded west to California to seek as much of a life as someone like himcould reasonably expect. A roof over his head, three squares a day, a pint ofdecent liquor every now and then, and a steady supply of his Lucky Strikesto keep his mouth supple and amused. And a job. Actually, more of aprofession. He needed that right now. It was like seeking water while in adesert, you just required it and didn’t care how you got it. Otherwise, he’dbe a chump, and there was no future in