Authors: Stephen King
Winnebago and visits to his children and grandchildren. He had them everywhere, so far as I could make out, including the province of Manitoba. If you asked - or even if you didn't - he'd show you a US map with all his proposed routes of travel marked in red.
'Yeah,' I said. 'I guess we did, at that. When did you arrive, Huddie?'
'Oh, I was passing by and heard you talking about Mister Dillon. He was a good old doggie, wasn't he? Remem-ber how he'd roll over on his back if anyone said You're under arrest?'
'Yeah,' I said, and we smiled at each other, the way men do over love or history.
'What happened to him?' Ned asked.
'Punched his card,' Huddie said. 'Eddie Jacubois and I buried him right over there.' He pointed toward the scrubby field that stretched up a hill north of the barracks. 'Must be fifteen years ago. Would you say, Sandy?'
I nodded. It was actually fourteen years, almost to the day.
'I guess he was old, huh?' Ned asked.
Phil Candleton said, 'Getting up there, yes, but - '
'He was poisoned,' Huddie said in a rough, outraged voice, and then said no more.
'If you want to hear the rest of this story - ' I began.
'I do, 'Ned replied at once. .
' - then I need to wet my whistle.'
I started to get up just as Shirley came out with a tray in her hands. On it was a plate of thick sandwiches - ham and cheese, roast beef, chicken - and a big pitcher of Red Zinger iced tea. 'Sit back down, Sandy,' she said. 'I got you covered.'
'What are you, a mind reader?'
She smiled as she set the tray down on the bench. 'Nope. I just know that men get thirsty when they talk, and that men are always hungry. Even the ladies get hungry and thirsty from time to time, believe it or not. Eat up, you guys, and I expect you to put away at least two of these sandwiches yourself, Ned Wilcox. You're too damn thin.'
Looking at the loaded tray made me think of Bibi Roth, talking with Tony and Ennis while his crew his children, much older than Ned was now - drank iced tea and gobbled sandwiches made in the same kitchenette, nothing different except for the color of the tiles on the floor and the microwave oven. Time is also held together by chains, I think.
'Yes, ma'am, okay.'
He gave her a smile, but I thought it was dutiful rather than spontaneous; he kept looking over at Shed B. He was under the spell of the thing now, as so many men had been over the years. Not to mention
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
one good dog. And as I drank my first glass of iced tea, cold and good going down my parched throat, loaded with real sugar rather than that unsatisfying artificial shit, I had time to wonder if I was doing Ned Wilcox any favors. Or if he'd even believe the rest of it. He might just get up, walk away all stiff-shouldered and angry, believing I'd been making a game of him and his grief. It wasn't impossible. Huddie, Arky, and Phil would back me up - so would Shirley, for that matter. She hadn't been around when the Buick came in, but she'd seen plenty - and
done
plenty -since taking the dispatch job in the mid-eighties. The kid still might not believe it, though. It was a lot to swallow. Too late to back out now, though.
'What happened about Trooper Rafferty?' Ned asked.
'Nothing,' Huddie said. 'He didn't even get his ugly mug on the side of a milk carton.'
Ned gazed at him uncertainly, not sure if Huddie was joking or not.
'Nothing happened,' Huddie repeated, more quietly this time. 'That's the insidious thing about disappearing, son. What happened to your dad was terrible, and I'd never try to convince you any different. But at least you
know.
That's something, isn't it? There's a place where you can go and visit, where you can lay down flowers. Or take your college acceptance letter.'
'That's just a grave you're talking about,' Ned said. He spoke with a strange patience that made me uneasy. 'There'sa piece of ground, and there's a box under it, and there's something in the box that's dressed in my father's uniform, but it's not my father.'
'But you know what happened to him,' Huddie insisted. 'With Ennis . . .' He spread his hands with the palms down, then turned them up, like a magician at the end of a good trick. Arky had gone inside, probably to take a leak. Now he came back and sat down. , 'All quiet?' I asked.
'Well, yes and no, Sarge Steff tole me to tell you she's getting dose bursts of interference on d'radio again, dose I'il short ones. You know what I mean. Also, DSS is kaputnik. Jus' dat sign on the TV
screen dat saystand by searching for signal .'
Steff was Stephanie Colucci, Shirley's second-shift replace-ment in dispatch and old Andy Colucci's niece. The DSS was our little satellite dish, paid for out of our own pockets, like the exercise equipment in the corner upstairs (a year or two ago someone tacked a poster to the wall beside the free weights, showing buff biker types working out in the prison yard up at Shabene -they
NEVER
take a day off is the punchline beneath).
Arky and I exchanged a glance, then looked over at Shed B. If the microwave oven in the kitchenette wasn't on the fritz now, it soon would be. We might lose the lights and the phone, too, although it had been awhile since that had happened.
'We took up a collection for that rotten old bitch he was married to,' Huddie said. 'That was mighty big of Troop D, in my view.'
'I thought it was to shut her up,' Phil said.
'Wasn't
nothing
going to shut that one up,' Huddie said. 'She meant to have her say. Anyone who ever
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
met her knew that.'
'It wasn't exactly a collection and he wasn't married to her,' I said. 'The woman was his sister. I thought I made that clear.'
'He was married to her,' Huddie insisted. 'They were like any old couple, with all the yaps and grumps and sore places. They did everything married folks do except for the old in-out, and for all I know - '
'Snip, snip, bite your lip,' Shirley said mildly.
'Yeah,' Huddie said. 'I s'pose.'
'Tony passed the hat, and we all tossed in as much as we could,' I told Ned. 'Then Buck Flanders's brother - he's a stockbroker in Pittsburgh - invested it for her. It was Tony's idea to do it that way rather than just hand her a check.'
Huddie was nodding. 'He brought it up at that meeting he called, the one in the back room at The Country Way. Taking care of The Dragon was just about the last item on the agenda.'
Huddie turned directly to Ned.
'By then we knew nobody was going to find Ennis, and that Ennis wasn't just going to walk into a police sta-tion somewhere in Bakersfield, California, or Nome, Alaska, with a case of amnesia from a knock on the head. He was gone. Maybe to the same place the fella in the black coat and hat went off to, maybe to some other place, but gone either way. There was no body, no signs of violence, not even any
clothes,
but Ennie was gone.' Huddie laughed. It was a sour sound. 'Oh, that bad-natured bitch he lived with was so
wild.
Of course she was half-crazy to begin with - '
'More dan half,' Arky said complacently, and helped himself to a ham and cheese sandwich. 'She call all d'time, tree-four times a day, made Matt Babicki in dispatch jus' about tear his hair out. You should count your blessings she's gone, Shirley. Edit' Hyams! What a piece of work!'
'What did she think had happened?' Ned asked.
'Who knows?' I said. 'That we killed him over poker debts, maybe, and buried him in the cellar.'
'You played
poker
in the barracks back then?' Ned looked both fascinated and horrified. 'Did my father play?'
'Oh, please,' I said. 'Tony would have scalped anyone he caught playing poker in the barracks, even for matches. And I'd do exactly the same. I was joking.'
'We're not
firemen,
boy,' Huddie said with such disdain that I had to laugh. Then he returned to the subject at hand. 'That old woman believed we had something to do with it because she hated us. She would have hated anyone that distracted Ennis's attention from her. Is hate too strong a word, Sarge?'
'No,' I said.
Huddie once more turned to Ned. 'We took his time and we took his energy. And I think the part of Ennis's life that was the most vivid was the part he spent here, or in his cruiser. She knew that, and she hated it - 'the job, the job, the job,' she'd say. 'That's all he cares about, his damned jot.' As far as she
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
was concerned, we
must
have taken his life. Didn't we take everything else?'
Ned looked bewildered, perhaps because hate of the job had never been a part of his own home life. Not that he'd seen, anyway. Shirley laid a gentle hand on his knee. 'She had to hate
somebody,
don't you see? She had to blame somebody.'
Ned looked pale and thoughtful. Maybe a few hateful thoughts had crossed his own mind. Surely it had occurred to him that if not for the gray uniform, his dad would still be alive. I said, 'Edith called, Edith hectored us, Edith wrote letters to her Congressman and to the state Attorney General, demanding a full investigation. I think Tony knew all that was in the offing, but he went right ahead with the meeting we had a few nights later, and laid out his proposal to take care of her. If we didn't, he said, no one would. Ennis hadn't left much, and without our help she'd be next door to destitute. Ennis had insurance and was eligible for his pension - probably eighty per cent of full by then but she wouldn't see a penny of either one for a long time. Because - '
' - he just disappeared,' Ned said.
'Right. So we got up a subscription for The Dra-gon. A couple of thousand dollars, all told, with Troopers from Lawrence, Beaver, and Mercer also chipping in. Buck Flanders's brother put it in computer stocks, which were brand-new then, and she ended up making a small fortune.
'As for Ennis, a story started going around the various troops over here in "western PA that he'd run off to Mexico. He was always talking about Mexico, and reading magazine stories about it. Pretty soon it was being taken as gospel: Ennis had run away from his sister before she could finish the job of cutting him up with that Ginsu Knife tongue of hers. Even guys who knew better - or should have - started telling that story after awhile, guys who were in the back room of The Country Way when Tony Schoondist said right out loud that he believed the Buick in Shed B had something to do with Ennie's disappearance.'
'Stopped just short of calling it a transporter unit from Planet X,' Huddie said.
'Sarge was very forceful dat night,' Arky said, sounding so much like Lawrence Welk -
Now here's da
lovely Alice-uh Lon -
that I had to raise my hand to cover a smile.
'When she wrote her Congressman, I guess she didn't talk about what you guys had over there in the Twilight Zone, did she?' Ned asked.
'How could she?' I asked. 'She didn't know. That was the main reason Sergeant Schoondist called the meeting. Basically it was to remind us that loose lips sink sh - '
'What's that?' Ned asked, half-rising from the bench. I didn't even have to look to know what he was seeing, but of course I looked anyway. So did Shirley, Arky, and Huddie. You couldn't not look, couldn't not be fascinated. None of us had ever pissed and howled over the Roadmaster like poor old Mister D, but on at least two occasions I had screamed.
Oh yes. I had damned near screamed my guts out. And the nightmares afterward. Man oh man. The storm had gone away to the south of us, except in a way it hadn't. In a way it had been caged up inside of Shed B. From where we sat on the smokers' bench we could see bright, soundless explosions of light going off inside. The row of windows in the roll-up door would be as black as pitch, and then they'd turn blue-white. And with each flash, I knew, the radio in dispatch would give out another bray of
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
static. Instead of showing5:18 PM,the clock on the microwave would be readingERROR. But on the whole, this wasn't a bad one. The flashes of light left afterimages - greenish squares that floated in front of your eyes - but you could look. The first three or four times that pocket storm happened, looking was impossible - it would have fried the eyes right out of your head.
'Holy God,' Ned whispered. His face was long with surprise No, that's too timid. It was shock I saw on his face that afternoon. Nor was shock the end of it. When his eyes cleared a little, I saw the same look of fascination I had seen on his father's face. On Tony's. Huddie's. Matt Babicki's and Phil Candleton's. And hadn't felt it on my own face? It's how we most often appear when we confront the deep and authentic unknown, I think - when we glimpse that place where our familiar universe stops and the real blackness begins.
Ned turned to me. 'Sandy, Jesus Christ, what is it?
What is it?'
'If you have to call it something, call it a lightquake. A mild one. These days, most of them are mild. Want a closer look?'
He didn't ask if it was safe, didn't ask if it was going to explode in his face or bake the old sperm-factory down below. He just said
'Yeah!'
Which didn't surprise me in the least. We walked over, Ned and I in the lead, the others not far behind. The irregular flashes were very clear in the gloom of the late day, but they registered on the eye even in full sunshine. And when we first took possession (that was right around the time Three Mile Island almost blew, now that I think about it), the Buick Roadmaster in one of its throes
literally outshone the sun.
'Do I need shades?' Ned asked as we approached the shed door. I could now hear the humming from inside - the same hum Ned's father had noticed as he sat behind the Buick's oversized wheel out at the Jenny station.
'Nah, just squint,' Huddie said. 'You would have needed shades in '79, though, I can tell you that.'