Dreamcatcher(189)

Can't think of this.

A horn honked irritably, making Mr Gray jump, making Lad whine. He had wandered into the wrong lane, what Jonesy's mind identified as 'the passing lane', and he pulled over to let one of the big trucks, going faster than the Subaru could go, sweep by. It splashed the small car's windshield with muddy water, momentarily blinding him, and Mr Gray thought Catch you kill you beat the brains out of your head you unsafe johnny reb of a driver you, thud-thud, fix your wagon your little red

bacon sandwich

That one was like a gunshot in his head. He fought it but the strength of it was something entirely new. Could that be Jonesy? Surely not, Jonesy wasn't that strong. But suddenly he seemed an stomach, and the stomach was hollow, hurting, craving. Surely he could stop long enough to assuage it. If he didn't he was apt to drive right off the

bacon sandwich!

with mayo!

Mr Gray let out an inarticulate cry, unaware that he'd begun to drool helplessly.

18

'I hear him,' Henry said suddenly. He put his fists to his temples, as if to contain a headache. 'Christ, it hurts. He's so hungry.'

'Who?' Owen asked. They had just crossed the state line into Massachusetts. In front of the car, the rain fell in silver, wind-slanted lines. 'The dog? Jonesy? Who?'

'Him,' Henry said. 'Mr Gray.' He looked at Owen, a sudden wild hope in his eye. 'I think he's pulling over. I think he's stopping.'

19

'Boss.'

Kurtz was on the verge of dozing again when Perlmutter turned  -  not without effort  -  and spoke to him. They had just gone through the New Hampshire tolls, Freddy Johnson being careful to use the automated exact-change lane (he was afraid a human toll-taker might notice the stench in the Humvee's cabin, the broken window in back, the weaponry . . . or all three).

Kurtz looked into Archie Perlmutter's sweat-streaked, haggard face with interest. With fascination, even. The colorless bean?-counting bureaucrat, he of the briefcase on station and clipboard in the field, hair always neatly combed and parted ruler-straight on the left? The man who could not for the life of him train himself out of using the word sir? That man was gone. Thin though it was, he thought Pearly's countenance had somehow richened. He's turning into Ma Joad, Kurtz thought, and almost giggled.

'Boss, I'm still thirsty.' Pearly cast longing eyes on Kurtz's Pepsi, then blew out another hideous fart. Ma Joad on trumpet in hell Kurtz thought and this time he did giggle. Freddy cursed, but not with his former shocked disgust; now he sounded resigned, almost bored.

'I'm afraid this is mine, buck,' Kurtz. 'And I'm a wee parched myself.'

Perlmutter began to speak, then winced as a fresh pain struck him. He fatted again, the sound thinner this time, not a trumpet but an untalented child blowing over a piccolo. His eyes narrowed, became crafty. 'Give me a drink and I'll tell you something you want to know.' A pause. 'Something you need to know.'

Kurtz considered. Pain slapped the side of the car and came in through the busted window. The goddamned window was a pain in the ass, praise Jesus, the arm of his jacket was soaked right through , but he would have to bear up. Who was responsible, after all?

'You are,' Pearly said, and Kurtz jumped. The mind-reading thing was just so spooky. You thought you were getting used to it and then realized that no negative, you were not. 'You're responsible. So give me a f**king drink. Boss.'

'Watch your mouth, cheeseboy,' Freddy rumbled.

'Tell me what you know and you can have the rest of this.' Kurtz raised the Pepsi bottle, waggling it in front of Pearly's tortured gaze. Kurtz was not without humorous self-loathing as he did this. Once he had commanded whole units and had used them to alter entire geopolitical landscapes. Now his command was two men and a soft drink. He had fallen low. Pride had brought him low, praise God. He had the pride of Satan, and if it was a fault, it was a hard one to give up. Pride was the belt you could use to hold up your pants even after your pants were gone.

'Do you promise?' Pearly's red-fizzed tongue came out and licked at his parched lips.

'If I'm lyin I'm dyin,' Kurtz said solemnly. 'Hell, buck, read my f**king mind!'

Pearly studied him for a moment and Kurtz could almost feel the man's creepy little fingers (mats of red stuff now growing under each nail) in his head. An awful sensation, but he bore it.

At last Perlmutter seemed satisfied. He nodded.

'I'm getting more now,' he said, and then his voice lowered to a confidential, horrified whisper. 'It's eating me, you know. It's eating my guts. I can feel it.'

Kurtz patted him on the arm. just now they were passing a sign which read WELCOME TO MASSACHUSETTS. 'I'm going to take care of you, laddie-buck; I promised, didn't I? Meantime, tell me what you're getting.'

'Mr Gray is stopping. He's hungry.'

Kurtz had left his hand on Perlmutter's arm. Now he tightened his grip, turning his fingernails into talons. 'Where?'

'Close to where he's going. It's a store.' In a chanting, childish voice that made Kurtz's skin crawl, Archie Perlmutter said: "'Best bait, why wait? Best bait, why wait?"' Then, resuming a more normal tone: 'Jonesy knows Henry and Owen and Duddits are coming. That's why he made Mr Gray stop.'