Firestarter(130)

"Who's taking her? Since I'm on my way to San Diego?"

Louis uttered a highpitched, almost female giggle to show that this piece of wit was appreciated.

"Your buddy there. Don Jules."

"He's no buddy of mine."

"No, course he isn't," Louis agreed quickly. "He... he thought the orders were a little funny, but since they came right from Cap-""Funny? What did he think was funny about them?" "Well, just to take her out and leave her there. Cap said the stable boys would keep an eye on her. But they don't know from nothing. Don seemed to think it would be taking a helluva-"

"Yeah, but he doesn't get paid to think. Does he, fatty?" He slapped Louis on the shoulder, hard. It made a sound like a minor thunderclap.

"No, course he doesn't," Louis came back smartly. He was sweating now.

"See you later," Rainbird said, and went to the door again.

"Leaving?" Louis was unable to disguise his relief.

Rainbird paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back. "What do you mean?" he said. "I was never here." "No sir, never here," Louis agreed hastily.

Rainbird nodded and slipped out. He closed the door behind him. Louis stared at the closed door for several seconds and then uttered a great and gusty sigh of relief. His armpits were humid and his white shirt was stuck to his back. A few moments later he picked up his fallen Twinkie, brushed it off, and began to eat it again. The girl was still sitting quietly, not doing anything. How Rainbird-Rainbird of all people-had got her to like him was a mystery to Louis Tranter.

7

At quarter to one, an eternity after Charlie had awakened, there was a brief buzz at her door, and Don Jules came in, wearing a baseball warmup jacket and old cord pants. He looked at her coldly and without much interest.

"C'mon," he said.

Charlie went with him.

8

That day was cool and beautiful. At twelve-thirty Rainbird strolled slowly across the still-green lawn to the low, L-shaped stable with its dark-red paint-the color of drying blood-and its brisk white piping. Overhead, great fair-weather clouds marched slowly across the sky. A breeze tugged at his shirt. If dying was required, this was a fine day for it. Inside the stable, he located the head groom's office and went in. He showed his ID with its A-rating stamp.

"Yes, sir?" Drabble said.

"Clear this place," Rainbird said. "Everyone out. Five minutes."

The groom did not argue or bumble, and if he paled a bit, his tan covered it. "The horses too?"

"Just the people. Out the back."

Rainbird had changed into fatigues-what they had sometimes called gookshooters in Nam. The pants pockets were large, deep, and flapped. From one of these he now took a large handgun. The head groom looked at it with wise, unsurprised eyes. Rainbird held it loosely, pointed at the floor.

"Is there going to be trouble, sir?"

"There may be," Rainbird said quietly. "I don't really know. Go on, now, old man."

"I hope no harm will come to the horses," Drabble said.

Rainbird smiled then. He thought, So will she. He had seen her eyes when she was with the horses. And this p?ace, with its bays of loose hay and its lofts of baled hay, with its dry wood all about, was a tinderbox with NO SMOKING signs posted everywhere.

It was a thin edge. But, as the years had drawn on and he had become more and more careless of his life, he had walked thinner ones.

He walked back to the big double doors and looked out. No sign of anyone just yet. He turned away and began to walk between the stall doors, smelling the sweet, pungent, nostalgic aroma of horse.

He made sure all of the stalls were latched and locked.

He went back to the double doors again. Now someone was coming. Two figures. They were still on the far side of the duckpond, five minutes" walk away. Not Cap and Andy McGee. It was Don Jules and Charlie.

Come to me, Charlie, he thought tenderly. Come to me now.

He glanced around at the shadowed upper lofts for a moment and then went to the ladder-simple wooden rungs nailed to a support beam-and began to climb with lithe ease.

Three minutes later, Charlie and Don Jules stepped into the shadowed, empty coolness of the stable. They stood just inside the doors for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the dimness. The.357 Mag in Rainbird's hand had been modified to hold a silencer of Rainbird's own construction; it crouched over the muzzle like a strange black spider. It was not, as a matter of fact, a very silent silencer: it is nearly impossible to completely quiet a big handgun. When-if-he pulled the trigger, it would utter a husky bark the first time, a low report the second time, and then it would be mostly useless. Rainbird hoped not to have to use the gun at all, but now he brought it down with both hands and leveled it so that the silencer covered a small circle on Don Jules's chest.

Jules was looking around carefully.

"You can go now," Charlie said.

"Hey!" Jules said, raising his voice and paying no attention to Charlie. Rainbird knew Jules. A book man. Follow each order to the letter and nobody could put you in hack. Keep your ass covered at all times. "Hey, groom! Somebody! I got the kid here!"

"You can go now," Charlie said again, and once more Jules ignored her.

"Come now," he said, clamping a hand over Charlie's wrist. "We got to find somebody."