Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower #6)(104)
"Will it be enough?" It was his only question after hearing the Pere's plan for disposing of the ball, a plan which would necessitate another stop.
"I don't know and I don't care," Callahan replied. They were speaking in the low voices of conspirators, although the elevator was empty save for them. "If I can rob a sleeping chambermaid, stiffing a cab driver should be a leadpipe cinch."
"Yeah," Jake said. He was thinking that Roland had done more than rob a few innocent people during his quest for the Tower; he'd killed a good many, as well. "Let's just get this done and then find the Dixie Pig."
"You don't have to worry so much, you know," Callahan said. "If the Tower falls, you'll be among the very first to know."
Jake studied him. After a moment or two of this, Callahan cracked a smile. He couldn't help it.
"Not that funny, sai," Jake said, and they went out into the dark of that early summer's night in the year of '99.
Twelve
It was quarter to nine and there was still a residue of light across the Hudson when they arrived at the first of their two stops. The taximeter's tale was nine dollars and fifty cents. Callahan gave the cabbie one of the maid's tens.
"Mon, don't hurt yose'f," the driver said in a powerful Jamaican accent. "I dreadful 'fraid you might leave yose'fshote. "
"You're lucky to get anything at all, son," Callahan said kindly. "We're seeing New York on a budget."
"My woman got a budget, too," said the cabbie, and then drove away.
Jake, meanwhile, was looking up. "Wow," he said softly. "I guess I forgot howbig all this is."
Callahan followed his glance, then said: "Let's get it done." And, as they hurried inside: "What are you getting from Susannah? Anything?"
"Man with a guitar," Jake said. "Singing...I don't know. And I should. It was another one of those coincidences that aren't coincidences, like the owner of the bookstore being named Tower or Balazar's joint turning out to be The Leaning Tower. Some song...I should know."
"Anything else?"
Jake shook his head. "That's the last thing I got from her, and it was just after we got into the taxi outside the hotel. I think she's gone into the Dixie Pig and now she's out of touch." He smiled faintly at the unintentional pun.
Callahan veered toward the building directory in the center of the huge lobby. "Keep Oy close to you."
"Don't worry."
It didn't take Callahan long to find what he was looking for.
Thirteen
The sign read:
LONG-TERM STORAGE
10 - 36 MOS.
USE TOKENS
TAKE KEY
MANAGEMENT ACCEPTS NO RESPONSIBILITY
FOR LOST PROPERTY!
Below, in a framed box, was a list of rules and regulations, which they both scanned closely. From beneath their feet came the rumble of a subway train. Callahan, who hadn't been in New York for almost twenty years, had no idea what train it might be, where it might go, or how deep in the city's intestine it might run. They'd already come down two levels by escalator, first to the shops and then to here. The subway station was deeper still.
Jake shifted the bag of Orizas to his other shoulder and pointed out the last line on the framed notice. "We'd get a discount if we were tenants," he said.
"Count!" Oy cried sternly.
"Aye, laddie," Callahan agreed, "and if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. We don't need a discount."
Nor did they. After walking through a metal detector (no problem with the Orizas) and past a rent-a-cop dozing on a stool, Jake determined that one of the smallest lockers - those on the far lefthand side of the long room - would accommodate the MID-WORLD LANES bag and the box inside. To rent the box for the maximum length of time would cost twenty-seven dollars. Pere Callahan fed bills into the various slots of the token-dispensing machine carefully, prepared for a malfunction: of all the wonders and horrors he'd seen during their brief time back in the city (the latter including a two-dollar taxi drop-charge), this was in some ways the hardest to accept. A vending machine that accepted paper currency? A lot of sophisticated technology had to lie behind this machine with its dull brown finish and its sign commanding patrons to INSERT BILLS FACE UP! The picture accompanying the command showed George Washington with the top of his head facing to the left, but the bills Callahan fed into the machine seemed to work no matter which way the head was facing. Just as long as the picture was on top. Callahan was almost relieved when the machinedid malfunction once, refusing to accept an old and wrinkled dollar bill. The relatively crisp fives it gobbled up without a murmur, dispensing little showers of tokens into the tray beneath. Callahan gathered up twenty-seven dollars' worth of these, started back toward where Jake was waiting, and then turned around again, curious about something. He looked on the side of the amazing (amazing to him, at least, it was) currency-eating vending machine. Toward the bottom, on a series of little plaques, was the information he'd been looking for. This was a Change-Mak-R 2000, manufactured in Cleveland, Ohio, but a lot of companies had chipped in: General Electric, DeWalt Electronics, Showrie Electric, Panasonic, and, at the bottom, smallest of all but very much there, North Central Positronics.
The snake in the garden,Callahan thought.This guy Stephen King, who supposedly thought me up, may only exist in one world, but what do you bet North Central Positronics exists in all of them? Sure, because that's the Crimson King's rig, just like Sombra's his rig, and he only wants what any power-mad despot in history has wanted: to be everywhere, own everything, and basically control the universe.