The Dead Zone(13)

'Little more, baby,' Steve Bernhardt cajoled it. 'Little more, honey.'

The Wheel ticked into the third trip and came to a stop on 24. A cheer went up from the crowd again.

'Johnny, you did it, you did it I' Sarah cried.

The pitchman whistled through his teeth in disgust and paid off. A dollar for the teenagers, two for Bernhardt, a ten and two ones for Johnny. He now had eighteen dollars in front of him on the board.

'Hot stick, hot stick, hey-hey-hey. One more, buddy? This Wheel's your friend tonight.'

Johnny looked at Sarah.

Up to you, Johnny.' But she felt suddenly uneasy.

'Go on, man,' the teenager with the Jimi Hendrix button urged. 'I love to see this guy get a beatin.'

'Okay,' Johnny said, 'last time.'

'Get it down where you want it down.'

They all looked at Johnny, who stood thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his forehead. His usually good-humored face was still and serious and composed. He was looking at the Wheel in its cage of lights and his fingers worked steadily at the smooth skin over his right eye.

'As is,' he said finally.

A little speculative murmur from the crowd.

'Oh, man, that is really tempting it.'

'He's hot,' Bernhardt said doubtfully. He glanced back at his wife, who shrugged to show her complete mystification. 'I'll tag along with you, long, tall, and ugly.'

The teenager with the button glanced at his friend, who shrugged and nodded. 'Okay,' he said, turning back to the pitchman. 'We'll stick, too.'

The Wheel spun. Behind them Sarah heard one of the roustabouts bet the other five dollars against the third trip coming up again. Her stomach did another forward roll but this time it didn't stop; it just went on somersaulting over and over and she became aware that she was getting sick. Cold sweat stood out on her face.

The Wheel began to slow in the first trip, and one of the teenagers flapped his hands in disgust. But he didn't move away. It ticked past 11, 12, 13. The pitchman looked happy at last. Tick-tock-tick, 14, 15, 16.

'It's going through,' Bernhardt said. There was awe in his voice. The pitchman looked at his Wheel as if he wished he could just reach out and stop it. It clicked past

20, 21, and settled to a stop in the slot marked 22.

There was another shout of triumph from the crowd, which had now grown almost to twenty. All the people left at the fair were gathered here, it seemed. Faintly, Sarah heard the roustabouts who had lost his bet grumble something about 'Shitass luck,' as he paid off. Her head thumped. Her legs felt suddenly, horribly unsteady, the muscles trembling and untrustworthy. She blinked her eyes rapidly several times and got only a nauseating instant of vertigo for her pains. The world seemed to tilt up at a skewed angle, as if they were still on the Whip, and then slowly settle back down.

I got a bad hot dog, she thought dismally. That's what you get for trying your luck at the county fair, Sarah.

'Hey-hey-hey,' the pitchman said without much enthusiasm, and paid off. Two dollars for the teenagers, four for Steve Bernhardt, and then a bundle for Johnny -three tens, a five, and a one. The pitchman was not overjoyed, but he was sanguine. If the tall, skinny man with the good-looking blonde tried the third trip again, the pitchman would almost surely gather back in everything he had paid out. It wasn't the skinny man's money until it was off the board. And if he walked? Well, he had cleared a thousand dollars on the Wheel just today, he could afford to pay out a little tonight. The word would get around that Sol Drummore's Wheel had been hit and tomorrow play would be heavier than ever. A winner was a good ad.

'Lay em down where you want em down,' he chanted. Seyeral of the others had moved up to the board and were putting down dimes and quarters. But the pitchman looked only at his money player. 'What do you say, fella? Want to shoot the moon?'

Johnny looked down at Sarah. 'What do you ... hey, are you all right? You're white as a ghost.'

'My stomach,' she said, managing a smile. 'I think it was my hot dog. Can we go home?'

'Sure. You bet.' He was gathering the wad of crinkled bills up from the board when his eyes happened on the Wheel again. The warm concern for her that had been in them faded out. They seemed to darken again, become speculative in a cold way. He's looking at that wheel the way a little boy would look at his own private ant colony, Sarah thought.

'Just a minute,' he said.

'All right,' Sarah answered. But she felt light-headed now as well as sick to her stomach. And there were rumblings in her lower belly that she didn't like. Not the backdoor trots, Lord. Please.

She thought: He can't be content until he's lost it all back.

And then, with strange certainty: But he's not going to lose.

'What do you say, buddy?' the pitchman asked. 'On or off, in or out.'

'Shit or git,' one of the roustabouts said, and there was nervous laughter. Sarah's head swam.

Johnny suddenly shoved bills and quarters up to the corner of the board.

'What are you doing,' the pitchman asked, genuinely shocked.

'The whole wad on 19,' Johnny said.

Sarah wanted to moan and bit it back.

The crowd murmured.

'Don't push it,' Steve Bernhardt said in Johnny's ear. Johnny didn't answer. He was staring at the Wheel with something like indifference. His eyes seemed almost violet.