I told him everything, only leaving out the argument about whether or not Norm should have gone out at all. I told him what had come in... and finally, what had gone out, screaming. Brent Norton refused to believe it. No-he refused to even entertain it. I took him over to Jim, Ollie, and Myron. All three of them verified the story, although Jim and Myron the flower were well on their way to getting drunk.
Again, Norton refused to believe or even to entertain it. He simply balked. “No,” he said. “No, no, no. Forgive me, gentlemen, but it's completely ridiculous. Either you're having me on”-he patronized us with his gleaming smile to show that he could take a joke as well as the next fellow-or you're suffering from some form of group hypnosis.”
My temper rose again, and I controlled, it with difficulty. I don't think that I'm ordinarily a quick-tempered man, but
these weren't ordinary circumstances. I had Billy to think about, and what was happening-or what had already
happened-to Stephanie. Those things were constantly gnaw ing at the back of my mind. “All right,” I said. “Let's go back there. There's a chunk of tentacle on the floor. The door cut it off when it came down. And you can hear them. They're rustling all over that door. It sounds like the wind in ivy.” “No,” he said calmly.
“What?” I really did believe I had misheard him. “What did you say?” 'I said no, I'm not going back there. The joke has gone far enough.” “Brent, I swear to you it's no joke.”
“Of course it is,” he snapped. His eyes ran over Jim, Myron, rested briefly on Ollie Weeks-who held his glance with calm impassivity-and at last came back to me. “It's what you locals probably call 'a real belly-buster. ' Right, David?”
“Brent... look—”
“No, you look!” His voice began to rise toward a courtroom shout. It earned very, very well, and several of the people who were wandering around, edgy and aimless, looked over to see what was going on. Norton jabbed his finger at me as he spoke. “It's a joke. It's a banana skin and I'm the guy that's supposed to slip on it. None of you people are exactly crazy about out-of-towners, am I right? You all pretty much stick together. The way it happened when I hauled you into court to get what was rightfully mine. You won that one, all right. Why not? Your father was the famous artist, and it's your town. I only pay, my taxes and spend my money here!” He was no longer performing, hectoring us with the trained courtroom shout; he was nearly screaming and on the verge of losing all control. Ollie Weeks turned and walked away, clutching his beer. Myron and his friend Jim were staring at Norton with frank amazement.
“Am I supposed to go back there and look at some ninety-eight-cent rubber-joke novelty while these two hicks stand around and laugh their apses off?”
“Hey, you want to watch who you're calling a hick,” Myron said.
“I'm glad that tree fell on your boathouse, if you want to know the truth. Glad.” Norton was grinning savagely at me. “Stove it in pretty well, didn't it? Fantastic. Now get out of my way.”
He tried to push past me. I grabbed him by the arm and threw him against the beer cooler. A woman cawed in surprise. Two six-packs of Bud fell over.
“You dig out your ears and listen, Brent. There are lives at stake here. My kid's is not the least of them. So you listen, or I swear I'll knock the shit out of you.”
“Go ahead,” Norton said, still grinning with a kind of insane palsied bravado. His eyes, bloodshot and wide, bulged from their sockets. “Show everyone how big and brave you are, beating up a man with a heart condition who is old enough to be your father.”
“Sock him anyway!” Jim exclaimed. “Fuck his heart condition. I don't even think a cheap New York shyster like him has got a heart.” “You keep out of it,” I said to Jim, and then put my face down to Norton's. I was kissing distance, if that had been what I had in mind. The cooler was off, but it was still radiating a chill. “Stop throwing up sand. You know damn well I'm telling the truth.”
“I know... no... such thing,” he panted.
“If it was another time and place, I'd let you get away with it. I don't care how scared you are, and I'm not keeping score. I'm scared, too. But I need you, goddammit! Does that get through? I need you!”
“Let me go!”
I grabbed him by the shirt and shook him. “Don't you understand anything? People are going to start leaving and walk right into that thing out there! For Christ's sake, don't you understand?”
“Let me go!”
“Not until you come back there with me and see for yourself.”
“I told you, no! It's all a trick, a joke, I'm not as stupid as you take me for—”
“Then I'll haul-you back there myself.”
I grabbed him by the shoulder and the scruff of his neck. The seam of his shirt under one arm tore with a soft purring sound. I dragged him toward the double doors. Norton let out a wretched scream. A knot of people, fifteen or eighteen, had gathered, but they kept their distance. None showed any signs of wanting to interfere.
“Help me!” Norton cried. His eyes bulged behind his glasses. His styled hair had gone awry again, sticking up in the same two little tufts behind his ears. People shuffled their feet and watched.
“What are you screaming for?” I said in his ear. “It's just a joke, right? That's why I took you to town when you asked
to come and why I trusted you to cross Billy in the parking lot because I had this handy fog all manufactured, I rented a
fog machine from Hollywood, it cost me fifteen thousand dollars and another eight thousand dollars to ship it, all so I
could play a joke on you. Stop bullshitting yourself and open your eyes!” “Let... me... go!” Norton bawled. We were almost at the doors.
“Here, here! What is this? What are you doing?” It was Brown. He bustled and elbowed his way through the crowd of watchers. “Make him let me go,” Norton said hoarsely. “He's crazy.” “No. He's not crazy. I wish he were, but he isn't.” That was Ollie, and I could have blessed him. He came around the aisle behind us and stood there facing Brown. Brown's eyes dropped to the beer Ollie was holding. “You're drinking!” he said, and his voice was surprised but not totally devoid of pleasure. “You'll lose your job for this.” “Come on, Bud,” I said, letting Norton go. “This is no ordinary situation.” “Regulations don't change,” Brown said smugly. “I'll see that the company hears of it. That's my responsibility.” Norton, meanwhile, had skittered away and stood at some distance, trying to straighten his shirt and smooth back his hair. His eyes darted between Brown and me nervously.
“Hey!” Ollie cried suddenly, raising his voice and producing a bass thunder I never would have suspected from this large but soft and unassuming man. “Hey! Everybody in the store! You want to come up back and hear this! It concerns all of you!” He looked at me levelly, ignoring Brown altogether. “Am I doing all right?”
“Fine. “
People began to gather. The original knot of spectators to my argument with Norton doubled, then trebled.
“There's something you all had better know—” Ollie began.
“You put that beer down right now,” Brown said.
“You shut up right now,” I said, and took a step toward him.
Brown took a compensatory step back. “I don't know what some of you think you are doing,” he said, “but I can tell you it's going to be reported to the Federal Foods Company! All of it! And I want you to understand-there may be charges!” His lips drew nervously back from his yellowed teeth, and I could feel sympathy for him. Just trying to cope; that was all he was doing. As Norton was by imposing a mental gag order on himself. Myron and Jim had tried by turning the whole thing into a macho charade-if the generator could be fixed, the mist would blow over. This was Brown's way. He was... Protecting the Store.