Rydell had brought his blue Samsonite in from the Patriot, his bag from Container City. He went into the bathroom to change his clothes. There was just the one, unisex, and it really was a bathroom because it had a bathtub in it. Not like anybody used it, because there was this mermaid painted full-size on the inside, with a brown cigarette butted out on her stomach, just above where the scales started.
Rydell discovered that Kevins khakis were split up the ass. He wondered how long hed been walking around like that. But he hadnt noticed it back at Container City, so he hoped it had happened in the car. He took the IntenSecure shirt off, stuffed it into the wastebasket, put on one of the black t-shirts. Then he unlaced his trainers and tried to figure out a way to change pants, socks, and underwear without having to put his feet on the floor, which was wet. He thought about doing it in the tub, but that looked sort of scummy, too. Decided you could manage it, sort of, by standing with your feet on the top of your sneakers, and then sort of half-sitting on the toilet. He put everything he took off into the basket. Wondering how much the debit-card Freddie had given him was still good for, he transferred his wallet to the right back pocket of his new jeans. Put on his new jacket. Washed his hands and face in a gritty trickle of water. Combed his hair. Packed the rest of his new clothes into the Samsonite, saving the Container City bag to keep dirty laundry in.
He wanted a shower, but he didnt know when hed get one. Clean clothes were the next best thing.
Warbaby looked up when Rydell got back to his table. Freddies told you a little about the bridge, has he, Rydell?
Says its all baby-eatin satanists.
Warbaby glowered at Freddie. Too colorfully put, perhaps, but all too painfully close to the truth, Mr. Rydell. Not at all a wholesome place. And effectively outside the reach of the law. You wont find our friends Svobodov or Orlovsky out there, for instance. Not in any official capacity.
Rydell caught Freddie start to grin at that, but saw how it was pinched off by Warbabys glare.
Freddie gave me the idea you want me to go out there, Mr. Warbaby. Go out there and find that girl.
Yes Warbaby said, gravely, we do. I wish that I could tell you it wont be dangerous, but that is not the case.
Well How dangerous is it, Mr. Warbaby?
Very Warbaby said.
And that girl, shes dangerous, too?
Extremely Warbaby said, and all the more because she doesnt always look it. You saw what was done to that mans throat, after all
Jesus Rydell said, you think that little girl did that?
Warbaby nodded, sadly. Terrible he said, these people will do terrible things
When they got out to the car, he saw that hed parked it right in front of this mural of J.D. Shapely wearing a black leather biker jacket and no shirt, being carried up to heaven by half a dozen extremely fruity-looking angels with long blond rocker hair. There were these blue, glowing coils of DNA or something spiraling out of Shapelys stomach and attacking what Rydell assumed was supposed to be an AIDS virus, except it looked more like some kind of rusty armored space station with mean robot arms.
It made him think what a weird-ass thing it mustve been to be that guy. About as weird as it had ever been to be anybody, ever, he figured. But it would be even weirder to be Shapely, and dead like that, and then have to look at that mural.
YET HE LIVES IN US NOW, it said under the painting, in foot-high white letters, AND THROUGH HIM DO WE LIVE.
Which was, strictly speaking, true, and Rydell had had a vaccination to prove it.
18. Capacitor
Chevettes mother had had this boyfriend once named Oakley, who drank part-time and drove logging trucks the rest, or anyway he said he did. He was a long-legged man with his blue eyes set a little too far apart, in a face with those deep seams down each cheek. Which made him look, Chevettes mother said, like a real cowboy. Chevette just thought it made him look kind of dangerous. Which he wasnt, usually, unless he got himself around a bottle or two of whiskey and forgot where he was or who he was with; like particularly if he mistook Chevette for her mother, which hed done a couple of times, but shed always gotten away from him and hed always been sorry about it afterward, bought her Ring-Dings and stuff from the Seven-Eleven. But what Oakley did that she remembered now, looking down through the hatch at this guy with his gun, was take her out in the woods one time and let her shoot a pistol.
And this one had a face kind of like Oakleys, too, those eyes and those grooves in his cheeks. Like you got from smiling a lot, the way he was now. But it sure wasnt a smile that would ever make anybody feel good. Gold at the corners of it.
Now come on down here he said, stressing each word just the same.
Who the fuck are you? Skinner, sounding more interested than pissed-off.
The gun went off. Not very loud, but sharp, with this blue flash. She saw the Japanese guy sit down on the foor, like his legs had gone out from under him, and she thought the guy had shot him.
Shut up. Then up at Chevette, I told you to get down here.
Then Sammy Sal touched her on the back of her neck, his fingertips urging her toward the hatch before they withdrew.
The guy might not even know Sammy Sal was up here at all. Sammy Sal had the glasses. And one thing Chevette was sure of now, this guy was no cop.
Sorry the Japanese guy said, sorry I
Im going to shoot you in the right eye with a subsonic titanium bullet. Still smiling, the way he might say Im going to buy you a sandwich.
Im coming Chevette said. And he didnt shot, not her, not the Japanese guy.
She thought she heard Sammy Sal step back acoss the roof, away from her, but she didnt look back. She wasnt sure whether she should try to close the hatch behind her or not. She decided not to because the guy had only told her to come down. Shed have to reach past the edge of the hole to get hold of the hatch and it might look to him like he was going for a gun or something. Like in a show.
She dropped down from the bottom rung, trying to keep her hands where he could see them.
What were you doing up there? Still smiling. His gun wasnt anything like Oakleys big old Brazilian revolver; it was a little stubby square thing made out of dull metal, the color of Skinners old tools. A thin ring of lighter metal around the narrow hole in the end. Like the pupil of an eye.
Looking at the city she said, not feeling scared, particularly. Not really feeling anything, except her legs were trembling.
He glanced up, the gun staying right when it was. She didnt want him to ask her if was she alone up here, because the answer might hang in the air and tell him it was a lie. You know what Im here for.
Skinner was sitting up on his bed, back against the wall, looking as wide awake as shed ever seen him. The Japanese guy, who didnt look like hed been shot after all, was sitting on the floor, his skinny legs spread out in front of him in a V.
Well Skinner said, Id guess money or drugs, but it happens youre shit out of luck. Give you fifty-six dollars and a stale joint of Humbolt, you want it.
Shut up. When the automatic smile went away, it was like he didnt have any lips. Im talking to her.
Skinner looked like he was about to say something, or maybe laugh, but he didnt.
The glasses. Now the smile was back. He raised the gun, so that she was looking right into the little hole. If he shoots me, she thought, hell still have to hunt for them.
Hepburn Skinner said, with a crazy little grin, and just then Chevette noticed that the poster of Roy Orbison had a hole in the middle of its gray forehead. Down there she said, pointing to the hatch in the floor.