Chapter 29

Connors was a rodent-faced plainclothesman with a lopsided crewcut and slender hands like those of a concert pianist or the man who made pizzas in the window of an Italian diner. With them he opened the black vinyl case he had brought and removed a transmitter in a gray plastic shell the size of a package of cigarettes. “Strip to the waist, please.”

Ralph peeled off his shirt.

“That reminds me,” Lieutenant Bustard said. “I promised my wife I’d pick up some whitefish on the way home.”

Connors clipped a small battery pack to Ralph’s belt, plugged in the transmitter, and used adhesive tape to fix it to his chest.

“Watch the hair,” said Ralph.

“What hair?”

“How come I got to wear this rig now? I ain’t even made the call yet.”

Bustard said, “When you aren’t used to wearing one it takes some adjusting. In a day or two you’ll stop stumping around like Frankenstein and nobody’ll guess you’re wired.”

Ralph put on his shirt. “Do I turn anything on?”

“No.” Connors was emphatic. “Avoid bending over, and whatever you do, don’t touch it. If you change shirts, make it anything but nylon. That static electricity is murder.”

“Can I fart?”

“Quietly. And try not to sweat too much. We had one short out once and catch fire.”

“How is Appleby?” O’Leary asked.

“I ran into him the other day at K mart,” Connors said. “He goes in for his last skin graft next week.”

“What’s it been, two years?”

“Nearer three. The guy he busted got out in July.”

Ralph started unbuttoning his shirt. “I changed my mind. Put me in jail.”

Bustard said, “Too late. You’ll be followed by a department van with Sergeant O’Leary and Officer Connors inside. Same principle: when you get used to pulling a shadow you’ll stop looking over your shoulder. What kind of car does your girlfriend drive?”

“Blue ’63 Corvair. Where’s my Riviera?”

“In lockup. You can pick it up at eight when the garage opens.” The lieutenant regarded him. “You look like a guy who’s been getting it pretty regular lately. You better do it with your pants and shirt on till we get something on tape we can use.”

“Better yet, don’t do it at all,” said Connors. “Unless you like barbecues in bed.”

“Thank you,” Ralph said.

Snapping shut his case, Connors shook his head. “First time anyone ever thanked me for that.”

“Your hunch better work,” Bustard told O’Leary. “If I wind up back in blue I’ll see they put you on park detail.”

The arson investigator, banished with a fresh cigarette to the corner farthest from the delicate electronics work, ran a hand over his face, smearing it with ashes. “One killer more or less won’t do much to the stats. Anyway, I sort of want to help Poteet out. He reminds me of me on the worst day I ever had.”

Ralph said nothing. He had already started to sweat, and hoped the slight burning smell he detected belonged to O’Leary.

April was waiting in the squad room when he came out behind Connors. She had on the bright orange blouse she had been wearing when they met, tucked into a pleated navy skirt with a slit that showed one thigh as she walked up to him. Her black hair fell unfettered to her waist and her color was high, as if she had come there straight from bed. Not much work was getting done in the room with her in it, Ralph noticed with a surge of pride.

“Hi,” she said. “You all right?”

“I’m okay. Sorry I woke you up.”

“I’ve been spending a lot of time in bed lately, anyway. Brought you something.” She held out a brightly colored plastic bag.

Ralph took it and opened it. It contained a pair of shiny black oxfords.

“I stopped in at an all-night convenience store,” she said. “I hope I guessed the size right. You don’t mind vinyl, do you?”

“My feet wouldn’t feel right in nothing else.” Sitting down carefully in a vacant desk chair, he took off the pink slippers and put on the shoes.

“Let me.” She knelt to tie them. The detectives in the room directed their attention elsewhere. “There.”

He wiggled his toes. They felt a little cramped, but then he had had to break in every pair of shoes he had ever owned except those he had inherited in jail. “I think I ruined your slippers,” he said.

“I wrote them off when I gave them to you. Are you free to go?”

Ralph looked up at Bustard, who nodded. He stood and the two started out. O’Leary and Connors had already gone for the van.

“You sure you’re all right? You’re walking a little stiff.”

“Back’s a little sore.”

“I’ll give you a rubdown when we get back to the apartment.”

“No! Uh, I mean, it’ll pop back. It always does. I got it ’cause of Vietnam.”

“I didn’t know you were in Vietnam.”

“It’s how I stayed out.”

“You poor man.” She snaked an arm around his waist. As the squad room door swung shut behind them, Ralph heard a detective say, “Maybe he cooks.”

In the Corvair, Ralph turned around to look for the van. There were several parked in the Authorized Vehicles Only section; it was still dark out and he couldn’t tell if any of them was occupied.

“What happened?” April started the engine.

“I walked into a net. Stupid.”

“Why’d they let you go?”

He turned back to look at her. “Ain’t you glad to see me?”

She smiled and patted his thigh. He willed himself to think of the plot of a Stephen King movie to bring down his instant erection. Finally she withdrew the hand to back the car out of its space. “They were looking for you for murder. How’d you convince them you’re innocent?”

“I got one of them faces.”

“No, really.”

“They found a better suspect.” He had been cautioned against mentioning the wire to anyone.

“Then you’re cleared? Oh, Ralph, that’s wonderful! We’ll celebrate.” She pulled out onto Beaubien, deserted at that young hour. Ralph saw a pair of headlights spring to life behind them and relaxed.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just sack out.” He tilted his hat over his eyes. The rickety little car had a somnolent effect upon him for some reason. He suspected it had something to do with his getting away from police custody every time he rode in it.

“What you need is a long hot bath.”

“Sounds good.”

“With me.”

Christine, he thought furiously. Cujo. The Shining. Jack Nicholson naked.…

“I bought some bubble bath at the convenience store. Somehow I knew it would come in handy. It’s my only luxury. After exams I just like to stretch out my naked body in those slippery suds for hours.”

Creepshow. Jesus, O’Leary and Connors were getting an earful.

“Do they know who hurt my sister?”

His erection withered. “Not yet, but they know why. What’s she told you?”

“Told me? Oh. I haven’t had the chance to go back and visit. I’m studying for midterms.”

Pretending greater exhaustion than he felt, he drew himself up on his side in the seat, sneaking a glance through the back window. The headlights were hanging back two blocks. “So how is she? I guess you been calling the nurses’ station.”

“Of course. They say she’s going to be all right. More reason to celebrate.” Reaching for the gearshift knob, she missed and stroked Ralph’s groin.

Carrie. He hadn’t realized how many King titles began with C. He changed positions again, drawing the family jewels out of her reach. He was starting to feel warm in the vicinity of the transmitter; he hoped it was biological. “The cops should know how good she’s doing, increase the guard,” he said. “If word gets out, the guy might make another try. They can’t afford no talky hookers.”

“They? You mean the police?”

“No.” He clamped his mouth shut. He was getting plenty talkative himself. He must have been almost as tired as he let on.

The Corvair’s tires sang as they picked up speed. They had entered the northbound John Lodge. “Ralph?”

“Salem’s Lot. I mean, yeah?”

“How much do you know about what happened to Lyla?”

“Nothing. Cops are worse than doctors when it comes to telling us joes diddly.”

“Are you sure? I hired you to find out.”

“Asking questions is what got me into the fix I’m in. Was in. Anyway, you can see why I don’t want to collect my fee again right away. I ain’t earned it.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be payment. You underestimate yourself, Ralph. You’re a good lover. Not at all like those boys at school.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Who needs marathon men? Afterwards I just want to go to sleep. I get plenty of rest with you.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Do you think I’m in love?”

“With your mattress.”

The freeway had been resurfaced recently; the smooth ride lulled Ralph into a doze. He dreamed of clerical corpses and fiery death and strangling death and death by gunshot and heart failure and killers who turned out to be just newshawks looking for copy. He missed the old days—just last week—of erotic dreams and celibate days, even if the celibacy wasn’t his idea. It was a piss-poor life, but at least it was his own, or had been.

He awoke with April unbuttoning his shirt.

“… Just float away on all those pretty bubbles,” she was saying. Her fingers found the adhesive tape. “Ralph, are you hurt?”

“No. I mean yeah. Just a cut.” He slid back, but her hand pursued him. She kept her eyes on the road. Suddenly she jerked the hand away.

“That’s a microphone!”

Her voice had changed. Ralph couldn’t identify the change but put it down to shock. He sat up in the seat, tipping his hat back. “You want to know who tried to do Lyla, right? Well, I’m helping the cops. I’m an undercover volunteer.”

Without looking away from the windshield, she reached out again, tore the transmitter’s wires free of the battery pack on his belt, and threw it into the backseat, along with the adhesive and all six of the hairs on Ralph’s chest.

“You could of asked me to take it off,” he said, massaging the bare spot. He glanced back over his shoulder.

“Don’t bother looking for your cop friends,” she said. “I lost them five minutes ago.”

Her tone was definitely, different. It sounded harsher, deeper; not at all like that of a schoolgirl. Ralph realized then that they had left the freeway and were hurtling through a neighborhood he didn’t recognize. There was not another set of headlights to be seen for blocks.

“You ain’t Lyla’s sister,” he said then.

“Not now. Not ever.”

She produced a nickel-plated revolver from the pocket on the driver’s door. The sky had begun to go pale, casting a deathly shade of gray over her features. The skin was drawn tight, the skull obvious beneath. Looking from her face to the gun and back again, Ralph couldn’t believe he had ever thought her to be eighteen.