Ralph glanced down at his hands, then looked at the old man.
“What are you talking about, Dorrance?”
“Your hands,” Dorrance said patiently. “I can’t see your-”
“This is no place for you, Dor-why don’t you get lost?”
The old man brightened a little at that. “Yes!” he said in the tone of one who has just stumbled over a great truth. “That’s just what I oughtta do!” He began to back up, and when the thunder cracked again, he cringed and put his book on top of his head. Ralph was able to read the bright red letters of the title: Buckdancer’s Choice.
“It’s what you ought to do, too, Ralph. You don’t want to mess in with long-time business. It’s a good way to get hurt.”
“What are you-” But before Ralph could finish, Dorrance turned his back and went lumbering off in the direction of the picnic area with his fringe of white hair-as gossamer as the hair on a new baby’s head-rippling ing in the breeze of the oncoming storm.
One problem solved, but Ralph’s relief was short-lived. Ed had been temporarily distracted by Dorrance, but now he was looking daggers at Heavyset again. “Cuntlicker!” he spat. “Fucked your mother and licked her cunt!”
Heavyset’s enormous brow drew down. “What”
Ed’s eyes shifted back to Ralph, whom he now seemed to recognize.
“Ask him what’s under that tarp!” he cried. “Better yet, get the murdering cocksucker to show you!”
Ralph looked at the heavyset man. “What have you got under there?”
“What’s it to you?” Heavyset asked, perhaps trying to sound truculent. He sampled the look in Ed Deepneau’s eyes and took two more sidling steps away.
“Nothing to me, something to him,” Ralph said, lifting his chin in Ed’s direction. “Just help me cool him out, okay?”
“You know him?”
“Murderer!” Ed repeated, and this time he lunged hard enough under Ralph’s hands to drive him back a step. Yet something was happening, wasn’t it? Ralph thought the scary, vacant look was seeping out of Ed’s eyes. There seemed to be a little more Ed in there than there had been before… or perhaps that was only wishful thinking.
“Murderer, baby murderer!”
“Jesus, what a looney tune,” Heavyset said, but he went to the rear of the truckbed, yanked one of the ropes free, and peeled back a corner of the tarpaulin. Beneath it were four pressboard barrels, each marked WEED-GO. “Organic fertilizer,” Heavyset said, his eyes flicking from Ed to Ralph and then back to Ed again. He touched the bill of his West
Side Gardeners cap. “I spent the day working on a set of new flower-beds outside the Derry Psych Wing… where you could stand a short vacation, friend.”
“Fertilizer?” Ed asked. It was himself he seemed to be speaking to.
His left hand rose slowly to his temple and began to rub there.
“Fertilizer?” He sounded like a man questioning some simple yet staggering scientific development.
“Fertilizer,” Heavyset agreed. He glanced back at Ralph and said, “This guy is sick in the head. You know it?”
“He’s confused, that’s all,” Ralph answered uneasily. He leaned over the side of the truck and rapped a barrel-top. Then he turned back to Ed. “Barrels of fertilizer,” he said. “Okay?”
No response. Ed’s right hand rose and began to rub at his other temple. He looked like a man sinking into a terrible migraine.
“Okay?” Ralph repeated gently.
Ed closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened again, Ralph observed a sheen in them he thought was probably tears. Ed’s tongue slipped out and dabbed delicately first at one corner of his mouth and then the other. He took the end of his silk scarf and wiped his forehead, and as he did, Ralph saw there were Chinese figures embroidered on it in red, just above the fringe.
“I guess maybe-” he began, and then broke off. His eyes widened again in that look Ralph didn’t like. “Babies!” he rasped. “You hear me? Babies.” Ralph shoved him back against his car for the third or fourth time-he’d lost count. “What are you talking about, Ed?” An idea suddenly occurred to him. “Is it Natalie? Are you worried about Natalie?”
A small, crafty smile touched Ed’s lips. He looked past Ralph at the heavyset man. “Fertilizer, huh? Well, if that’s all it is, you won’t mind opening one of them, will you?”
Heavyset looked at Ralph uneasily. “Man needs a doctor,” he said.
“Maybe he does. But he was calming down, I thought… Could you open one of those barrels? It might make him feel better.”
“Yeah, sure, what the heck. In for a penny, in for a pound,” he said, There was another flash of lightning, another heavy blast of thunder-one that seemed to go rolling all the way across the sky this time-and a cold spackle of rain struck the back of Ralph’s sweaty neck.
He glanced to his left and saw Dorrance Marstellar standing at the entrance to the picnic area, book in hand, watching the three of them anxiously.
“It’s gonna rain a pretty bitch, looks like,” Heavyset said, “and I can’t let this stuff get wet. It starts a chemical reaction. So look fast.”
He felt around between one of the barrels and the sidewall of his truck for a moment, then came up with a crowbar. must be as nutty as he is, doing this,” he said to Ralph. “I mean, I was just going along home, mindin my business. He hit me.”
“Go on,” Ralph said. “It’ll only take a second.”
“Yeah,” Heavyset replied sourly, turning and setting the flat end of the crowbar under the lid of the nearest barrel, “but the memories will last a lifetime.”
Another thunderclap rocked the day just then, and Heavyset did not hear what Ed Deepneau said next. Ralph did, however, and it chilled the pit of his stomach.
“Those barrels are full of dead babies,” Ed said. “You’ll see.”
Heavyset popped the I’d on the end barre, and such was the conviction in Ed’s voice that Ralph almost expected to see tangles of arms and legs and bundles of small hairless heads. Instead, he saw a mixture of fine blue crystals and brown stuff. The smell which rose from the barrel was rich and peaty, with a thin chemical undertone.
“See? Satisfied?” Heavyset asked, speaking directly to Ed again.
“I ain’t Ray joubert or that guy Dahmer after all. How ’bout that!” The look of confusion was back on Ed’s face, and when the thunder cracked overhead again, he cringed a little. He leaned over, reached a hand toward the barrel, then looked a question at Heavyset.
The big man nodded to him, almost sympathetically, Ralph thought.
“Sure, touch it, fine by me. But if it rains while you’re holdin a fistful, you’ll dance like John Travolta. It burns.”
Ed reached into the barrel, grabbed some of the mix, and let it run through his fingers. He shot Ralph a perplexed look (there was an element of embarrassment in that look as well, Ralph thought), and then sank his arm into the barrel all the way to the elbow.
“Hey!” Heavyset cried, startled. “That ain’t a box of Cracker Jack!
“For a moment the crafty grin resurfaced on Ed’s face-a look that said I know a trick worth two of that-and then it subsided into puzzlement again as he found nothing farther down but more fertilizer.
When he drew his arm out of the barrel, it was dusty and aromatic with the mix. Another flash of lightning exploded above the airport.
The thunder which followed was almost deafening.
“Get that off your skin before it rains, I’m warning you,” Heavyset said. He reached through the Ranger’s open passenger window and produced a McDonald’s take-out sack. He rummaged in it, came out with a couple of napkins, and handed them to Ed, who began to wipe the fertilizer dust from his forearm like a man in a dream.
While he did this, Heavyset replaced the lid on the barrel, tamping it into place with one large, freckled fist and taking quick glances up at the darkening sky. When Ed touched the shoulder of his white shirt, the man stiffened and pulled away, looking at Ed warily.
“I think I owe you an apology,” Ed said, and to Ralph his voice sounded completely clear and sane for the first time.
“You’re damn tooting,” Heavyset said, but he sounded relieved.
He stretched the plastic-coated tarpaulin back into place and tied it in a series of quick, efficient gestures. Watching him, Ralph was struck by what a sly thief time was. Once he could have tied that same sheetbend with that same dextrous ease. Today he could still tie it, but it would take him at least two minutes and maybe three of his best curse-words.
Heavyset patted the tarp and then turned to them, folding his arms across the substantial expanse of his chest. “Did you see the accident?” he asked Ralph.
“No,” Ralph said at once. He had no idea why he was lying, but the decision to do it was instantaneous. “I was watching the plane land. The United.”
To his complete surprise, the flushed patches on Heavyset’s cheeks began to spread. You were watching it, too.” Ralph thought suddenly.
And not just watching it land, either, or you wouldn’t be blushing like that… you were watching it taxi!
This thought was followed by a complete revelation: Heavyset thought the accident had been his fault, or that the cop or cops who showed up to investigate might read it that way, He had been watching the plane and hadn’t seen Ed’s reckless charge through the service gate and out to the Extension.
“Look, I’m really sorry,” Ed was saying earnestly, but he actually looked more than sorry; he looked dismayed. Ralph suddenly found himself wondering how much he trusted that expression, and if he really had even the slightest idea of (Hey, hey, Susan Day) what had just happened here… and who the hell was Susan Day, anyhow?
“I bumped my head on the steering wheel,” Ed was saying, “and I guess it… you know, it rattled my cage pretty good.”
“Yeah, I guess it did,” Heavyset said. He scratched his head, looked up at the dark and convoluted sky, then looked back at Ed again.
“Want to make you a deal, friend.”
“Oh? What deal is that?”
“Let’s just exchange names and phone numbers instead of going through all that insurance shit. Then you go your way and I go mine.”
Ed looked uncertainly at Ralph, who shrugged, and then back at the man in the West Side Gardeners cap.
“If we get into it with the cops,” Heavyset went on, “I’m in for a ration of shit. First thing they’re going to find out when they call it in is I had a D.U.I last winter, and I’m driving on a provisional license. They’re apt to make problems for me even though I was on the main drag and had the right-of-way. See what I mean?”
“Yes,” Ed said, “I guess so, but the accident was entirely my fault. I was going much too fast-”
“The accident part is maybe not so important,” Heavyset said, then looked mistrustfully around at an approaching panel truck that was pulling over onto the shoulder. He looked back at Ed again and spoke with some urgency. “You lost some oil, but it’s stopped leakin now. I bet you could drive her home… if you live here in town. You live here in town?”
“Yes,” Ed said.
“And I’d stand you good on repairs, up to fifty bucks or so.”
Another revelation struck Ralph; it was the only thing he could think of to explain the man’s sudden change from truculence to something close to wheedling. An D.U.I last winter? Yes, probably.
But Ralph had never heard of such a thing as a provisional license, and thought it was almost certainly bullshit. Old Mr. West Side Gardeners had been driving without a license. What complicated the situation was this: Ed was telling the truth-the accident had been entirely his fault.
“If we just drive away and call it good,” Heavyset was going on, “I don’t have to explain all over again about my D.U.I and you don’t have to explain why you jumped
