Black House

“I’m with Mouse,” Sonny says.

“I guess the answer is yes,” Beezer says.

Kaiser Bill is lying by the side of the road with his eyes closed and the front of his body wet with blood from mouth to waist. The air is still gray and sticky; their bodies seem to weigh a thousand pounds, the bikes to roll on leaden wheels. Sonny walks his bike up beside the Kaiser’s supine body and kicks him, not all that gently, in the ribs.

The Kaiser opens his eyes and groans. “Fuck, Sonny,” he says. “You kicked me.” His eyelids flutter, and he lifts his head off the ground and notices the blood soaking into his clothing. “What happened? Am I shot?”

“You conducted yourself like a hero,” Sonny says. “How do you feel?”

“Lousy. Where was I hit?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Sonny says. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

The others file past. Kaiser Bill manages to get to his feet and, after another epic struggle, hauls his bike upright beside him. He pushes it down the track after the others, marveling at the pain in his head and the quantity of blood on his body. When he comes out through the last of the trees and joins his friends on Highway 35, the sudden brightness stabs his eyes, his body feels light enough to float away, and he nearly passes out all over again. “I don’t think I did get shot,” he says.

No one pays any attention to the Kaiser. Doc is asking Mouse if he wants to go to the hospital.

“No hospital, man. Hospitals kill people.”

“At least let me take a look at your leg.”

“Fine, look.”

Doc kneels at the side of the road and tugs the cuff of Mouse’s jeans up to the bottom of his knee. He probes with surprisingly delicate fingers, and Mouse winces.

“Mouse,” he says, “I’ve never seen a dog bite like this before.”

“Never saw a dog like that before, either.”

The Kaiser says, “What dog?”

“There’s something funny about this wound,” Doc says. “You need antibiotics, and you need them right away.”

“Don’t you have antibiotics?”

“Sure, I do.”

“Then let’s go back to Beezer’s place, and you can stick me full of needles.”

“Whatever you say,” says Doc.

20

AROUND THE TIME Mouse and Beezer first fail to see the little road and the NO TRESPASSING sign beside it, Jack Sawyer answers the annoying signal of his cell phone, hoping that his caller will turn out to be Henry Leyden with information about the voice on the 911 tape. Although an identification would be wonderful, he does not expect Henry to I.D. the voice; the Fisherman–Burnside is Potsie’s age, and Jack does not suppose the old villain has much of a social life, here or in the Territories. What Henry can do, however, is to apply his finely tuned ears to the nuances of Burnside’s voice and describe what he hears in it. If we did not know that Jack’s faith in his friend’s capacity to hear distinctions and patterns inaudible to other people was justified, that faith would seem as irrational as the belief in magic: Jack trusts that a refreshed, invigorated Henry Leyden will pick up at least one or two crucial details of history or character that will narrow the search. Anything that Henry picks up will interest Jack.

If someone else is calling him, he intends to get rid of whoever it is, fast.

The voice that answers his greeting revises his plans. Fred Marshall wants to talk to him, and Fred is so wound up and incoherent that Jack must ask him to slow down and start over.

“Judy’s flipping out again,” Fred says. “Just . . . babbling and raving, and getting crazy like before, trying to rip through the walls—oh God, they put her in restraints and she hates that, she wants to help Ty, it’s all because of that tape. Christ, it’s getting to be too much to handle, Jack, Mr. Sawyer, I mean it, and I know I’m running off at the mouth, but I’m really worried.”

“Don’t tell me someone sent her the 911 tape,” Jack says.

“No, not . . . what 911 tape? I’m talking about the one that was delivered to the hospital today. Addressed to Judy. Can you believe they let her listen to that thing? I want to strangle Dr. Spiegleman and that nurse, Jane Bond. What’s the matter with these people? The tape comes in, they say, oh goody, here’s a nice tape for you to listen to, Mrs. Marshall, hold on, I’ll be right back with a cassette player. On a mental ward? They don’t even bother to listen to it first? Look, whatever you’re doing, I’d be eternally grateful if you’d let me pick you up, so I could drive you over there. You could talk to her. You’re the only person who can calm her down.”

“You don’t have to pick me up, because I’m already on the way. What was on the tape?”

“I don’t get it.” Fred Marshall has become considerably more lucid. “Why are you going there without me?”

After a second of thought, Jack tells him an outright lie. “I thought you would probably be there already. It’s a pity you weren’t.”

“I would have had the sense to screen that tape before letting her hear it. Do you know what was on that thing?”