The Bachman Books

by a report, and he realized he was still looking over the chair. He heard the front door being tried, and then the man in the plaid shirt was hammering on it.

He scrambled across the floor, which was now spotted with grit and plaster that had been knocked out of the walls. His right leg hurt like a bastard and when he looked down he saw his pants leg was bloody from thigh to knee. He turned the lock in the chewed-up door and released the bolt from its catch.

'Okay!' he said, and the man in the plaid shirt burst in.

Up close he didn't look scared although he was panting hard. There was a scrape on his cheek from where the policeman had tackled him, and the left arm of his shirt was ripped. When the man in the plaid shirt was inside he scrambled back into the living room, picked up the rifle, and fired twice blindly over the top of the chair. Then he turned around. The man in the plaid shirt was standing in the doorway, looking incredibly calm. He had taken a large notebook out of his back pocket.

'All right, man,' he said. 'What shit goes down?'

'What's your name?'

'Dave Albert.'

'Has that white van got more film equipment in it?'

'Yes. '

'Go to the window. Tell the police to let a camera crew set up on the Quinns' lawn. That's the house across the street. Tell them if it isn't done in five minutes, you got trouble.'

'Do I?'

'Sure.'

Albert laughed. 'You don't look like you could kill time, fella.'

'Tell them.'

Albert walked to the shattered living room window and stood framed there for a second, obviously relishing the moment.

'He says for my camera crew to set up across the street! ' he yelled. 'He say's he's going to kill me if you don't let them!'

'No!' Fenner yelled back furiously. 'No, no, n-'

Somebody muzzled him. Silence for a beat.

'All right!' This was the voice that had accused him of bluffing about the explosive. 'Will you let two of our men go up and get them?'

He thought it over and nodded at the reporter.

'Yes!' Albert called.

There was a pause, and then two uniformed policemen trotted self-consciously up toward where the news van waited, its engine smugly idling. In the meantime two more cruisers had pulled up, and by leaning far to the right he could see that the downhill end of Crestallen Street West had been blocked off. A large crowd of people was standing behind the yellow crash barriers.

'Okay,' Albert said, sitting down. 'We got a minute. What do you want? A plane?'

'Plane?' he echoed stupidly.

Albert flapped his arms, still holding his notebook. 'Fly away, man. Just FLYYYYY away.'

'Oh.' He nodded to show that he understood. 'No, I don't want a plane.'

'Then what do you want?'

'I want,' he said carefully, 'to be just twenty with a lot of decisions to make over again.' He saw the look in Albert's eyes and said, 'I know I can't. I'm not that crazy.'

'You're shot.'

'Yes.'

'Is that what you said it is?' He was pointing at the master fuse and the battery.

'Yes. The main fuse goes to all the rooms in the house. Also the garage.'

'Where did you get the explosive?' Albert's voice was amiable but his eyes were alert.

'Found it in my Christmas stocking.'

He laughed. 'Say, that's not bad. I'm going to use that in my story.'

'Fine. When you go back out, tell all the policemen that they better move away. '

'Are you going to blow yourself up?' Albert asked. He looked interested, nothing more.

'I am contemplating it. '

'You know what, fellow? You've seen too many movies. '

'I don't go to the movies much anymore. I did see The Exorcist, though. I wish I hadn't. How are your movie guys coming out there?'

Albert peered out the window. 'Pretty good. We've got another minute. Your name is Dawes?'

'Did they tell you that?'