The Bachman Books

thing turns into a hairball. But you got to tell us what you want. '

'You,' I said.

The breath stopped. Then it started again, puffing and blowing. It was starting to really get on my nerves. 'You'll have to explain that,' he said.

'Certainly, sir,' I said. 'We can make a deal. Would you like to make a deal? Is that what you were saying?'

No answer. Puff, snort. Philbrick was on the six-o'clock news every Memorial Day and Labor Day, reading a please-drive-safely message off the teleprompter with a certain lumbering ineptitude that was fascinating and almost endearing. I had felt there was something familiar about him, something intimate that smacked of deja vu. Now I could place it. The breathing. Even on TV he sounded like a bull getting ready to mount Farmer Brown's cow in the back forty.

'What's your deal?'

'Tell me something first,' I said. 'Is there anybody out there who thinks I might just decide to see how many people I can plug down here? Like Don Grace, for instance?'

'That piece of shit,' Sylvia said, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

'Who said that?' Philbrick barked.

Sylvia went white.

'Me,' I said. 'I have certain transsexual tendencies too, sir.' I didn't figure he would know what that meant and would be too wary to ask. 'Could you answer my question?'

'Some people think you might go the rest of the way out of your gourd, yes,' he answered weightily. Somebody at the back of the room tittered. I don't think the intercom picked it up.

'Okay, then,' I said. 'The deal is this. You be the hero. Come down here. Unarmed. Come inside with your hands on your head. I'll let everybody go. Then I'll blow your fucking head off. Sir. How's that for a deal? You buy it?'

Puff, snort, blow. 'You got a dirty mouth, fella. There are girls down there. Young girls. '

Irma Bates looked around, startled, as if someone had just called her.

'The deal,' I said. 'The deal.'

'No,' Philbrick said. 'You'd shoot me and hold on to the hostages.' Puff, snort. 'But I'll come down. Maybe we can figure something out.'

'Fella,' I said patiently, 'if you sign off and I don't see you going out the same door you came in within fifteen seconds, someone in here is just going to swirl down the spout. '

Nobody looked particularly worried at the thought of just swirling down the spout.

Puff, puff. 'Your chances of getting out of this alive are getting slimmer.'

'Frank, my man, none of us get out of it alive. Even my old man knows that. '

'Will you come out?'

'No. '

'If that's how you feel.' He didn't seem upset. 'There's a boy named Jones down there. I want to speak with him.'

It seemed okay. 'You're on, Ted,' I told him. 'Your big chance, boy. Don't blow it. Folks, this kid is going to dance his balls off before your very eyes.'

Ted was looking earnestly at the black grating of the intercom. 'This is Ted Jones, sir. ' On him, 'sir' sounded good.

'Is everyone down there still all right, Jones?'

'Yes, sir. '

'How do you judge Decker's stability?'

'I think he's apt to do anything, sir,' he said, looking directly at me. There was a savage leer in his eyes. Carol looked suddenly angry. She opened her mouth as if to refute, and then, perhaps remembering her upcoming responsibilities as valedictorian and Leading Lamp of the Western World, she closed her mouth with a snap.

'Thank you, Mr. Jones.'

Ted looked absurdly pleased at being called mister.

'Decker?'

'Right here.'

Snort, snort. 'Be seeing you.'

'I better see you,' I said. 'Fifteen seconds.' Then, as an afterthought: 'Philbrick?'

'Yeah?'

'You've got a shitty habit, you know it? I've noticed it on all those TV drive-safely pitches that you do. You breathe in people's ears. You sound like a stallion in heat, Philbrick. That's a shitty habit. You also sound like you're reading off a teleprompter, even when you're not. You ought to take care of stuff like that. You might save a life.'

Philbrick puffed and snorted thoughtfully.

'Screw, buddy,' he said, and the intercom clicked off.