"OW!" said Arthur.
"You help me move this thing," said Walter, "or I'll shove you into that wall and crush you like a bug."
With great effort, most of it provided by Walter, they got the entertainment unit upright and began dragging and pushing it toward the hall, where Walter discovered that it was too tall for the hallway ceiling.
"SHIT!" he said. "We hafta get outside."
"What?" said Arthur.
"We hafta get outside, yell for the neighbors," said Walter.
"Outside?" said Arthur. "Attached to this thing? Are you outta your fucking mind?"
But Walter wasn't listening. He looked toward the foyer; there was no way the entertainment unit would go through the front door. So how had they gotten it into the house in the first place? He looked toward the family room, and saw the answer.
"This way," he said, giving the entertainment unit a mighty and purposeful yank.
"You see anything?" asked Leonard. He and Henry were in the dense vegetation that started at the edge of the Herk patio.
"No," said Henry. "But I'm hearing plenty."
"Yeah," said Leonard. "Sounds like they're breakin' furniture in there. Either that, or rap music."
"Whatever it is," said Henry, "I'm about ready to… Hey, look at that."
"Jesus," said Leonard, as the grunting, struggling figure of Walter Kramitz came into view, dragging the entertainment unit. "Is that a cop?"
"Miami PD," said Henry. "Big boy. What the hell is he doing?"
"Looks like he's attached to some kind of… I'll be goddamn," said Leonard, as Arthur came into view.
"There's our boy," said Henry. "Leads an interestin' life, don't he?"
They watched as the large, red-faced police officer dragged the even-larger entertainment unit, trailed by the reluctant Arthur Herk, relentlessly toward the very same sliding-glass door that Henry had shot a hole through just the other night. Somebody had put a piece of duct tape over the hole.
When they got to within a few feet of the door, Henry said, "I made a decision."
"Which is?" asked Leonard.
"Which is, I'm gonna take our boy out."
"Now?" asked Leonard. "While he's attached to a cop?"
"Yup," said Henry. "The cop can't do anything to us, cuffed to that thing. And I wanna get this job over with and get outta here. The longer we stay down here, the weirder it gets."
"You got that right," said Leonard. "This is Weirdsville Fuckin' USA, this town."
"So we're gonna do this," said Henry, raising his rifle, "and then we're bookin' to the airport."
"Amen," said Leonard, flailing futilely at a mosquito. "Airport sounds real good to me."
Roger the dog was not sure what to do. On the one hand, he had the Enemy Toad to growl at. But he also had people coming toward him from inside the house, and they might have food. Plus, the other people, the ones he'd greeted earlier at the far end of the yard, had come closer. Roger recalled, somewhere in his primitive brain circuitry, that these people had tasted pretty good. Maybe he should check them out again! But what about the toad? What about the people in the house? So many decisions!
Walter tried to slide the patio door open; it was locked, with the kind of lock that requires a key to open.
"Where's the key?" he asked Arthur.
"I dunno," said Arthur. He was very unhappy. His wrist was bleeding, from where the handcuff chafed.
"OK, then," said Walter, shoving the entertainment unit so it was parallel to the patio door. "On three, we're gonna smash this through the door."
"Like fuck we are," said Arthur.
Walter braced himself. "One," he said.
"What're they doing?" asked Leonard.
"They're making an excellent target," said Henry, sighting through the rifle scope.
"Two," said Walter.
"This is glass, you moron!" said Arthur. "You're gonna get us killed!"
"Three," said Walter, and with all his considerable strength he toppled the entertainment unit forward. At exactly that moment, two things happened. One was that Henry squeezed the trigger. The other was that Roger, having decided that he had just enough time in his busy schedule to check in with his new friends, ran headfirst into Henry's groin. The result was that the bullet, instead of passing through Arthur's skull, passed just over it. It could be argued that this was actually unfortunate for Arthur, in light of what happened next, which was that Arthur, dragged by the heavy steel shelf through the shattering window, was hurled forward headfirst to the patio, where he landed, dazed, facedown in Roger's dish, with his lips and nose pressed firmly against the Enemy Toad.
The toad, which was not about to share Roger's food, immediately emptied the glands behind its eyes, emitting two substantial, milky, highly hallucinogenic squirts of bufotenine directly into Arthur's face. Arthur moaned and yanked his head out of the dish. The toad went back to eating.
Henry and Leonard were heading for the wall, not running, but walking briskly in the dark.
"You get him?" asked Leonard.
"I think so," said Henry. "The dog ran into me, but I definitely saw our boy go down."
"Cop went down, too," said Leonard.
"Yeah," said Henry. "I think he ducked when he heard the shot."
"You got any idea why a cop would be helpin' our boy carry a big-ass shelf around the house?" asked Leonard.
"No," said Henry.
"Weirdsville Fuckin' USA," said Leonard.
"What kinda street name is Garbanzo?" asked Greer. He was reading the map; Seitz was driving. "Listen to these other streets they got here. Loquat. Kumquat. You believe that? Kumquat. Turn left here. You think they got our suitcase?"
"Sure sounds like it," said Seitz. "I mean, we been wrong before on this, but I tend to believe old Ivan was telling the truth."
"Me, too," said Greer. "He definitely did not wanna get his other shoe ventilated. That's it there, 238 Garbanzo, on the… What happened to the gate?"
"Somebody left in a hurry," said Seitz.
"Goin' where, I wonder," said Greer.
"Let's hope somebody inside can help us with that," said Seitz.
Walter was crouched in a pile of shattered glass, struggling to right the entertainment unit. He was getting no help from Arthur, who was still prone on the other side, moaning and rubbing his burning face with his free hand.
"Come ON," Walter said, shaking the shelving. "Get UP."
"My face!" moaned Arthur. "It got my face!"
"Well, whatever it is," said Walter, "we can get you some help if we get this thing…»
"GET AWAY!" Arthur screamed. "OHMIGOD GET AWAY FROM ME!"
Arthur was screaming at Roger, who was a few feet in front of him, enthusiastically snorking up a few pieces of kibble that had flown out of his dish when Arthur's face landed in it. Hearing the screams, Roger glanced up for a moment and wagged his tail to let Arthur know that he would be over to say hi just as soon as he had completed the important work at hand.
"For chrissakes," said Walter. "It's a dog. It's your dog."
Arthur turned to Walter, his face contorted by terror. "Can't you SEE?" he said. "You can't SEE her?"
"See what?" asked Walter. "What're you talking about?"
"HER!" said Arthur. "It's HER!!"
"Who?" asked Walter.
"THAT WOMAN!" said Arthur, pointing at the happily wagging Roger. "The one with the guy, you know… Bob Dole! His wife!"
Walter looked at Arthur, then at Roger, then back at Arthur. He said, "You think that's Elizabeth Dole?"
"YES!" said Arthur. "IT'S HER!" He was looking right at her, and she was definitely Elizabeth Dole, a woman he had always found vaguely scary, right in front of him, on his patio. But at the same time she was not Elizabeth Dole. She had Elizabeth Dole's face and highly disciplined hair, but her eyes were glowing red malevolent orbs, and she had huge, sharp teeth. Also she was eating kibble. Arthur knew — he knew — that she was a demon form of Elizabeth Dole, and she was here to take his soul.