I think maybe he's done it. I don't know how, and I don't care. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't like any of this, not one damn bit.
6
George Biondi also had something not to like. He doubted if Eddie Dean was going to be wild about it, either.
George was pretty sure that at some point after 'Cimi had come into the accountant's office and doused the lights, Henry had died. Died quietly, with no muss, no fuss, no bother. Had simply floated away like a dandelion spore on a light breeze. George thought maybe it had happened right around the time Claudio left to wash his shitty hand in the kitchen.
"Henry?" George muttered in Henry's ear. He put his mouth so close that it was like kissing a girl's ear in a movie theater, and that was pretty fucking gross, especially when you considered that the guy was probably dead―it was like narcophobia or whatever the fuck they called it―but he had to know, and the wall between this office and Balazar's was thin.
"What's wrong, George?" Tricks Postino asked.
"Shut up," 'Cimi said. His voice was the low rumble of an idling truck.
They shut up.
George slid a hand inside Henry's shirt. Oh, this was getting worse and worse. That image of being with a girl in a movie theater wouldn't leave him. Now here he was, feeling her up, only it wasn't a her but a him, this wasn't just narcophobia, it was fucking faggot narcophobia, and Henry's scrawny junkie's chest wasn't moving up and down, and there wasn't anything inside going thump-thump-thump. For Henry Dean it was all over, for Henry Dean the ball-game had been rained out in the seventh inning. Wasn't nothing ticking but his watch.
He moved into the heavy Old Country atmosphere of olive oil and garlic that surrounded 'Cimi Dretto.
"I think we might have a problem," George whispered.
7
Jack came out of the bathroom.
"There's no dope in there," he said, and his flat eyes studied Eddie. "And if you were thinking about the window, you can forget it. That's ten-gauge steel mesh."
"I wasn't thinking about the window and it is in there," Eddie said quietly. "You just don't know where to look."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Balazar," Andolini said, "but this crock is getting just a little too full for me."
Balazar studied Eddie as if he hadn't even heard Andolini. He was thinking very deeply.
Thinking about magicians pulling rabbits out of hats.
You got a guy from the audience to check out the fact that the hat was empty. What other thing that never changed? That no one saw into the hat but the magician, of course. And what had the kid said? I'm going to walk into your bathroom. I'm going in by myself.
Knowing how a magic trick worked was something he usually wouldn't want to know; knowing spoiled the fun.
Usually.
This, however, was a trick he couldn't wait to spoil.
"Fine," he said to Eddie. "If it's in there, go get it. Just like you are. Bare-ass."
"Good," Eddie said, and started toward the bathroom door.
"But not alone," Balazar said. Eddie stopped at once, his body stiffening as if Balazar had shot him with an invisible harpoon, and it did Balazar's heart good to see it. For the first time something hadn't gone according to the kid's plan. "Jack's going with you."
"No," Eddie said at once. "That's not what I―"
"Eddie," Balazar said gently, "you don't tell me no. That's one thing you never do."
8
It's all right, the gunslinger said. Let him come.
But …but …
Eddie was close to gibbering, barely holding onto his control. It wasn't just the sudden curve-ball Balazar had thrown him; it was his gnawing worry over Henry, and, growing steadily ascendant over all else, his need for a fix.
Let him come. It will be all right. Listen:
Eddie listened.
9
Balazar watched him, a slim, naked man with only the first suggestion of the junkie's typical cave-chested slouch, his head cocked to one side, and as he watched Balazar felt some of his confidence evaporate. It was as if the kid was listening to a voice only he could hear.
The same thought passed through Andolini's mind, but in a different way: What's this? He looks like the dog on those old RCA Victor records!
Col had wanted to tell him something about Eddie's eyes. Suddenly Jack Andolini wished he had listened.
Wish in one hand, shit in the other, he thought.
If Eddie had been listening to voices inside his head, they had either quit talking or he had quit paying attention.
"Okay," he said. "Come along, Jack. I'll show you the Eighth Wonder of the World." He flashed a smile that neither Jack Andolini or Enrico Balazar cared for in the slightest.
"Is that so?" Andolini pulled a gun from the clamshell holster attached to his belt at the small of his back. "Am I gonna be amazed?"
Eddie's smile widened. "Oh yeah. I think this is gonna knock your socks off."
10
Andolini followed Eddie into the bathroom. He was holding the gun up because his wind was up.
"Close the door," Eddie said.
"Fuck you," Andolini answered.
"Close the door or no dope," Eddie said.
"Fuck you," Andolini said again. Now, a little scared, feeling that there was something going on that he didn't understand, Andolini looked brighter than he had in the van.
"He won't close the door," Eddie yelled at Balazar. "I'm getting ready to give up on you, Mr. Balazar. You probably got six wiseguys in this place, every one of them with about four guns, and the two of you are going batshit over a kid in a crapper. Ajunkie kid."
"Shut the fucking door, Jack!" Balazar shouted.
"That's right," Eddie said as Jack Andolini kicked the door shut behind him. "Is you a man or is you a m―"
"Oh boy, ain't I had enough of this turd," Andolini said to no one in particular. He raised the gun, butt forward, meaning to pistol-whip Eddie across the mouth.
Then he froze, gun drawn up across his body, the snarl that bared his teeth slackening into a slack-jawed gape of surprise as he saw what Col Vincent had seen in the van.
Eddie's eyes changed from brown to blue.
"Now grab him!" a low, commanding voice said, and although the voice came from Eddie's mouth, it was not Eddie's voice.
Schizo, Jack Andolini thought. He's gone schizo, gone fucking schi―
But the thought broke off when Eddie's hands grabbed his shoulders, because when that happened, Andolini saw a hole in reality suddenly appear about three feet behind Eddie.
No, not a hole. Its dimensions were too perfect for that.
It was a door.
"Hail Mary fulla grace," Jack said in a low breathy moan. Through that doorway which hung in space a foot or so above the floor in front of Balazar's private shower he could see a dark beach which sloped down to crashing waves. Things were moving on that beach. Things.
He brought the gun down, but the blow which had been meant to break off all of Eddie's front teeth at the gum-line did no more than mash Eddie's lips back and bloody them a little. All the strength was running out of him. Jack could feel it happening.