'Give me the gist.'
'Old man Sharp and the kid apparently came to the same conclusion using different chains of logic. The old man sees the Zingers thing as a replay of the Alamo - we're the good guys standing on the battlements, standing by to repel the boarders. All got to stick together, all for one and one for all.'
'Yeah, I knew he had that in him,' Vic said, rubbing the back of his neck. 'He's a loyal old bastard. That's why he came with us when we left New York.'
'The kid would still like to get rid of us, but he doesn't think this is the right time. He thinks it would be interpreted as a sign of weakness and even possible culpability. Can you believe it?'
'I could believe anything coming from that paranoid little twerp.'
'They want us to fly to Cleveland and sign a new two-year contract. It's not a five-year deal, and when it's up the kid's almost sure to be in charge and we'll undoubtedly be invited to take a long walk off a short dock, but two years ... it's enough time, Vic! In two years we'll be on top of it! We can tell them --'
'Roger, I've got to
'- to take their lousy pound cake and pound it up their asses! They also want to discuss the new campaign, and I think they'll go for the Cereal Professor's swan song, too.'
'That's great, Roger, but I've got to find out what the Christ has been happening with Donna and Tad.'
'Yeah. Yeah. I guess it was a lousy time to call, but I couldn't keep it to myself, man. I would have busted like a balloon.'
‘There's no bad time for good news,' Vic said. All the same, he felt a stab of jealousy, as painful as a silver sharpened bone, at the happy relief in Roger's voice, and a bitter disappointment that he couldn't share in Roger's feelings. But maybe it was a good omen.
'Vic, call me when you hear, okay?'
'I will, Rog. Thanks for the call.'
He hung up, slipped into his loafers, and went downstairs. The kitchen was still a mess - it made his stomach do a slow and giddy rollover just to look at it. But there was a note from Masen on the table, pegged down with a salt shaker.
Mr. Trenton,
Steve Kemp has been picked, up in a western Massachusetts town, Twickenham. Your wife and son are not, repeat, are not, with him.
I did not wake you with this news because Kemp is standing on his right to remain silent. Barring any complication, he will be brought directly to the Scarborough S.P. barracks for charging on vandalism and possession of illegal drugs. We estimate him here by 11:30 A.M. If anything breaks, I'll call you soonest.
Andy Masen
'Fuck his right to remain silent,' Vic growled. He went into the living room, got the number of the Scarborough State Police barracks, and made the call.
'Mr. Kemp is here,' the duty officer told him. 'He got here about fifteen minutes ago. Mr. Masen is with him now. Kemp's called a lawyer. I don't think Mr. Masen can come to the –‘
'You never mind what he can or can't do,' Vic said. 'You tell him it's Donna Trenton's husband and I want him to shag his ass over to the phone and talk to me.'
A few moments later, Masen came on the line.
'Mr. Trenton, I appreciate your concern, but this brief time before Kemp's lawyer gets here can be very valuable.'
'What's he told you?'
Masen hesitated and then said, 'He's admitted to the vandalism. I think he finally realized this thing was a lot heavier than a little nose candy stashed in the wheel well of his van. He admitted the vandalism to the Massachusetts officers who brought him over here. But he claims that nobody was home when he did it, and that he left it undisturbed.'
'You don't believe that shit, do you?'
Masen said carefully,' He's quite convincing. I couldn't say that I believe anything right now. If I could just ask him a few more questions -'
'Nothing came of Camber's Garage?'
'No. I sent Sheriff Bannerman up there with instructions to call in immediately if Mrs Trenton had been there or if her car was there.
And since he didn't call back in -'
'That's hardly definitive, is it?' Vic asked sharply.
'Mr. Trenton, I really must go. If we hear any - '
Vic slammed the telephone down and stood breathing rapidly in the hot silence of the living room. Then he went slowly to the stairs and mounted them. He stood in the upstairs hall for a moment and then went into his son's room. Tad's trucks were lined up neatly against the wall, slant-parking style. Looking at them hurt his heart. Tad's yellow slicker was hung on the brass hook by his bed, and his coloring books were piled neatly on his desk. His closet door was open. Vic shut it absently and, barely thinking about what he was doing, put Tad's chair in front of it.
He sat on Tad's bed, hands dangling between his legs, and looked out into the hot, bright day.
Dead ends. Nothing but dead ends, and where were they?
(dead ends)
Now there was an ominous phrase if ever one had been coined.
Dead ends. As a boy Tad's age he had been fascinated with dead-end roads, his mother had told him once. He wondered if that sort of thing was inherited, if Tad was interested in dead-end roads. He wondered if Tad was still alive.
And it suddenly occurred to him that Town Road No. 3, where Joe Camber's Garage stood, was a dead-end road.
He suddenly looked around and saw that the wall over the head of Tad's bed was bare. The Monster Words were gone. Now why had he taken those? Or had Kemp taken them for some weird reason of his own? But if Kemp had been in here, why hadn't he trashed Tad's room as he had those downstairs?
