'Maybe it was the plane that pushed them over the edge,'Twitch said. 'The Air Ireland that hit the Dome yesterday.'
Henrietta didn't answer with words; she hawked back and spat snot into the kitchen sink. It was a somehow shocking gesture of repudiation. They went back outside.
'More people will do this, won't they?' she asked when they had reached the end of the driveway.'Because suicide gets in the air sometimes. Like a cold germ.'
'Some already have.' Twitch didn't know if suicide was painless, as the song said, but under the right circumstances, it could certainly be catching. Maybe especially catching when the situation was unprecedented and the air started to smell as foul as it did on this windless, unnaturally warm morning.
'Suicides are cowards,' Henrietta said. 'A rule to which there are no exceptions, Douglas.'
Twitch, whose father had died a long and lingering death as a result of stomach cancer, wondered about that but said nothing.
Henrietta bent to Buddy with her hands on her bony knees. Buddy stretched his neck up to sniff her. 'Come next door, my furry friend. I have three eggs. You may eat them before they go bad.'
She started away, then turned back to Twitch. 'They are cowards,' she said, giving each word its own special emphasis.
5
Jim Rennie checked out of Cathy Russell, slept soundly in his own bed, and woke refreshed. Although he would not have admitted it to anyone, part of the reason was knowing Junior was out of the house.
Now, at eight o'clock, his black Hummer was parked a door or two up from Rosie's (in front of a fire hydrant, but what the hell; currently there was no fire department). He was having breakfast with Peter Randolph, Mel Searles, Freddy Denton, and Carter Thibodeau. Carter had taken up what was becoming his usual station, at Big Jim s right hand. He wore two guns this morning: his own on his hip, and Linda Everett's recently returned Beretta Taurus in a shoulder rig.
The quintet had taken over the bullshit table at the back of the restaurant, deposing the regulars without a qualm. Rose wouldn't come near; she sent Anson to deal with them.
Big Jim ordered three fried eggs, double sausage, and home toast fried in bacon grease, the way his mother used to serve it. He knew he was supposed to be cutting down on his cholesterol, but today he was going to need all the energy he could pack in. The next few days, actually; after that, things would be under control. He could go to work on his cholesterol then (a fable he had been telling himself for ten years).
'Where's the Bowies?' he asked Carter. 'I wanted the goshdarn Bowies here, so where are they?'
"Had to roll on a call out to Battle Street,' Carter said. 'Mr and Mrs Freeman committed suicide.'
'That cotton-picker topped himself?' Big Jim exclaimed. The few patrons - most at the counter, watching CNN - looked around, then looked away. 'Well, there! I'm not a bit surprised!' It occurred to him that now the Toyota dealership could be his for the taking... but why would he want it? A much bigger plum had fallen into his lap: the whole town. He had already started drafting a list of executive orders, which he would begin putting into effect as soon as hel was granted full executive powers. That would happen tonight. And besides, he had hated that smarmy sonofabuck Freeman and his titsy rhymes-with-witch wife for years.
'Boys, he and Lois are eating breakfast in heaven.' He paused, then burst out laughing. Not very political, but he just couldn't help it. 'In the servants' quarters, I have no doubt.'
'While the Bowies were out there, they got another call,' Carter said. I'Dinsmore farm. Another suicide.'
'Who?' Chief Randolph asked.'Arlen?'
j'No. His wife. Shelley'
That actually was sort of a shame. 'Let's us bow our heads for a minute,' Big Jim said, and extended his hands. Carter took one; Mel Searles took the other; Randolph and Denton linked up.
'Ohgod pleaseblessthesepoorsouls, Jesussakeamen,' Big Jim said, and raised his head. 'Little business, Peter.'
Peter hauled out his notebook. Carter's was already laid beside his plate; Big Jim liked the boy more and more.
'I've found the missing propane,' Big Jim announced. 'It's at WCIK.'
'Jesus!' Randolph said. 'We have to send some trucks out there to get it!'
'Yes, but not today,' Big Jim said. 'Tomorrow, while everyone's visiting their relatives. I've already started working on that.The Bowies and Roger will go out again, but we'll need a few officers, too. Fred, you and Mel. Plus I'm going to say four or five more. Not you, Carter, I want you with me.'
'Why do you need cops to get a bunch of propane tanks?' Randolph said.
'Well,' Jim said, mopping up egg yolk with a piece of fried toast, 'that goes back to our friend Dale Barbara and his plans to destabilize this town. There are a couple of armed men out there, and it looks like they may be protecting some kind of drug lab. I think Barbara had that in place long before he actually showed up in person; this was well planned. One of the current caretakers is Philip Bushey'
'That loser,' Randolph grunted.
'The other one, I'm sorry to say, is Andy Sanders.'
Randolph had been spearing fried potatoes. Now he dropped his fork with a clatter. 'Andy!'
'Sad but true. It was Barbara who set him up in business - I have that on good authority, but don't ask me for my source; he's requested anonymity.' Big Jim sighed, then stuffed a yolk-smeared chunk of fried bread into his cakehole. Dear Lord but he felt good this morning! 'I suppose Andy needed the money. I understand the bank was on the verge of foreclosing his drugstore. He never did have a head for business.'
'Or town government, either,' Freddy Denton added.
Big Jim ordinarily did not enjoy being interrupted by inferiors, but this morning he was enjoying everything. 'Unfortunately true,' he said, then leaned over the table as far as his large belly would allow. 'He and Bushey shot at one of the trucks I sent out there yesterday. Blew the front tires. Those cotton-pickers are dangerous.'