Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [24]
“Did you cut yourself?”
She looked up at him with a surprised expression—surprised because someone had been watching, or surprised that Jack had spoken to her?
“No,” she said. “It’s cold … so cold.”
Jack caught a glimpse of her palm before she hurried off. It looked bright red.
He glanced around—no one watching. He touched the door briefly, just long enough to feel that the metal was room temperature.
He looked at the retreating Saree. What was she talking about? One strange piney, that one.
Before moving on he scoped out the new lock: same model as the old one.
Think a new combination’s going to solve your problem, Toliver?
Think again.
5
“I’m going to rest my eyes awhile,” Mr. Rosen said as he headed for the back room. “You mind the store.”
Jack waved the rag he was using to polish an old oak table. “Take your time. I’ll let you know if things get too busy.”
“I should be so lucky.” He turned and looked at Jack. “Your friend, that Drexler man, he’ll be back?”
Jack laughed. “He’s not my friend.”
That seemed sort of like being friends with Skeletor.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
He couldn’t read Mr. Rosen’s expression. “I don’t understand.”
Mr. Rosen sighed. “Neither do I. I simply have a feeling he’s not a nice man, that he’s … dangerous.”
Jack stiffened, surprised. “What do you mean? Like a killer? An assassin?”
Mr. Rosen laughed. “Too many pulp magazines you read already!” His smile faded. He raised a hand and tapped a finger against the side of his head. “I mean dangerous here. Dangerous ideas.”
Jack still didn’t get it. “Hey, all I’m doing for him is mowing the Lodge’s lawn.”
“Yes, well … be careful.”
With that he turned toward the back room. Jack wondered at the vague warning, then shrugged it off as he remembered Mr. Kressy’s assignment.
“Hey, Mister Rosen. Do you have a first principle that guides your life?”
He stared at Jack. “Why for you ask me this?”
“It came up in school. I’m looking for a good one. Can you help me out?”
The old man shook his head, his expression bleak. “I’ve got one, but it won’t help you.”
“Try me.”
“‘Never again.’”
He turned and shuffled off to his nap.
Jack didn’t have a chance to ask for an explanation because in walked an older couple and a boy about Jack’s age. The woman was thin, wore a worn-looking housedress, and was puffing on a cigarette. The man was heavyset with a thick neck and short red hair. The boy looked like neither.
“Got any marbles?” the man said.
Jack pointed to a fishbowl half filled with all shapes and sizes. “Take your pick. Ten cents each.”
The boy’s eyes lit. “How many can I get?”
The man handed him two dollars. “Let’s start with twenty.”
As the boy reached into the bowl, the man wandered toward the back. “Gonna take a look around.”
“Looking for anything in particular?” Jack said.
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
The woman smoked and looked out the window while the boy poked around the shelves by the counter.
“You collect marbles?” Jack asked for want of anything better to say as he bagged the chosen marbles.
The boy raised his hands and mimicked firing a rifle. “Target practice. Twenty-twos.”
“Marbles? Where do you shoot marbles?”
“In the woods.”
“Around here?”
He shook his head. “We’re from Little Egg Harbor. Just riding around.”
Little Egg Harbor was on the east side of the Barrens.
“You must be a good shot if you’re hitting marbles.”
He grinned. “Getting there. Sarge is a great teacher. Gave me a Ruger seventy-seven. It’s really cool. Been shooting pinecones but now we’re looking for something smaller.”
Jack felt a pang of envy. He’d love a rifle. Not to hunt, just for target practice. He was sure his own dad could teach him to shoot as well as this Sarge. Maybe better. After all, hadn’t Mr. Bainbridge called him “Deadeye”?
Guns were common in and around the Pines. Lots of hunters. Deer season opened last month, and small-game hunters were waiting for pheasant and quail season to start