Needful Things - Stephen King [102]
6
"John!" Alan called asjohn LaPointe slipped into the Sheriff's Office by the alley door. "Good to see you!"
It was ten-thirty on Saturday morning and the Castle Rock Sheriff's Office was as deserted as it ever got. Norris was out fishing somewhere, and Seaton Thomas was down in Sanford, visiting his two old-maid sisters. Sheila Brigham was at the Our Lady of Serene Waters rectory, helping her brother draft another letter to the paper explaining the essentially harmless nature of Casino Nite. Father Brigham also wanted the letter to express his belief that William Rose was as crazy as a cootiebug in a shitheap. One could not come right out and say such a thing, of course-not in a family newspaper-but Father John and Sister Sheila were doing the best they could to get the point across. Andy Clutterbuck was on duty somewhere, or so Alan assumed; he hadn't called in since Alan arrived at the office an hour ago. Until John showed up, the only other person in the Municipal Building seemed to be Eddie Warburton, who was fussing with the water-cooler in the corner.
"What's up, doc?" John asked, sitting on the corner of Alan's desk.
"On Saturday morning? Not much. But watch this." Alan unbuttoned the right cuff of his khaki shirt and pushed the sleeve up.
"Please notice that my hand never leaves my wrist."
"Uh-huh," John said. He Pulled a stick of juicy Fruit out of his pants pocket, peeled off the wrapper, and stuck it in his mouth.
Alan showed his open right palm, flipped his hand to display the back, then closed the hand into a fist. He reached into it with his left index finger and pulled out a tiny ear of silk. He waggled his eyebrows at John. "Not bad, huh?"
"If that's Sheila's scarf, she's gonna be unhappy to find it all wrinkled up and smelling of your sweat," John said. He seemed less than poleaxed with wonder.
"Not my fault she left it on her desk," Alan replied. "Besides, magicians don't sweat. Now say-hey and abracadabra!" He pulled Sheila's scarf from his fist and puffed it dramatically into the air.
It billowed out, then settled onto Norris's typewriter like a brightly colored butterfly. Alan looked at John, then sighed. "Not that great, huh?"
"It's a neat trick," John said, "but I've seen it a few times before.
Like maybe thirty or forty?"
"What do you think, Eddie?" Alan called. "Not bad for a backwoods Deputy Daws, huh?"
Eddie barely looked up from the cooler, which he was now filling from a supply of plastic jugs labelled SPRING WATER.
"Didn't see, Shurf. Sorry."
"Hopeless, both of you," Alan said. "But I'm working on a variation, John. It's going to wow you, I promise."
"Uh-huh. Alan, do You still want me to check the bathrooms at that new restaurant out on the River Road?"
"I still do," Alan said.
"Why do I always get the shit detail? Why can't Norris-".'
Norris checked the Happy Trails Campground johns in July and August,"
Alan said. "In June I did it. Quit bitching, Johnny.
It's just your turn. I want you to take water samples, too. Use a couple of the special pouches they sent from Augusta. There's still a bunch in that cabinet in the hallway. I think I saw 'em behind Norris's box of Hi-Ho crackers."
"Okay," John said, "you got it. But at the risk of sounding like I'm bitching again, checking the water for wigglebugs is supposed to be the restaurant-owner's responsibility. I looked it up."
"Of course it is," Alan said, "but we're talking Timmy Gagnon here, Johnny-what does that tell you?"
"It tells me I wouldn't buy a hamburger at the new Riverside B-B-Q Delish if I was dying of starvation."
"Correct!" Alan exclaimed. He rose to his feet and clapped John on the shoulder. "I'm hoping we can put the sloppy little son of a bitch out of business before the stray dog and cat population of Castle Rock starts to decline."
"That's pretty sick, Alan."
"Nope-that's Timmy Gagnon. Get the water samples this