Needful Things - Stephen King [157]
"You know, I have something that might interest you," Mr.
Gaunt had said. He glanced around the store as if to verify that it was empty except for the two of them, then went to the door and turned the OPEN sign over to CLOSED. He returned to his spot by the cash register, rummaged under the counter, and came up with an unmarked manila envelope. "Have a look at these, Mr.
Bissonette," Mr. Gaunt said, and then dropped a rather lecherous man-of-the-world wink. "I think you'll be startled. Perhaps even amazed."
Stunned was more like it. It was the actress-model for whom Ricky lusted-it had to be!-and she was a lot more than just nude.
In some of the pictures she was with a well-known actor. In others, she was with two well-known actors, one of whom was old enough to be her grand father. And in still othersBut before he could see any of the others (and it appeared there were fifty or more, all brilliant eight-by-ten glossy color shots), Mr.
Gaunt had snatched them away.
"That's -!" Ricky gulped, mentioning a name which was well known to readers of the glossy tabloids and watchers of the glossy talk-shows.
"Oh, no," Mr. Gaunt said, while his jade-colored eyes said Oh, yes. "I'm sure it can't be but the resemblance is remarkable, isn't it? The sale of pictures such as these is illegal, of course-sexual content aside, the girl can't be a minute over seventeen, whoever she is-but I might be persuaded to deal for these just the same, Mr. Bissonette. The fever in my blood is not malaria but commerce. So! Shall we dicker?"
They dickered. Ricky Bissonette ended up purchasing seventytwo pornographic photographs for thirty-six dollars and this little prank.
He ran across the parsonage lawn bent over at the waist, settled into the shadow of the porch for a moment to make sure he was unwatched, then climbed the steps. He produced a plain white card from his back pocket, opened the mail-slot, and dropped the card through.
He eased the brass slot closed with the tips of his fingers, not wanting it to clack shut. Then he vaulted the porch railing and ran fleetly back across the lawn. He had big plans for the two or three hours of darkness which still remained to this Monday morning; they involved seventy-two photographs and a large bottle of jergens hand lotion.
The card looked like a white moth as it fluttered from the mailslot to the faded rug-runner in the front hall of the parsonage.
It landed message-side up: How you doing you Stupid Babtist Rat-Fuck.
We are writting you to say you better Quit talking out aginst our Casino Nite. We are just going to have a little fun we are not hurting You. Anyway a bunch of us Loyal Catholics are tired of your Babtist Bullshit. We know all You Babtists are a bunch of Cunt Lickers anyway.
Now to THIS You better Pay Atention, Reverund Steam-Boat Willy.
If you dont keept your Dick-Face out of Our business, we are going to stink You and your Ass-Face Buddies up so bad you will Stink Forever!
Leave us alone you Stupid Babtist Rat-Fuck or You WILL BE A SORRY SON OF A BITCH. "Just a Warning" from THE CONCERNED CATHOLIC MEN OF CASTLE ROCK Rev. Rose discovered the note when he came downstairs in his bathrobe to collect the morning paper. His reaction is perhaps better imagined than described.
Leland Gaunt stood at the window of the front room above Needful Things with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out across the town of Castle Rock.
The four-room apartment behind him would have raised eyebrows in town, for there was nothing in it-nothing at all. Not a bed, not an appliance, not a single chair. The closets stood open and empty. A few dust-bunnies tumbled lazily across