Needful Things - Stephen King [195]
Not with this vehicle. Not at all."
Ace heard himself say: "I sure would like to have a car like your Tucker, Mr. Gaunt, sir. It's great."
"Well, perhaps we can do a deal. You see, Ace, I have a very simple business policy. Would you like to know what it is?"
"Sure." And Ace was sincere.
"Everything is for sale. That's my philosophy. Everything is for sale."
"Everything's for sale," Ace said dreamily. "Wow! Heavy!"
"Right! Heavy! Now, Ace, I believe I'll have a bite to eat.
I've just been too busy to do it, holiday or no holiday. I'd ask you to join me, but-" "Gee, I really can't."
"No, of course not. You have places to go and holes to dig." don't you? I'll expect you tomorrow night, between eight and nine."
"Between eight and nine."
"Yes. After dark."
"When nobody knows and nobody sees," Ace said dreamily.
"Got it in one! Goodnight, Ace."
Mr. Gaunt held out his hand. Ace began to reach for it and then saw there was already something in it. It was the brown rat from the trap in the storeroom. Ace pulled back with a little grunt of disgust. He hadn't the slightest idea when Mr. Gaunt had picked up the dead rat. Or perhaps it was a different one?
Ace decided he didn't care, one way or another. All he knew was that he had no plans to shake hands with a dead rat, no matter how cool a dude Mr. Gaunt was.
Smiling, Mr. Gaunt said: "Excuse me. Every year I grow a little more forgetful. I believe I just tried to give you my dinner, Ace!"
"Dinner," Ace said in a faint little voice.
"Yes indeed." A thick yellow thumbnail plunged into the white fur which covered the rat's belly; a moment later, its intestines were oozing into Mr. Gaunt's unmarked palm. Before Ace could see more, Mr.
Gaunt had turned away and was pulling the alley door closed.
"Now, where did I put that cheese-?"
There was a heavy metallic snick! as the lock engaged.
Ace leaned over, sure he was going to vomit between his shoes.
His stomach clenched, his gorge rose and then sank back again.
Because he hadn't seen what he thought he'd seen. "It was a joke," he muttered. "He had a rubber rat in his coat pocket, or something. It was just a joke."
Was it? What about the intestines, then? And the cold, jellylike mung which had surrounded them? What about that?
You're just tired, he thought. You imagined it, that's all. It was a rubber rat. As for the rest poof But for a moment everything-the deserted garage, the selfdirected Tucker, even that ominous piece of graffiti, YOGSOTHOTH RULES-tried to cram in on him, and a powerful voice yelled: Get out of here! Get out while there's still time!
But that was the really crazy thought. There was money waiting for him out there in the night. Maybe a lot of it. Maybe a son-ofa-bitching fortune.
Ace stood in the darkness for a few minutes like a robot with a flat power-pack. Little by little some sense of reality-some sense of himself-returned, and he decided the rat didn't matter. Neither did the Tucker Talisman. The blow mattered, and the ma mattered, and he had an idea that Mr. Gaunt's very simple business policy mattered, but nothing else. He couldn't let anything else matter.
He walked down the alley and around the corner to the front of Needful Things. The shop was closed and dark, like all the shops on Lower Main Street. A Chevy Celebrity was parked in one of the slant spaces in front of Mr. Gaunt's shop, just as promised. Ace tried to remember if it had been there when he arrived with the Talisman, and really couldn't do it. Every time he tried to cast his mind back to any memories before the last few minutes, it ran into a roadblock; he saw himself moving to accept Mr. Gaunt's offered hand, most natural thing in the world, and suddenly realizing that Mr. Gaunt was holding a large dead rat.
I believe I'll have a bite to eat. I'd ask you to Join me, butWell, it was just something else that didn't matter. The Chevy was here now, and that was all that