Needful Things - Stephen King [196]
"Mr. Gaunt, you think of everything," he said, and slammed the trunk. As he did, he saw there was a sticker on the Celebrity's rear bumper, and he bent closer to read it:
I V ANTIQUES
Ace began to laugh. He was still laughing as he drove across the Tin Bridge and headed toward the old Treblehorn place, which he intended to make the site of his first dig. As he drove up Panderly's Hill on the other side of the bridge, he passed a convertible headed in the other direction, toward town. The convertible was filled with young men. They were singing "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" at the top of their voices, and in perfect one-part Baptist harmony.
9
One of those young men was Lester Ivanhoe Pratt. Following the touch-football game, he and a bunch of the guys had driven up to Lake Auburn, about twenty-five miles away. There was a week-long tent revival going on up there, and Vic Tremayne had said there would be a special five o'clock Columbus Day prayer-meeting and hymn-sing. Since Sally had Lester's car and they'd made no plans for the evening-no movie, no dinner out at McDonald's in South Paris-he'd gone along with Vic and the other guys, good Christian fellows every one.
He knew, of course, why the other guys were so eager to make the trip, and the reason wasn't religion-not entirely religion, anyway.
There were always lots of pretty girls at the tent revivals which crisscrossed northern New England between May and the last state fair ox-pull at the end of October, and a good hymn-sing (not to mention a mess of hot preaching and a dose of that oldtime Jesus spirit) always put them in a merry, eager mood.
Lester, who had a girl, looked upon the plans and schemes of his friends with the indulgence an old married man might show for the antics of a bunch of young bucks. He went along mostly to be friendly, and because he always liked to listen to some good preaching and do some singing after an exhilarating afternoon of headknocking and body-blocking. It was the best way of cooling down he knew.
It had been a good meeting, but an awful lot of people had wanted to be saved at the end of it. As a result, it had gone on a little longer than Lester would have wished. He had been planning to call Sally and ask her if she wanted to go out to Weeksie's for an ice-cream soda or something. Girls liked to do things like that on the spur of the moment sometimes, he had noticed.
They crossed the Tin Bridge, and Vic let him out on the corner of Main and Watermill.
"Great game, Les!" Bill MacFarland called from the back seat.
"Sure was!" Lester called back cheerily. "Let's do it again Saturday-maybe I can break your arm instead of just spraining it!"
The four young men in Vic's car roared heartily at this piece of wit and then Vic drove away. The sound of "Jesus Is a Friend Forever" drifted back on air which was still strangely summery.
You expected a chill to creep into it even during the warmest spells of Indian summer weather after the sun went down. Not tonight, though.
Lester walked slowly up the hill toward home, feeling tired and sore and utterly contented. Every day was a fine day when you'd given your heart to Jesus, but some days were finer than others.
This had been one of the finest kind, and all he wanted right now was to shower up, call Sally, and then jump into bed.
He was looking up at the stars, trying to make out the constellation Orion, when he turned into his driveway. As a result he ran balls-first, and at a brisk walking pace, into the rear end of his Mustang.
"Oooof!" Lester Pratt cried. He backed up, bent over, and clasped his wounded testicles. After a few moments, he managed