Needful Things - Stephen King [284]
He watched, eyes wide and helpless, as Sonny bent down toward him. The muzzle of the gun Sonny held was as big as the mouth of a tunnel and as dark as forever. Above it, Sonny's face was pale and set. A streak of grease ran down one cheek.
"Planning to steal my new socket-wrench set wasn't your mistake,"
Sonny said as he pressed the barrel of the automatic against the center of Eddie Warburton's forehead. "Writing and telling me you were gonna do it that was your mistake."
A great white light-the light of understanding-suddenly went on in Eddie's mind. Now he remembered the letter he had pushed through the Chalmers woman's mail-slot, and he found himself able to put that piece of mischief together with the note he had received and the one Sonny was talking about.
"Listen!" he whispered. "You have to listen to me, jackett-we been played for suckers, both of us. We-" "Goodbye, black boy," Sonny said, and pulled the trigger.
Sonny looked fixedly at what remained of Eddie Warburton for almost a full minute, wondering if he should have listened to what Eddie had to say. He decided the answer was no. What could a fellow dumb enough to send a note like that have to say that could possibly matter?
Sonny got up, walked into the office, and stepped over Ricky Bissonette's legs. He opened the safe and took out the adjustable socket-wrenches Mr. Gaunt had sold him. He was still looking at them, picking each one up, handling it lovingly, then putting it back in the custom case again, when the State Police arrived to take him into custody.
5
Park at the corner of Birch and Main, Mr. Gaunt had told Buster on the telephone, and just wait. I will send someone to you.
Buster had followed these instructions to the letter. He had seen a great many comings and goings at the mouth of the service alley from his vantage point one block up-almost all his friends and neighbors, it seemed to him, had a little business to do with Mr. Gaunt this evening. Ten minutes ago the Rusk woman had walked down there with her dress unbuttoned, looking like something out of a bad dream.
Then, not five minutes after she came back out of the alley, putting something into her dress pocket (the dress was still unbuttoned and you could see a lot, but who in his right mind, Buster wondered, would want to look), there had been several gunshots from farther up Main Street. Buster couldn't be sure, but he thought they came from the Sunoco station.
State Police cruisers came winding up Main from the Municipal Building, their blue lights flashing, scattering reporters like pigeons.
Disguise or no disguise, Buster decided it would be prudent to climb into the back of the van for a little while.
The State Police cars roared by, and their whirling blue lights picked out something which leaned against the van's rear doorsa green canvas duffle bag. Curious, Buster undid the knot in the drawstring, pulled the mouth of the bag open, and looked inside.
There was a box on top of the bag's contents. Buster took it out and saw the rest of the duffle was full of timers. Hotpoint clocktimers. There were easily two dozen of them. Their smooth white faces stared up at him like pupilless Orphan Annie eyes. He opened the box he had removed and saw it was full of alligator clips-the kind electricians sometimes used to make quick connections.
Buster frowned and then, suddenly, his mind's eye saw an office form-a Castle Rock fund-release form, to be exact. Typed neatly in the space provided for Goods and/or Services to Be Supplied were these words: 16 CASES OF DYNAMITE.
Sitting in the back of the van, Buster began to grin. Then he began to laugh. Outside, thunder boomed and rolled. A tongue of lightning licked out of the dragging belly of a cloud and jabbed down into Castle Stream.
Buster went on laughing. He laughed until the van shook with it.
"Them!" he cried, laughing. "Oh, boy, have we got something for Them! Have we ever!"
6
Henry Payton, who had come to Castle Rock to pull Sheriff Pangborn's smoking irons out of the fire, stood in the doorway