Needful Things - Stephen King [77]
She had seen hundreds of pictures of The King, maybe thousands, and owned half a dozen herself, but this one had seemed special, somehow. She hated the woman from Oklahoma.
Then Mr. Gaunt came back with a small lizard-skin spectacles case. He opened it and showed Cora a pair of aviator glasses with lenses of a deep smoky gray. Her breath caught in her throat; her right hand rose to her quivering neck.
"Are those-" she began, and could say no more.
"The King's sunglasses," Mr. Gaunt agreed gravely. "One of sixty pairs. But I'm told these were his favorites."
Cora bought the sunglasses for nineteen dollars and fifty cents.
"I'd like a little information, as well." Mr. Gaunt looked at Cora with twinkling eyes. "Let's call it a surcharge, shall we?"
"Information?" Cora asked doubtfully. "What sort of information?"
"Look out the window, Cora."
Cora did as she was asked, but her hands never left the sunglasses. Across the street, Castle Rock's Unit I was parked in front of The Clip joint. Alan Pangborn stood on the sidewalk, talking to Bill Fullerton.
"Do you see that fellow?" Gaunt asked.
"Who? Bill Ful-" "No, you dummy," Gaunt said. "The other one."
"Sheriff Pangborn?"
"Right."
"Yes, I see him." Cora felt dull and dazed. Gaunt's voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. She could not stop thinking about her purchase the wonderful sunglasses. She wanted to get home and try them on right away but of course she couldn't leave until she was allowed to leave, because the dealing wasn't done until Mr. Gaunt said the dealing was done.
"He looks like what folks in my line of work call a tough sell,"
Mr. Gaunt said. "What do you think about him, Cora?"
"He's smart," Cora said. "He'll never be the Sheriff old George Bannerman was-that's what my husband says-but he's smart as a whip."
"Is he?" Mr. Gaunt's voice had taken on that nagging, tired edge again. His eyes had narrowed to slits, and they never left Alan Pangborn. "Well, do you want to know a secret, Cora? I don't much care for smart people, and I hate a tough sell. In fact, I loathe a tough sell. I don't trust people who always want to turn things over and look for cracks before they buy them, do you?"
Cora said nothing. She only stood with The King's sunglasses case in her left hand and stared blankly out the window.
"If I wanted someone to keep an eye on smart old Sheriff Pangborn, Cora, who would be a good choice?"
"Polly Chalmers," Cora said in her drugged voice. "She's awful sweet on him."
Gaunt shook his head at once. His eyes never left the Sheriff as Alan walked to his cruiser, glanced briefly across the street at Needful Things, then got in and drove away. "Won't do."
"Sheila Brigham?" Cora asked doubtfully. "She's the dispatcher down at the Sheriff's Office."
"A good idea, but she won't do, either. Another tough sell.
There are a few in every town, Cora-unfortunate, but true."
Cora thought it over in her dim, distant way. "Eddie Warburton?" she asked at last. "He's the head custodian at the Municipal Building."
Gaunt's face lit up. "The janitor!" he said. "Yes! Excellent!
Fifth Business! Really excellent!" He leaned over the counter and planted a kiss on Cora's cheek.
She drew away, grimacing and rubbing frantically at the spot.
A brief gagging noise came from her throat, but Gaunt appeared not to notice. His face was wreathed in a large, shining smile.
Cora left (still rubbing her cheek with the heel of her hand) as Stephanie Bonsaint and Cyndi Rose Martin of the Ash Street Bridge Club came in. Cora almost bowled Steffie Bonsaint over in her hurry; she felt a deep