Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [18]
He stalked away, weaving angrily through the crowded tables, and slammed the door behind him. At the counter, Josie Jackson grimaced. A moment later, Junior Elway left as well. The men still seated at the table shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.
“I swear, if that boy wasn’t my sister’s son, I wouldn’t waste another moment on him,” Melvin Riorden muttered.
“He’s right about one thing,” Old Bob sighed. “Things aren’t the way they used to be. The world’s changed from when we were his age, and a lot of it’s gotten pretty ugly. People don’t want to work things out anymore like they used to.”
“People just want a pound of flesh,” A! Garcia agreed. His blocky head pivoted on his bull neck. “It’s all about money and getting your foot on the other guy’s neck. That’s why the company and the union can’t settle anything. Makes you wonder if the government hasn’t put something in the water after all.”
“You see where that man went into a grocery store out on Long Island somewhere and walked up and down the aisles stabbing people?” asked Penny Williamson. “Had two carving knives with him, one in each hand. He never said a word, just walked in and began stabbing people. He stabbed ten of them before someone stopped him. Killed two. The police say he was angry and depressed. Well, hell, who ain’t?”
“The world’s full of angry, depressed people,” said Mike Michaelson, rearranging his coffee cup and silver, staring down at his sun-browned, wrinkled hands fixedly. “Look what people are doing to each other. Parents beating and torturing their children. Young boys and girls killing each other. Teachers and priests taking advantage of their position to do awful things. Serial killers wandering the countryside. Churches and schools being vandalized and burned. It’s a travesty.”
“Some of those people you talk about live right here in Hopewell.” Penny Williamson grunted. “That Topp kid who killed his common-law wife with a butcher knife and cut her up in pieces a few years back? I grew up with that kid. Old man Peters killed ail those horses two weeks back, said they were the spawn of Satan. Tilda Mason, tried to kill herself three times over the past six months — twice in the mental hospital. Tried to kill a couple of the people working there as well. That fellow Riley Crisp, the one they call ‘rabbit’ lives down on Wallace? He stood out on the First Avenue Bridge and shot at people until the police came, then shot at them, and then jumped off the bridge and drowned himself. When was that? Last month?” He shook his head. “Where’s it all going to end I wonder?”
Old Bob smoothed back his white hair. None of them had the answer to that one. It made him wonder suddenly about Evelyn and her feeders. Might just as easily be feeders out there as something the government had put in the water.
He noticed suddenly that the man who had been sitting with Deny Howe was gone. His brow furrowed and his wide mouth tightened. When had the man left? He tried again to think of his name and failed.
“I got me some more work to do out at Preston’s,” Richie Stoudt advised solemnly. “You can laugh, but it keeps bread on the table.”
The conversation returned to the strike and the intractable position of the company, and the stories started up again, and a moment later Old Bob had forgotten the man completely.
Chapter Four
The demon stepped out into the midday heat in front of Josie’s and felt right at home. Perhaps it was his madness that made him so comfortable with the sun’s brilliant white light and suffocating swelter, for it was true that it burned as implacably hot. Or perhaps it was his deep and abiding satisfaction at knowing that this community and its inhabitants were his to do with as he chose.
He followed Derry Howe and Junior El way to the latter’s Jeep Cherokee and climbed into the cab with them, sitting comfortably in the backseat, neither one of them quite aware that he was there. It was one of