Song of Susannah - Stephen King [89]
“Then be careful. You’ll be leaving East Stoneham, so you’ll probably be okay if you are.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said, and stuck out his hand. “Long days and pleasant nights.”
Deepneau shook. “That’s a lovely thing to say, son, but I’m afraid my nights haven’t been especially pleasant just lately, and if things on the medical front don’t take a turn for the better soon, my days aren’t apt to be especially long, either.”
“They’re going to be longer than you might think,” Eddie said. “I have good reason to believe you’ve got at least another four years in you.”
Deepneau touched a finger to his lips, then pointed at the sky. “From the mouth of man to the ear of God.”
Eddie swung to Calvin Tower while Roland shook hands with Deepneau. For a moment Eddie didn’t think the bookstore owner was going to shake with him, but at last he did. Grudgingly.
“Long days and pleasant nights, sai Tower. You did the right thing.”
“I was coerced and you know it,” Tower said. “Store gone…property gone…about to be run off the first real vacation I’ve had in ten years…”
“Microsoft,” Eddie said abruptly. And then: “Lemons.”
Tower blinked. “Beg pardon?”
“Lemons,” Eddie repeated, and then he laughed out loud.
* * *
Fourteen
Toward the end of his mostly useless life, the great sage and eminent junkie Henry Dean had enjoyed two things above all others: getting stoned; getting stoned and talking about how he was going to make a killing in the stock market. In investment matters, he considered himself a regular E. F. Hutton.
“One thing I would most definitely not invest in, bro,” Henry told him once when they were up on the roof. Not long before Eddie’s trip to the Bahamas as a cocaine mule, this had been. “One thing I would most apple-solutely not sink my money into is all this computer shit, Microsoft, Macintosh, Sanyo, Sankyo, Pentium, all that.”
“Seems pretty popular,” Eddie had ventured. Not that he’d much cared, but what the hell, it was a conversation. “Microsoft, especially. The coming thing.”
Henry had laughed indulgently and made jacking-off gestures. “My prick, that’s the coming thing.”
“But—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, people’re flocking to that crap. Driving all the prices up. And when I observe that action, do you know what I see?”
“No, what?”
“Lemons!”
“Lemons?” Eddie had asked. He’d thought he was following Henry, but he guessed he was lost, after all. Of course the sunset had been amazing that evening, and he had been most colossally fucked up.
“You heard me!” Henry had said, warming to the subject. “Fuckin lemons! Didn’t they teach you anything in school, bro? Lemons are these little animals that live over in Switzerland, or someplace like that. And every now and then—I think it’s every ten years, I’m not sure—they get suicidal and throw themselves over the cliffs.”
“Oh,” Eddie said, biting hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into mad cackles. “Those lemons. I thought you meant the ones you use to make lemonade.”
“Fuckin wank,” Henry said, but he spoke with the indulgent good nature the great and eminent sometimes reserve for the small and uninformed. “Anyway, my point is that all these people who are flockin to invest in Microsoft and Macintosh and, I don’t know, fuckin Nervous Norvus Speed Dial Chips, all they’re gonna do is make Bill Fuckin Gates and Steve Fuckin Jobs-a-rino rich. This computer shit is gonna crash and burn by 1995, all the experts say so, and the people investin in it? Fuckin lemons, throwin themselves over the cliffs and into the fuckin ocean.”
“Just fuckin lemons,” Eddie agreed, and sprawled back on the still-warm roof so Henry wouldn’t see how close he was to losing it entirely. He was seeing billions of Sunkist lemons trotting toward these high cliffs, all of them wearing red jogging shorts and little white sneakers, like M&Ms in a TV ad.
“Yeah, but I wish I’d gotten into that fuckin Microsoft in ’82,” Henry said. “Do you realize that shares that were sellin for fifteen bucks back then are now sellin for thirty-five? Oh, man!”
“Lemons,” Eddie had