Part 35 (1/2)

At last he got the door of a Port-a-Potty open. We muscled our burden inside and propped it up between the gray plastic urinal and the toilet seat. The place still held the vague smell of urine and the ghost of old farts. In one high corner was a cobweb with the corpse of an ancient fly dangling from it. On the wall, by moonlight, I read two scrawlings.”For XCELLENT BLOJOB BE HERE 10 PM SHOW HARD I SWALLOW,” read one. The other, infinitely more disturbing, said: ”I WILL DO IT AGAIN & AGAIN & AGAIN. UNTIL I AM CAUGHT.”

Suddenly I wanted to be miles from that place.

”Come on,” I said to Bill. ”Please, man. Come on.”

”Just one more second.”

He went back to the truck and got the bag with the General's final effects in it-buckle, pacemaker, osteopathic pins. He raised the lid on the toilet, then shook his head.

”Collection bin's gone. It'll just fall on the ground.”

”You don't have the d.a.m.n briefcase, either,” I said.

”We can't leave that here,” Bill said. ”Something in it might identify

him.”

”h.e.l.l, his fingerprints will identify him, if anyone finds him in there.” ”Maybe. But we don't know what's in the case, do we? Best we drop

it in the Hudson on our way back. Safer.”

That made sense. ”Give me the bag,” I said, but before he could I s.n.a.t.c.hed the Smiler's bag from him. I jogged to the edge of the drop-off and threw it as far out as I could. I watched it turn over and over in the moonlight. I even imagined I could hear the pins which had held the old warrior's bones together rattling. Then it was gone.

I jogged back to Bill, who had re-latched the Port-a-Potty door. For a wonder, it was one of the less battered ones. It would keep the secret we needed it to keep.

”It's all going to work, isn't it?” Bill asked.

I nodded. Had no doubts then and no doubts now. We are being protected. All we need to do us to take reasonable precautions ourselves. And take care of our new friend, as well.