Part 14 (2/2)
Charlie pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling, at a crack that marched across it like a panoramic peak of mountains. ”None that I know of.”
”That's right. No one would know I was on that list at all if it weren't for one of your own officers.”
The detective rubbed the bridge of his nose. G.o.dd.a.m.n Wes, anyway. ”We have protocols at the department, Mr. St. Bride, and it's always a disappointment to hear that a staff member hasn't followed them.”
”A disappointment.” Jack looked into his lap, and when he lifted his face again his eyes were s.h.i.+ning-with fury or with tears-Charlie didn't know for sure and wasn't certain he wanted to know, either. ”This little disappointment disappointment of yours ... it's going to ruin my life.” of yours ... it's going to ruin my life.”
Charlie refrained from saying what he wanted: that St. Bride had ruined his life all by himself. ”I'm sorry, but it's not within my power to keep rumors from spreading.”
”How about vandalism, Detective? Can you stop people from painting on Roy Peabody's door charming little graffiti messages about how I ought to leave?”
”You can file a complaint, but I'll tell you now that the chance of anything coming of it is awfully slim.” Charlie looked the other man directly in the eye. ”No one in this town can force you to move out of it. No matter what they say or do, it's your right to stay if you want to.”
At that, St. Bride's shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit.
”Unfortunately,” Charlie added, ”it's their their right to say and do whatever they want to try to change your mind.” right to say and do whatever they want to try to change your mind.”
”And if they hurt me ... if they send me to the hospital, or worse ... is that what it will take to get you on my side?”
”I'm on the side of the law. If it comes to a.s.sault, they'll be punished.” Charlie twisted a paper clip in his hands, until the heat that come from the motion snapped it in two. ”But the goes both ways, Mr St. Bride. Because I'm going to be watching you, too And if you so much as look at a teenage girl in Salem Falls, you'll find yourself moving out of town as quick as a sheriff's patrol car can take you.”
St. Bride seemed to crumble from the inside out, like a building Charlie had once seen blown up in Boston. First the eyes closed, then the shoulders dropped, then the head bowed-until it seemed to Charlie that all he was looking at was a sh.e.l.l of the man who had walked in on such a rush of anger. This man is a criminal This man is a criminal, Charlie reminded himself, although it felt as though he were staring at something with feathers and webbed feet and a bill and insisting it was a dog. ”Is that clear?”
Jack did not open his eyes. ”Crystal.”
Gilly leaned across the aisle when Mrs. Fishman's back was turned and s.n.a.t.c.hed the folded note out of Whitney's hand.
t.i.tuba should have hexed them all, it read. She hid the paper between the folds of her dog-eared copy of it read. She hid the paper between the folds of her dog-eared copy of The Crucible The Crucible.
”Why did the girls accuse the goodwives of the town of seeing the Devil?” Mrs. Fishman said. ”Gillian?”
She had read the play-it was their homework a.s.signment. Totally lame, too. A bunch of Puritan girls saying the town biddies were witches, just so that one of them could do the nasty with a married man and not have to worry about his loser of a wife finding out. ”Well, at first they didn't want to get caught for practicing voodoo. So they tried to take the heat off themselves by telling a lie. But this lie ... it turned out to be the one thing that brought all these other truths out into the open.”
”Such as?”
”Like Proctor and Abigail hiding the salami,” the jock behind her called out, and the rest of the cla.s.s laughed.
Mrs. Fishman's lips twitched. ”Thank you, Frank, for putting it so succinctly.” She began to walk through the aisles. ”Rumor has it that Abigail wound up as a prost.i.tute in Boston. Elizabeth Proctor remarried after her husband was hung. And New Age witches, of course, are no longer accused of consorting with the Devil.”
Gilly bowed her head, so that her hair spilled forward to s.h.i.+eld her face from view. You'd be surprised, You'd be surprised, she thought. she thought.
It was 8 A.M. A.M., and already Addie was so tired she could barely stand. ”More coffee?” she asked, holding the pot so it hovered like a b.u.mblebee above the bloom of Stuart Hollings's mug.
”You know, Addie, the docs said I ought to stop drinking it because it wasn't good for my heart.” Then he grinned. ”So I said, if three cups a day got me to see the sunny side of 86, I'm just gonna keep doin' what I've been doin'!”
Smiling, Addie poured. ”Let's hope this gets you another 86 years.”
”Christamighty, no,” Wallace groaned, beside him. ”I'm hoping he'll buy the farm before me, just so's I can have a decade of peace and quiet.”
At the cash register, Roy cracked a package of pennies like an egg and let the coins s.h.i.+mmy into the bowl of the money drawer. ”Busy today,” he remarked as Addie pa.s.sed by, seating more customers.
She sighed. ”We haven't had this kind of volume since the summer we offered free blue plate specials every time the thermometer topped a hundred degrees.”
She smiled at her father, and he smiled back, but they both knew what had caused the sudden increase in patronage. People who had never set foot inside the Do-Or-Diner had come because there was a spectacle on display in their town, a criminal who had the nerve to choose their own small hamlet as a place of residence, and they wanted to see what kind of man would be so daring, or so stupid. It seemed impossible that the news had spread so quickly from Wes to filter into this group of customers, but then Addie only had to look as far as herself to know that it had happened before. Rumor grew and morphed, until a man accused of a.s.sault might turn into a serial rapist, until a grieving mother was seen as a madwoman.
The sad truth was, nothing was better for a small-town diner than gossip.
So far, of course, they'd been denied a show. But even as Addie thought this, the door opened and Jack slipped inside, intent on making his way to the safety of the kitchen before anyone could speak to him. His appearance electrified the tiny room: Diners paused with their coffee mugs held in midair, their forks suspended with a bite of food while they stared at a man who had, overnight, transformed from ”the dishwasher at the diner” into ”the convicted rapist.” ”Sorry I'm late,” Jack muttered.
Addie planted herself directly in his path, unwilling to budge until he looked up at her. ”What happened?”
”Please, Addie. Could we just not talk about it now?”
She nodded briskly. ”Well, I need you out here to clear.”
The thought of a task was a bra.s.s ring, and Jack grabbed on with both hands. ”Just let me get my ap.r.o.n.” Slowly, the diner thawed into activity as Jack disappeared behind the swinging doors, the two sides snapping together in an overbite.
Jack reappeared with an empty busing bin. She watched him approach a family that had finished eating: a mother, a father, a little boy. ”Mommy,” the child said in a stage whisper, ”is that the bad man?”
Addie was at his side in a moment. ”I'll take over.” Her voice jolted Jack out of his surprise. With a nod, he crossed the room to bus the counter.
Stuart winked. ”Guess Addie sent you here because we're safe. Not a perky set of hooters between the two of us.”
Flus.h.i.+ng deeply, Jack reached for their dirty silverware.
”Don't blame you, anyhow. You ever watch that MTV station? Heck, you'd have to be six feet under to keep from noticing that Britney Spears gal.” Stuart grinned. ”Reckon she might have given me a stroke I wouldn't have minded, if you know what I mean.”
”Them girls,” Wallace agreed. ”They're asking for it.”
Jack's hands tightened on the busboy's bin. ”They don't ask for it.”
”You're right,” Stuart said, and chuckled. ”They see a guy like you and they beg beg for it.” for it.”
It happened so quickly that later, Jack couldn't recall the exact moment he grabbed Stuart by the parchment folds of his neck, lifting him off the stool with a single hand. Or how Roy tried to wrestle Jack off the octogenarian. The collective attention of the diner was riveted on a performance beyond their wildest dreams.
”Jack!” Addie cried, her voice cutting to the quick. ”Jack, you have to stop.”
He let go immediately, and Stuart rolled to his side, coughing. The blood that had been pounding in Jack's head flowed evenly again, and he stared at his hands as if they'd grown from the ends of his wrists just moments before. ”Mr. Hollings,” he stammered. ”I'm so sorry.”
”The doc was almost right,” Stuart wheezed. ”It ain't the coffee what'll kill me, but the guy who cleans it up.” With Wallace's support, he struggled to his feet. ”Oh, you're tough, Jack. It takes a real man to beat up a guy as old as me ... and to f.u.c.k a child.”
Jack's hands twitched at his sides. ”Stuart, Wallace,” Addie said. ”I'm so sorry.” She took a step forward, smiling as graciously as she could. ”Of course, breakfast is on the house. For everyone.”
There was a cheer, and as Stuart and Wallace became immediate heroes again, the tension dissolved like fog. Addie turned to Jack. ”Can I talk to you? In private?”
She led him into the women's bathroom, pretty and floral and smelling of potpourri. Jack didn't let himself meet her eyes; he just shuffled and waited for the storm to break.
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