Part 14 (1/2)

In the hours before dawn, walking on Route 102 east of Manchester, they began to hear music, very faint.

'Christ,' Tom said, coming to a stop. 'That's Baby Elephant Walk.' '

'It's what?' what?' Alice asked. She sounded amused. Alice asked. She sounded amused.

'A big-band instrumental from the age of quarter gas. Les Brown and His Band of Renown, someone like that. My mother had the record.'

Two men pulled even with them and stopped for a blow. They were elderly, but both looked fit. Like a couple of recently retired postmen hiking the Cotswolds, Like a couple of recently retired postmen hiking the Cotswolds, Clay thought. Clay thought. Wherever Wherever they they are. are. One wore a pack-no p.u.s.s.y day-pack, either, but the waist-length kind on a frame-and the other had a rucksack hanging from his right shoulder. Hung over the left was what looked like a.30-.30. One wore a pack-no p.u.s.s.y day-pack, either, but the waist-length kind on a frame-and the other had a rucksack hanging from his right shoulder. Hung over the left was what looked like a.30-.30.

Packsack wiped sweat from his seamed forehead with a forearm and said, 'Your mama might have had a version by Les Brown, son, but more likely it was Don Costa or Henry Mancini. Those were the popular ones. That one'-he inclined his head toward the ghostly strains-'that's Lawrence Welk, as I live and breathe.'

'Lawrence Welk,' Tom breathed, almost in awe.

'Who?' Alice asked. Alice asked.

'Listen to that elephant walk,' Clay said, and laughed. He was tired and feeling goofy. It occurred to him that Johnny would love love that music. that music.

Packsack gave him a glance of pa.s.sing contempt, then looked back at Tom. 'That's Lawrence Welk, all right,' he said. 'My eyes aren't half-right anymore, but my ears are fine. My wife and I used to watch his show every f.u.c.king Sat.u.r.day night.'

'Dodge had a good time, too,' Rucksack said. It was his only addition to the conversation, and Clay hadn't the slightest idea what it meant.

'Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Band,' Tom said. 'Think of it.'

'Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music Makers,' Music Makers,' Packsack said. 'Jesus Packsack said. 'Jesus Christ.' Christ.'

'Don't forget the Lennon Sisters and the lovely Alice Lon,' Tom said.

In the distance, the ghostly music changed. 'That one's Calcutta,' ' Packsack said. He sighed. 'Well, we'll be getting along. Nice pa.s.sing the time of day with you.'

'Night,' Clay said.

'Nope,' Packsack said. 'These're our days now. Haven't you noticed? Have a good one, boys. You too, little ma'am.'

'Thank you,' the little ma'am standing between Clay and Tom said faintly.

Packsack started along again. Rucksack fell st.u.r.dily in beside him. Around them, a steady parade of bobbing flashlight beams led people deeper into New Hamps.h.i.+re. Then Packsack stopped and looked back for a final word.

'You don't want to be on the road more than another hour,' he said. 'Find a house or motel unit and get inside. You know about the shoes, right?'

'What about the shoes?' Tom asked.

Packsack looked at him patiently, the way he'd probably look at anyone who couldn't help being a fool. Far down the road, 'Calcutta'-if that's what it was-had given way to a polka. It sounded insane in the foggy, drizzly night. And now this old man with the big pack on his back was talking about shoes.

'When you go inside a place, you put your shoes out on the stoop,' Packsack said. 'The crazy ones won't take them, don't worry about that, and it tells other people the place is taken and to move along, find another. Saves'-his eyes dropped to the heavy automatic weapon Clay was carrying-'Saves accidents.'

'Have there been accidents?' Tom asked.

'Oh yes,' Packsack said, with chilling indifference. 'There's always accidents, people being what they are. But there's plenty of places, so there's no need for you for you to have one. Just put out your shoes.' to have one. Just put out your shoes.'

'How do you know that?' Alice asked.

He gave her a smile that improved his face out of all measure. But it was hard not to smile at Alice; she was young, and even at three in the morning, she was pretty. 'People talk; I listen. I talk, sometimes sometimes other folks listen. Did you listen?' other folks listen. Did you listen?'

'Yes,' Alice said. 'Listening's one of my best things.'

'Then pa.s.s it on. Bad enough to have them them to contend with.' He didn't have to be more specific. 'Too bad to have accidents among ourselves on top of that.' to contend with.' He didn't have to be more specific. 'Too bad to have accidents among ourselves on top of that.'

Clay thought of Natalie pointing the.22. He said, 'You're right. Thank you.'

Tom said, 'That one's The Beer Barrel Polka,' isn't it?'

'That's right, son,' Packsack said. 'Myron Floren on the squeezebox. G.o.d rest his soul. You might want to stop in Gaiten. It's a nice little village two miles or so up the road.'

'Is that where you're going to stay?' Alice asked.

'Oh, me and Rolfe might push on a dight farther,' he said.

'Why?'

'Because we can, little ma'am, that's all. You have a good day.'

This time they didn't contradict him, and although the two men had to be pus.h.i.+ng seventy, they were soon out of sight, following the beam of a single flashlight, which Rucksack-Rolfe-held.

'Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music Makers,' Tom marveled.

' Baby Elephant Walk,' ' Clay said, and laughed.

'Why did Dodge have a good time, too?' Alice wanted to know.

'Because it could, I guess,' Tom said, and burst out laughing at her perplexed expression.

11.

The music was coming from Gaiten, the nice little village Packsack had recommended as a place to stop. It was not nearly as loud as the AC/DC concert Clay had gone to in Boston as a teenager-that had left his ears ringing for days-but it was loud enough to make him think of summer band concerts he'd attended in South Berwick with his parents. In fact he had it in his mind that they would discover the source of the music on the Gaiten town common-likely some elderly person, not a phone-crazy but disaster-addled, who had taken it into his head to serenade the ongoing exodus with easy-listening oldies played through a set of battery-powered loudspeakers.

There was was a Gaiten town common, but it was deserted save for a few people eating either a late supper or an early breakfast by the glow of flashlights and Coleman lanterns. The source of the music was a little farther to the north. By then Lawrence Welk had given way to someone blowing a horn so mellow it was soporific. a Gaiten town common, but it was deserted save for a few people eating either a late supper or an early breakfast by the glow of flashlights and Coleman lanterns. The source of the music was a little farther to the north. By then Lawrence Welk had given way to someone blowing a horn so mellow it was soporific.

'That's Wynton Marsalis, isn't it?' Clay asked. He was ready to call it quits for the night and thought Alice looked done almost to death.

'Him or Kenny G,' Tom said. 'You know what Kenny G said when he got off the elevator, don't you?'

'No,' Clay said, 'but I'm sure you'll tell me.'