按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
your ass back home； Jack。'
From far away； a distance of light…years； it seemed； he could hear his voice repeating： 'Oatley Tap； is anyone there？ Hello？ 。 。 。 Hello？ 。 。 。 ' Cold； so cold。
His throat was numb。 He drew breath and his lungs seemed to freeze。 Soon the chambers of his heart would ice up and he would simply drop dead。
That chilly voice whispered； 'Bad things can happen to a boy alone on the road； Jack。 Ask anybody。'
He hung the phone up with a quick； clumsy reaching gesture。 He pulled his hand back and then stood looking at the phone。
'Was it the asshole； Jack？' Lori asked； and her voice was distant 。 。 。 but a little closer than his own voice had seemed a few moments ago。 The world was ing back。 On the handset of the pay phone he could see the shape of his hand； outlined in a glittering rime of frost。 As he looked； the frost began to melt and run down the black plastic。
3
That was the night…Thursday night…that Jack first saw Genny County's answer to Randolph Scott。 The crowd was a little smaller than it had been Wednesday night…very much a day…before…payday crowd…but there were still enough men present to fill the bar and spill over into the tables and booths。
They were town men from a rural area where the plows were now probably rusting forgotten in back sheds； men who perhaps wanted to be farmers but had forgotten how。 There were a lot of John Deere caps in evidence； but to Jack； very few of these men looked as if they would be at home riding a tractor。 These were men in gray chinos and brown chinos and green chinos； men with their names stitched on blue shirts in gold thread； men in square…toed Dingo Boots and men in great big clumping Survivors。 These men carried their keys on their belts。 These men had wrinkles but no laugh…lines； their mouths were dour。 These men wore cowboy hats and when Jack looked at the bar from in back of the stools； there were as many as eight who looked like Charlie Daniels in the chewing…tobacco ads。 But these men didn't chew； these men smoked cigarettes； and a lot of them。
Jack was cleaning the bubble front of the jukebox when Digger Atwell came in。 The juke was turned off； the Yankees were on the cable； and the men at the bar were watching intently。 The night before； Atwell had been in the Oatley male's version of sports clothes （chinos； khaki shirt with a lot of pens in one of the two big pockets； steel…toed workboots）。 Tonight he was wearing a blue cop's uniform。 A large gun with wood grips hung in a holster on his creaking leather belt。
He glanced at Jack； who thought of Smokey saying I've heard that ole Digger's got a taste for kids on the road。 Boys； mostly； and flinched back as if guilty of something。 Digger Atwell grinned a wide； slow grin。 'Decided to stick around for a while； boy？'
'Yes； sir；' Jack muttered； and squirted more Windex onto the juke's bubble front； although it was already as clean as it was going to get。 He was only waiting for Atwell to go away。 After a while； Atwell did。 Jack turned to watch the beefy cop cross to the bar 。 。 。 and that was when the man at the far left end of the bar turned around and looked at him。
Randolph Scott； Jack thought at once； that's just who he looks like。
But in spite of the rangy and unpromising lines of his face； the real Randolph Scott had had an undeniable look of heroism； if his good looks had been harsh； they had also been part of a face that could smile。 This man looked both bored and somehow crazy。
And with real fright； Jack realized the man was looking at him； at Jack。 Nor had he simply turned around during the mercial to see who might be in the bar； he had turned around to look at Jack。 Jack knew this was so。
The phone。 The ringing phone。
With a tremendous effort； Jack pulled his gaze away。 He looked back into the bubble front of the juke and saw his own frightened face hovering； ghostlike； over the records inside。
The telephone began to shriek on the wall。
The man at the left end of the bar looked at it 。 。 。 and then looked back at Jack； who stood frozen by the jukebox with his bottle of Windex in one hand and a rag in the other； his hair stiffening； his skin freezing。
'If it's that asshole again； I'm gonna get me a whistle to start blowing down the phone when he calls； Smokey；' Lori was saying as she walked toward it。 'I swear to God I am。'
She might have been an actress in a play； and all the customers extras paid the standard SAG rate of thirty…five dollars a day。 The only two real people in the world were him and this dreadful cowboy with the big hands and the eyes Jack could not 。 。 。 quite 。 。 。 see。
Suddenly； shockingly； the cowboy mouthed these words：
Get your ass home。 And winked。
The phone stopped ringing even as Lori stretched out her hand to it。
Randolph Scott turned around； drained his glass； and yelled； 'Bring me another tapper； okay？'
'I'll be damned；' Lori said。 'That phone's got the ghosts。'
4
Later on； in the storeroom； Jack asked Lori who the guy was who looked like Randolph Scott。
'Who looks like who？' she asked。
'An old cowboy actor。 He was sitting down at the end of the bar。'
She shrugged。 'They all look the same to me； Jack。 Just a bunch of swinging dicks out for a good time。 On Thursday nights they usually pay for it with the little woman's Beano money。'
'He calls beers 'tappers。'
' Her eyes lit。 'Oh yeah！ Him。 He looks mean。' She said this last with actual appreciation 。 。 。 as if admiring the straightness of his nose or the whiteness of his smile。
'Who is he？'
'I don't know his name；' Lori said。 'He's only been around the last week or two。 I guess the mill must be hiring again。 It…'
'For Christ's sake； Jack； did I tell you to run me out a keg or not？'
Jack had been in the process of walking one of the big kegs of Busch onto the foot of the hand…dolly。 Because his weight and the keg's weight were so close； it was an act requiring a good deal of careful balancing。 When Smokey shouted from the doorway； Lori screamed and Jack jumped。 He lost control of the keg and it went over on its side； the cap shooting out like a champagne cork； beer following in a white…gold jet。 Smokey was still shouting at him but Jack could only stare at the beer； frozen 。 。 。 until Smokey popped him one。
When he got back out to the taproom perhaps twenty minutes later； holding a Kleenex against his swelling nose； Randolph Scott had been gone。
5
I'm six。
John Benjamin Sawyer is six。
Six…
Jack shook his head； trying to clear this steady； repeating thought out as the rangy millhand who was not a millhand leaned closer and closer。 His eyes 。 。 。 yellow and somehow scaly。 He…it…blinked； a rapid； milky； swimming blink； and Jack realized it had nictitating membranes over its eyeballs。
'You were supposed to get gone；' it whispered again； and reached toward Jack with hands that were beginning to twist and plate and harden。
The door banged open； letting in a raucous flood of the Oak Ridge Boys。
'Jack； if you don't quit lollygagging； I'm going to have to make you sorry；' Smokey said