Norris had pointed the barrel of his revolver skyward, as he had been taught to do in situations like this. Now, still following procedure, he clasped his right wrist in his left fist and leveled the revolver. If the books were right, they would not realize that the muzzle was pointed directly between them; each would believe Norris was aiming at him. "Move your hands away from your weapons, my friends. Do it now!" Do it now!"

Buster and his companion exchanged another glance and dropped their hands to their sides.

Norris snapped a look at the Trooper. "You," he said. "Price. Want to give me a little help here? If you're not too tired, that is."

"What are you doing?" doing?" Price asked. He sounded worried and unwilling to pitch in. The night's activities, with the hammering demolition of the bridge to cap them, had reduced him to bystander status. He apparently felt uncomfortable about stepping back into a more active role. Things had gotten too big too fast. Price asked. He sounded worried and unwilling to pitch in. The night's activities, with the hammering demolition of the bridge to cap them, had reduced him to bystander status. He apparently felt uncomfortable about stepping back into a more active role. Things had gotten too big too fast.

"Arresting these two boogers," Norris snapped. "What in the h.e.l.l does it look like?"

"Arrest this, fellow," Ace said, and flipped Norris the bird. Buster uttered a high, yodeling laugh.

Price looked at them nervously and then returned his troubled gaze to Norris. "Uh... on what charge?"

Buster's friend laughed.

Norris directed his full attention back to the two men, and was alarmed to see their positions relative to each other had changed. When he had thrown down on them, they had been almost shoulder to shoulder. Now they were almost five feet apart, and still sidling.

"Stand still!" he bawled. They stopped and exchanged another glance. he bawled. They stopped and exchanged another glance. "Move back together!" "Move back together!"

They only stood there in the pouring rain, hands dangling, looking at him.

"I'm arresting them on an illegal-weapons charge to start with!" Norris yelled furiously to Trooper Joe Price. "Now Norris yelled furiously to Trooper Joe Price. "Now get your thumb out of your b.u.t.t and give me a help!" get your thumb out of your b.u.t.t and give me a help!"

This shocked Price into action. He tried to take his own revolver out of its holster, discovered the safety strap was still on, and began fumbling with it. He was still fumbling when the barber shop and the funeral home blew up.

Buster, Norris, and Trooper Price all looked upstreet. Ace did not. He had been waiting for just this golden moment. He pulled the automatic from his belt with the speed of a Western quick-draw artist and fired. The bullet took Norris high in the left shoulder, clipping his lung and smashing his collarbone. Norris had taken a step away from the brick wall when he noticed the two men drifting apart; now he was driven back against it. Ace fired again, chipping a crater in the brick an inch from Norris's ear. The ricochet made a sound like a very large, very angry insect.

"Oh Christ!" Trooper Price screamed, and began to labor more enthusiastically to free the safety strap over the b.u.t.t of his gun. Trooper Price screamed, and began to labor more enthusiastically to free the safety strap over the b.u.t.t of his gun.

"Burn that guy, Dad!" Ace yelled. He was grinning. He fired at Norris again, and this third bullet tore a hot groove in the skinny Deputy's left side as he collapsed to his knees. Lightning flashed overhead. Incredibly, Norris could still hear brick and wood from the latest explosions rattling down on the street. Ace yelled. He was grinning. He fired at Norris again, and this third bullet tore a hot groove in the skinny Deputy's left side as he collapsed to his knees. Lightning flashed overhead. Incredibly, Norris could still hear brick and wood from the latest explosions rattling down on the street.

Trooper Price at long last managed to unsnap the strap over his gun. He was pulling it free when a bullet from the automatic Keeton held took his head off from the eyebrows on up. Price was hammered out of his boots and thrown against the brick wall of the alley.

Norris raised his own gun once more. It seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. Still holding it in both hands, he aimed at Keeton. Buster was a clearer target than his friend. More important, Buster had just killed a cop, and that s.h.i.t most definitely did not go down in Castle Rock. They were hicks, maybe, but not barbarians. barbarians. Norris pulled the trigger at the same moment Ace tried to shoot him again. Norris pulled the trigger at the same moment Ace tried to shoot him again.

The recoil of his revolver sent Norris flying backward. Ace's bullet buzzed through empty air where his head had been half a second before. Buster Keeton also went flying backward, hands clapped to his belly. Blood poured through his fingers.

Norris lay against the brick wall near Trooper Price, panting harshly, one hand pressed against his wounded shoulder. Christ, this has been a really lousy day, Christ, this has been a really lousy day, he thought. he thought.

Ace leveled the automatic at him, then thought better of it-at least for the time being. He went to Buster instead and dropped on one knee beside him. North of them, the bank went up in a roar of fire and pulverized granite. Ace didn't even look in that direction. He moved old Dad's hands to get a better look at the wound. He was sorry this had happened. He had been getting to like old Dad pretty well.

Buster screamed. "Oh, it hurts! Oh, it hurrrrts!"

Ace just bet it did. Old Dad had taken a .45 slug just above his belly-b.u.t.ton. The entrance hole was the size of a headbolt. Ace didn't have to roll him over to know the exit hole would be the size of a coffee cup, probably with chunks of old Dad's spine sticking out of it like b.l.o.o.d.y candy-canes.

"It hurrrts! HURRRRRRTS!" hurrrts! HURRRRRRTS!" Buster screamed up into the rain. Buster screamed up into the rain.

"Yeah." Ace put the muzzle of the automatic against Buster's temple. "Tough luck, Dad. I'm going to give you some painkiller."

He pulled the trigger three times. Buster's body jumped and was still.

Ace got to his feet, meaning to finish the G.o.ddam Deputy-if there was anything left to finish-when a gun roared and a bullet whined through the windy air less than a foot over his head. Ace looked up and saw another cop standing just outside the Sheriff's Office door to the parking lot. This one looked older than G.o.d. He was shooting at Ace with one hand while the other pressed against his chest above his heart.

Seat Thomas's second try plowed into the earth right next to Ace, splashing muddy water on the toes of his engineer boots. The old buzzard couldn't shoot for s.h.i.t, but Ace suddenly realized he had to get the h.e.l.l out of here, anyway. They had put enough dynamite in the courthouse to blow the whole building sky-high, they had set the timer for five minutes, and here he was, all but leaning against it while f.u.c.king Methuselah took potshots at him.

Let the dynamite take care of both of them.

It was time to go see Mr. Gaunt.

Ace got up and ran into the street. The old Deputy fired again, but this one wasn't even close. Ace ran behind the yellow newsvan, but made no attempt to get into it. The Chevrolet Celebrity was parked at Needful Things. It would do excellently as a getaway car. But first he intended to find Mr. Gaunt and get paid off. Surely he had something something coming, and surely Mr. Gaunt would give it to him. coming, and surely Mr. Gaunt would give it to him.

Also, he had a certain thieving Sheriff to find.

"Payback's a b.i.t.c.h," Ace muttered, and ran up Main Street toward Needful Things.

6.

Frank Jewett was standing on the courthouse steps when he finally saw the man he had been looking for. Frank had been there for some time now, and none of the things going on in Castle Rock tonight had meant much to him. Not the screams and shouts from the direction of Castle Hill, not Danforth Keeton and some elderly h.e.l.l's Angel running down the courthouse steps about five minutes ago, not the explosions, not the most recent rattle of gunshots, this time from right around the corner in the parking lot next to the Sheriff's Office. Frank had other fish to fry and other lemons to squeeze. Frank had a personal APB out on his excellent old "friend," George T. Nelson.

And boy-howdy! At last! There was George T. Nelson himself, in the flesh, strolling by on the sidewalk below the courthouse steps! Except for the automatic pistol jammed into the waistband of George T. Nelson's Sans-A-Belt polyester slacks (and the fact that it was still raining like h.e.l.l), the man might have been on his way to a picnic.

Just strolling along in the rain was Monsieur George T. Moth-erf.u.c.king Nelson, just breezing along with the Christing breeze, and what had the note in Frank's office said? Oh yes: Remember, $2,000 at my house by 7:15 at the latest or you will wish you were born without a d.i.c.k. Remember, $2,000 at my house by 7:15 at the latest or you will wish you were born without a d.i.c.k. Frank glanced at his watch, saw it was closer to eight o'clock than to 7:15, and decided that didn't matter much. Frank glanced at his watch, saw it was closer to eight o'clock than to 7:15, and decided that didn't matter much.

He raised George T. Nelson's Spanish Llama and pointed it at the head of the son of a b.i.t.c.hing shop teacher who had caused all his trouble.

"NELSON!" he screamed. "GEORGE NELSON! TURN AROUND AND LOOK AT ME, YOU p.r.i.c.k!"

George T. Nelson wheeled around. His hand dropped toward the b.u.t.t of his automatic, then fell away when he saw he was covered. He placed his hands on his hips instead and peered up the courthouse steps at Frank Jewett, who stood there with rain dripping from his nose, his chin, and the muzzle of his stolen gun.

"You going to shoot me?" George T. Nelson asked.

"You bet I am!" Frank snarled.

"Just shoot me down like a dog, huh?"

"Why not? It's what you deserve!"

To Frank's amazement, George T. Nelson was smiling and nodding. "Ayup," he said, "and that's what I'd expect from a chickens.h.i.t b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd break into a friend's house and kill a defenseless little birdie. Exactly Exactly what I'd expect. So go ahead, you yellowbelly four-eyes f.u.c.k. Shoot me and get it over with." what I'd expect. So go ahead, you yellowbelly four-eyes f.u.c.k. Shoot me and get it over with."

Thunder bellowed overhead, but Frank didn't hear it. The bank blew up ten seconds later and he barely heard that. He was too busy struggling with his fury... and his amazement. Amazement at the gall, the bold, bare-a.s.s gall gall of Monsieur George T. Motherf.u.c.ker Nelson. of Monsieur George T. Motherf.u.c.ker Nelson.

At last Frank managed to break the lock on his tongue. "Killed your bird, right! s.h.i.t on that stupid picture of your mom, right again! And what did you you do? What did do? What did you you do, George, besides make sure that I'll lose my job and never teach again? G.o.d, I'll be lucky not to end up in jail!" He saw the total injustice of this in a sudden black flash of comprehension; it was like rubbing vinegar into a raw sc.r.a.pe. "Why didn't you just come and do, George, besides make sure that I'll lose my job and never teach again? G.o.d, I'll be lucky not to end up in jail!" He saw the total injustice of this in a sudden black flash of comprehension; it was like rubbing vinegar into a raw sc.r.a.pe. "Why didn't you just come and ask ask me for money, if you needed it? Why didn't you just come and ask? me for money, if you needed it? Why didn't you just come and ask? We could have worked something out, you dumb b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" We could have worked something out, you dumb b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" George T. Nelson shouted back. "All I know is that you're brave enough to kill teeny-tiny parakeets but you don't have b.a.l.l.s enough to take me on in a fair fight!"

"Don't know what... don't know what I'm talking about?" don't know what I'm talking about?" Frank sputtered. The muzzle of the Llama wavered wildly back and forth. He could not believe the gall of the man below him on the sidewalk; simply could not Frank sputtered. The muzzle of the Llama wavered wildly back and forth. He could not believe the gall of the man below him on the sidewalk; simply could not believe believe it. To be standing there with one foot on the pavement and the other practically in eternity and to simply it. To be standing there with one foot on the pavement and the other practically in eternity and to simply go on lying... go on lying...

"No! I don't! Not the slightest idea!"

In the extremity of his rage, Frank Jewett regressed to the childhood response to such outrageous, baldface denial: "Liar, liar, pants on fire!"

"Coward!" George T. Nelson smartly returned. "Baby-coward! Parakeet-killer!"

"Blackmailer!"

"Loony! Put the gun away, loony! Fight me fair!"

Frank grinned down at him. "Fair? "Fair? Fight you Fight you fair? fair? What do you know about What do you know about fair?" fair?"

George T. Nelson held up his empty hands and waggled the fingers at Frank. "More than you, it looks like."

Frank opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He was temporarily silenced by George T. Nelson's empty hands.

"Go on," George T. Nelson said. "Put it away. Let's do it like they do in the Westerns, George. If you've got the sack for it, that is. Fastest man wins."

Frank thought: Well, why not? Just why the h.e.l.l not?

He hadn't much else to live for, one way or the other, and if he did nothing else, he could show his old "friend" he wasn't a coward.

"Okay," he said, and shoved the Llama into the waistband of his own pants. He held his hands out in front of him, hovering just above the b.u.t.t of the gun. "How do you want to do it, Georgie-Porgie?"

George T. Nelson was grinning. "You start down the steps," he said. "I start up. Next time the thunder goes overhead-"

"All right," Frank said. "Fine. Let's do it."

He started down the stairs. And George T. Nelson started up.

7.

Polly had just spotted the green awning of Needful Things up ahead when the funeral parlor and the barber shop went up. The glare of light and the roar of sound were enormous. She saw debris burst out of the heart of the explosion like asteroids in a science fiction movie and ducked instinctively. It was well that she did; several chunks of wood and the stainless-steel lever from the side of Chair #2-Henry Gendron's chair-smashed through the windshield of her Toyota. The lever made a weird, hungry humming sound as it flew through the car and exited by way of the rear window. Broken gla.s.s whispered through the air in a widening shotgun cloud.

The Toyota, with no driver to steer it, b.u.mped up over the curb, struck a fire hydrant, and stalled.

Polly sat up, blinking, and stared out through the hole in the windshield. She saw someone coming out of Needful Things and heading toward one of the three cars parked in front of the store. In the bright light of the fire across the street, she recognized Alan easily.

"Alan!" She yelled it, but Alan didn't turn. He moved with single-minded purpose, like a robot. She yelled it, but Alan didn't turn. He moved with single-minded purpose, like a robot.

Polly shoved open the door of her car and ran toward him, screaming his name over and over. From down the street came the rapid rattle of gunfire. Alan did not turn in that direction, nor did he look at the conflagration which, only moments ago, had been the funeral parlor and the barber shop. He seemed to be locked entirely on his own interior course of action, and Polly suddenly realized that she was too late. Leland Gaunt had gotten to him. He had bought something after all, and if she didn't make it to his car before he embarked on whatever wild-goose chase it was that Gaunt was sending him on, he would simply leave... and G.o.d only knew what might happen then.

She ran faster.

8.

"Help me," Norris said to Seaton Thomas, and slung an arm around Seat's neck. He staggered to his feet.

"I think I winged him," Seaton said. He was puffing, but his color had come back.

"Good," Norris said. His shoulder hurt like fire... and the pain seemed to be sinking deeper into his flesh all the time, as if seeking his heart. "Now just help me."

"You'll be all right," Seaton said. In his distress over Norris, Seat had forgotten his fear that he was, in his words, coming down with a heart attack. "Soon as I get you inside-"

"No," Norris gasped. "Cruiser."

"What?"

Norris turned his head and glared at Thomas with frantic, pain-filled eyes. "Get me in my cruiser! I have to go to Needful Things!"

Yes. The moment the words were out of his mouth, everything seemed to fall into place. Needful Things was where he had bought the Bazun fishing rod. It was the direction in which the man who had shot him had gone running. Needful Things was the place where everything had started; Needful Things was where it all must end.

Galaxia blew up, flooding Main Street with fresh glare. A Double Dragon machine rose out of the ruins, turned over twice, and landed upside down in the street with a crunch.

"Norris, you been shot-"

"Of course I've been shot!" Norris screamed. b.l.o.o.d.y froth flew from his lips. Norris screamed. b.l.o.o.d.y froth flew from his lips. "Now get me in the cruiser!" "Now get me in the cruiser!"

"It's a bad idea, Norris-"

"No it's not," Norris said grimly. He turned his head and spat blood. "It's the only only idea. Now come on. Help me." idea. Now come on. Help me."

Seat Thomas began to walk him toward Unit 2.

9.

If Alan hadn't glanced into his rearview mirror before backing out into the street, he would have run Polly down, completing the evening by crushing the woman he loved under the rear wheels of his old station wagon. He did not recognize her; she was only a shape behind his car, a woman-shape outlined against the cauldron of flames on the other side of the street. He jammed on the brakes, and a moment later she was hammering at his window.