“Sorry about the delay,” he said, hoarsely. “I got everybody the same: a couple of burgers, large fries, large Coke, and apple pie. I’ll eat mine out in the car.” He put the food down, then walked back outside. The smell of fast food filled the lobby. Shadow took the paper bag and passed out the food, the napkins, the packets of ketchup.
They ate in silence while the candles flickered and the burning wax hissed.
Shadow noticed that Town was glaring at him. He turned his chair a little, so his back was to the wall. Media ate her burger with a napkin poised by her lips to remove crumbs.
“Oh. Great. These burgers are nearly cold,” said the fat kid. He was still wearing his shades, which Shadow thought pointless and foolish, given the darkness of the room.
“Sorry about that,” said Town. “The nearest McDonald’s is in Nebraska.”
They finished their lukewarm hamburgers and cold fries. The fat kid bit into his single-person apple pie, and the filling spurted down his chin. Unexpectedly, the filling was still hot. “Ow,” he said. He wiped at it with his hand, licking his fingers to get them clean. “That stuff burns!” he said. “Those pies are a class-action suit waiting to fucking happen.”
Shadow wanted to hit the kid. He’d wanted to hit him since the kid had his goons hurt him in the limo, after Laura’s funeral. He pushed the thought away. “Can’t we just take Wednesday’s body and get out of here?” he asked.
“Midnight,” said Mr. Nancy and the fat kid, at the same time.
“These things must be done by the rules,” said Czernobog.
“Yeah,” said Shadow. “But nobody tells me what they are. You keep talking about the goddamn rules, I don’t even-know what game you people are playing.”
“It’s like breaking the street date,” said Media, brightly. “You know. When things are allowed to be on sale.”
Town said, “I think the whole thing’s a crock of shit. But if their rules make them happy, then my agency is happy and everybody’s happy.” He slurped his Coke. “Roll on midnight. You take the body, you go away. We’re all lovey-fucking-dovey and we wave you goodbye. And then we can get on with hunting you down like the rats you are.”
“Hey,” said the fat kid to Shadow. “Reminds me. I told you to tell your boss he was history. Did you ever tell him?”
“I told him,” said Shadow. “And you know what he said to me? He said to tell the little snot, if ever I saw him again, to remember that today’s future is tomorrow’s yesterday.” Wednesday had never said any such thing. Still, these people seemed to like cliches. The black sunglasses reflected the flickering candle flames back at him, like eyes.
The fat kid said, “This place is such a fucking dump. No power. Out of wireless range. I mean, when you got to be wired, you’re already back in the stone age.” He sucked the last of his Coke through the straw, dropped the cup on the table, and walked away down the corridor.
Shadow reached over and placed the fat kid’s garbage back into the paper sack. “I’m going to see the center of America,” he announced. He got up and walked1 outside, into the night. Mr. Nancy followed him. They strolled together, across the little park, saying nothing until they reached the stone monument. The wind gusted at them, fitfully, first from one direction, then from another. “So,” he said. “Now what?”
The half-moon hung pale in the dark sky.
“Now,” said Nancy, “you should go back to your room. Lock the door. You try to get some more sleep. At midnight they give us the body. And then we get the hell out of here. The center is not a stable place for anybody.”
“If you say so.”
Mr. Nancy inhaled on his cigarillo. “This should never have happened,” he said. “None of this should have happened. Our kind of people, we are ...” He waved the cigarillo about, as if using it to hunt for a word, then stabbing forward with it. “... exclusive. We’re not social. Not even me. Not even Bacchus. Not for long. We walk by ourselves or we stay in our own little groups. We do not play well with others. We like to be adored and respected and worshiped—me, I like them to be tellin’ tales about me, tales showing my cleverness. It’s a fault, I know, but it’s Jhe way I am. We like to be big. Now, in these shabby days, we are small. The new gods rise and fall and rise again. But this is not a country that tolerates gods for long. Brahma creates, Vishnu preserves, Shiva destroys, and the ground is clear for Brahma to create once more.”
“So what are you saying?” asked Shadow. “The fighting’s over, now? The battle’s done?”
Mr. Nancy snorted. “Are you out of your mind? They killed Wednesday. They killed him and they bragged about it. They spread the word. They’ve showed it on every channel to those with eyes to see it. No, Shadow. It’s only just begun.”
He bent down at the foot of the stone monument, stubbed out his cigarillo on the earth, and left it there, like an offering.
“You used to make jokes,” said Shadow. “You don’t anymore.”
“It’s hard to find the jokes these days. Wednesday’s dead. Are you comin’ inside?”