“Soon.”
Nancy walked away, toward the motel. Shadow reached out his hand and touched the monument’s stones. He dragged his big fingers across the cold brass plate. Then he turned and walked over to the tiny white chapel, walked through the open doorway, into the darkness. He sat down in the nearest pew and closed his eyes and lowered his head, and thought about Laura, and about Wednesday, and about being alive.
There was a click from behind him, and a scuff of shoe against earth. Shadow sat up, and turned. Someone stood just outside the open doorway, a dark shape against the stars. Moonlight glinted from something metal.
“You going to shoot me?” asked Shadow.
“Jesus—I wish,” said Mr. Town. “It’s only for self-defense. So, you’re praying? Have they got you thinking that they’re gods? They ‘aren’t gods.”
“I wasn’t praying,” said Shadow. “Just thinking.”
“The way I figure it,” said Town, “they’re mutations. Evolutionary experiments. A little hypnotic ability, a little hocus-pocus, and they can make people believe anything. Nothing to write home about. That’s all. They die like men, after all.”
“They always did,” said Shadow. He got up, and Town took a step back. Shadow walked out of the little chapel, and Mr. Town kept his distance. “Hey,” Shadow said. “Do you know who Louise Brooks was?”
“Friend of yours?”
“Nope. She was a movie star from south of here.”
Town paused. “Maybe she changed her name, and became Liz Taylor or Sharon Stone or someone,” he suggested, helpfully.
“Maybe.” Shadow started to walk back to4he motel. Town kept pace with him.
“You should be back in prison,” said Mr. Town. “You should be on rucking death row.”
“I didn’t kill your associates,” said Shadow. “But I’ll tell you something a guy once told me, back when I was in prison. Something I’ve never forgotten.”
“And that is?”
“There was only one guy in the whole Bible Jesus ever personally promised a place with him in Paradise. Not Peter, not Paul, not any of those guys. He was a convicted thief, being executed. So don’t knock the guys on death row. Maybe they know something you don’t.”
The driver stood by the Humvee. “G’night, gentlemen,” he said as they passed.
“Night,” said Mr. Town. And then he said, to Shadow, “I personally don’t give a fuck about any of this. What I do, is what Mister World says. It’s easier that way.”
Shadow walked down the corridor to room 9.
He unlocked the door, went inside. He said, “Sorry. I thought this was my room.”
“It is,” said Media. “I was waiting for you.” He’could see her hair in the moonlight, and her pale face. She was sitting on his bed, primly.
“I’ll find another room.”
“I won’t be here for long,” she said. “I just thought it might be an appropriate time to make you an offer.”
“Okay. Make the offer.”
“Relax,” she said. There was a smile in her voice. “You have such a stick up your butt. Look, Wednesday’s dead. You don’t owe anyone anything. Throw in with us. Time to Come Over to the Winning Team.”
Shadow said nothing.
“We can make you famous, Shadow. We can give you power over what people believe and say and wear and dream. You want to be the next Gary Grant? We can make that happen. We can make you the next Beatles.”
“I think I preferred it when you were offering to show me Lucy’s tits,” said Shadow. “If that was you.”
“Ah,” she said.
“I need my room back. Good night.”
“And then of course,” she said, not moving, as if he had not spoken, “we can turn it all around. We can make it bad for you. You could be a bad joke forever, Shadow. Or you could be remembered as a monster. You could be remembered forever, but as a Manson, a Hitler ... how would you //tethat?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m kind of tired,” said Shadow. “I’d be grateful if you’d leave now.”
“I offered you the world,” she said. “When you’re dying in a gutter, you remember that.”
“I’ll make a point of it,” he said.
After she had gone her perfume lingered. He lay on the bare mattress and thought about Laura, but whatever he thought about—Laura playing Frisbee, Laura eating a root-beer float without a spoon, Laura giggling, showing off the exotic underwear she had bought when she attended a travel agents’ convention in Anaheim—always morphed, in his mind, into Laura sucking Robbie’s cock as a truck slammed them off the road and into oblivion. And then he heard her words, and they hurt every time.
You’re not dead, said Laura in her quiet voice, in his head. But I’m not sure that you ‘re alive, either.