"Brent ... look-"
"No, you look!" His voice began to rise toward a courtroom shout. It carried very, very well, and several of the people who were wandering around, edgy and aimless, looked over to see what was going on. Norton jabbed his finger at me as he spoke. "It's a joke. It's a banana skin and I'm the guy that's supposed to slip on it. None of you people are exactly crazy about out-of-towners, am I right? You all pretty much stick together. The way it happened when I hauled you into court to get what was rightfully mine. You won that one, all right. Why not? Your father was the famous artist, and it's your town. I only pay my taxes and spend my money here!"
He was no longer performing, hectoring us with the trained courtroom shout; he was nearly screaming and on the verge of losing all control. Ollie Weeks turned and walked away, clutching his beer. Myron and his friend Jim were staring at Norton with frank amazement.
"Am I supposed to go back there and look at some ninety-eight-cent rubber-joke novelty while these two hicks stand around and laugh their asses off?"
"Hey, you want to watch who you're calling a hick," Myron said.
"I'm glad that tree fell on your boathouse, if you want to know the truth. Glad." Norton was grinning savagely at me. "Stove it in pretty well, didn't it? Fantastic. Now get out of my way."
He tried to push past me. I grabbed him by the arm and threw him against the beer cooler. A woman cawed in surprise. Two six-packs of Bud fell over.
"You dig out your ears and listen, Brent. There are lives at stake here. My kid's is not the least of them. So you listen, or I'll swear I'll knock the shit out of you."
"Go ahead," Norton said, still grinning with a kind of insane palsied bravado. His eyes, bloodshot and wide, bulged from their sockets. "Show everyone how big and brave you are, beating up a man with a heart condition who is old enough to be your father."
"Sock him anyway!" Jim exclaimed. "Fuck his heart condition. I don't even think a cheap New York shyster like him has got a heart."
"You keep out of it," I said to Jim, and then put my face down to Norton's. I was kissing distance, if that had been what I had in mind. The cooler was off, but it was still radiating a chill. "Stop throwing up sand. You know damn well I'm telling the truth."
"I know ... no ... such thing," he panted.
"If it was another time and place, I'd let you get away with it. I don't care how scared you are, and I'm not keeping score. I'm scared, too. But I need you, goddammit! Does that get through? I need you!"
"Let me go!"
I grabbed him by the shirt and shook him. "Don't you understand anything? People are going to start leaving and walk right into that thing out there! For Christ's sake, don't you understand?"
"Let me go!"
"Not until you come back there with me and see for yourself."
"I told you, no! It's all a trick, a joke, I'm not as stupid as you take me for-"
"Then I'll haul you back there myself."
I grabbed him by the shoulder and the scruff of his neck. The scam of his shirt under one arm tore with a soft purring sound. I dragged him toward the double doors. Norton let out a wretched scream. A knot of people, fifteen or eighteen, had gathered, but they kept their distance. None showed any signs of wanting to interfere.
"Help me!" Norton cried. His eyes bulged behind his glasses. His styled hair had gone awry again, sticking up in the same two little tufts behind his ears. People shuffled their feet and watched.
"What are you screaming for?" I said in his ear. "It's just a joke, right? That's why I took you to town when you asked to come and why I trusted you to cross Billy in the parking lot-because I had this handy fog all manufactured, I rented a fog machine from Hollywood, it cost me fifteen thousand dollars and another eight thousand dollars to ship it, all so I could play a joke on you. Stop bullshitting yourself and open your eyes!"
"Let... me ... go!" Norton bawled. We were almost at the doors.
"Here, here! What is this? What are you doing?"
It was Brown. He bustled and elbowed his way through the crowd of watchers.
"Make him let me go," Norton said hoarsely. "He's crazy.
"No. He's not crazy. I wish he were, but he isn't." That was Ollie, and I could have blessed him. He came around the aisle behind us and stood there facing Brown.
Brown's eyes dropped to the beer Ollie was holding. "You're drinking!" he said, and his voice was surprised but not totally devoid of pleasure. "You'll lose your job for this."
"Come on, Bud," I said, letting Norton go. "This is no ordinary situation."
"Regulations don't change," Brown said smugly. "I'll see that the company hears of it. That's my responsibility."