Nothing. He looked up and saw galleries of bare wood running along two sides of the building. These were being used for storage, and the contents of the cartons stacked there would have interested the FBI, the FDA, and the ATF a great deal. No one was up there, but Fern spied something he thought was new: white cord running along the railings of both galleries, affixed to the wood by heavy staples. An electrical cord? Running to what? Had that nutball put more cookers up there? If so, Fern didn't see them. The cord looked too thick to be powering just a simple appliance, like a TV or a ra -
'Fern!' Stewart cried, making him jump.'If he ain't there, come on and help us! I want to get out of here! They said there's gonna be an update on TV at six and I want to see if they've figured anything out!'
In Chester's Mill, 'they' had more and more come to mean anything or anyone in the world beyond the town's borders.
Fern went, not looking over the door and thus not seeing what the new electrical cords were attached to: a large brick of white claylike stuff sitting on its own little shelf. It was explosive.
The Chef's own recipe.
4
As they drove back toward town, Roger said: 'Halloween. That's a thirty-one, too.'
'You're a regular fund of information,' Stewart said.
Roger tapped the side of his unfortunately shaped head. 'I store it up,' he said. 'I don't do it on purpose. It's just a knack.'
Stewart thought: Jamaica. Or Barbados. Somewhere warm, for sure. As soon as the Dome lets go. I never want to see another Killian. Or anyone from this town.
'There's also thirty-one cards in a deck,' Roger said.
Fern stared at him. 'What the f**k are you - '
'Just kiddin, just kiddin with you,' Roger said, and burst into a terrifying shriek of laughter that hurt Stewart's head.
They were coming up on the hospital now. Stewart saw a gray Ford Taurus pulling out of Catherine Russell.
'Hey, that's Dr Rusty,' Fern said. 'Bet he'll be glad to get this stuff. Give im a toot, Stewie.'
Stewart gave im a toot.
5
When the Godless ones were gone, Chef Bushey finally let go of the garage door opener he'd been holding. He had been watching the Bowie brothers and Roger Killian from the window in the studio men's room. His thumb had been on the button the whole time they were in the storage barn, rummaging around in his stuff. If they had come out with product, he - would have pushed the button and blown the whole works sky-high.
'It's in your hands, my Jesus,' he had muttered. 'Like we used to say when we were kids, I don't wanna but I will.'
And Jesus handled it. Chef had a feeling He would when he heard George Dow and the Gospel-Tones come over the sat-feed, singing 'God, How You Care for Me,' and it was a true feeling, a true Sign from Above.They hadn't come for long-glass but for two piddling tanks of LP.
He watched them drive away, then shambled down the path between the back of the studio and the combination lab-storage facility. It was his building now, his long-glass, at least until Jesus came and took it all for his own.
Maybe Halloween.
Maybe earlier.
It was a lot to think about, and thinking was easier these days when he was smoked up.
Much easier.
Julia sipped her small tot of whiskey, making it: last, but the women cops slugged theirs like heroes. It wasn't enough to make them drunk, but it loosened their tongues.
'Fact is, I'm horrified,' Jackie Wettington said. She was looking down, playing with her empty juice glass, but when Piper offered her another splash, she shook her head.'It never would have happened if Duke was still alive. That's what I keep coming back to. Even if he had reason to believe Barbara had murdered his wife, he would've followed due process.That's just how he was. And allowing the father of a victim to go down to the Coop and confront the perp? Never! Linda was nodding agreement. 'It makes me scared for what might happen to the guy. Also...'
'If it could happen to Barbie, it could happen to anyone?'Julia asked.
Jackie nodded. Biting her lips. Playing with her glass. 'If something happened to him - I don't necessarily mean something balls-to-the-wall like a lynching, just an accident in his cell - I'm not sure I could ever put on this uniform again.'
Linda's basic concern was simpler and more direct. Her husband believed Barbie innocent. In the heat of her fury (and her revulsion at what they had found in the McCain pantry), she had rejected that idea - Barbie's dog tags had, after all, been in Angie McCain's gray and stiffening hand. But the more she thought about it, the more she worried. Partly because she respected Rusty s judgment of things and always had, but also because of what Barbie had shouted just before Randolph had Maced him. Tell your husband to examine the bodies. He must examine the bodies!
'And another thing,'Jackie said, still spinning her glass.'You don't Mace a prisoner just because he's yelling. We've had Saturday nights, especially after big games, when it sounded like the zoo at feeding time down there. You just let em yell. Eventually they get tired and go to sleep.'
Julia, meanwhile, was studying Linda. When Jackie had finished, Julia said, 'Tell me again what Barbie said.'
'He wanted Rusty to examine the bodies, especially Brenda Perkins's. He said they wouldn't be at the hospital. He knew that. They're at Bowie's, and that's not right.'