Not maybe, son. You just have to keep your eyes on the ladder. Rung by rung. You understand what I’m saying?
Nat nodded. Down below, on the frontage road, the rust-colored vehicle he thought he had seen a few minutes before had returned, idling down there in plain view now. It was as he feared, the dull, dented El Camino he had seen at the Peppermill the night Mike had broken his finger, and although he could not see the driver he knew it had to be the tattooed man from Landrum’s, idling there, plotting his revenge. He knew the driver could see him, could see him and could see Milton Wells standing next to him, and in the next moment it sped off with an ostentatious screeching of its tires, the sound of which seemed to run through Nat’s body like some shivering wire.
Plans for the holiday? Milt said.
Going to visit my mom, he said, his voice faintly wobbling.
It was Battle Mountain, right?
Yep, Nat said. Battle Mountain.
Well, you give her my best.
I will.
Milt stepped forward across the parking lot. Behind them, the shop’s service manager appeared and began to pull down one of the bay doors, the sound of it rattling out across the asphalt. Evening, Milt, the manager called.
Milt waved briefly, hardly looking up, and then stopped and turned back toward Nat, fumbling for a moment with his wallet and finally extracting a bill. Look, he said, you get your mom a nice turkey or something. On me. All right?
It was a twenty and Nat reached for it automatically. Thanks, he said. That’s really really nice of you.
It appeared for a moment as if his boss might say something more, but then he simply nodded and walked away across the parking lot to where his long shining LTD was parked in a slot labeled with his name.
He’s a nice guy, the service manager called from the next bay, his hand on the partially closed roller door.
Sure is, Nat said.
You wanna give me a hand with these doors?
He nodded, staring at the bill in his hand before stuffing it into his coat pocket and reentering the shop to pull down the remainder of the doors, kicking the latches into place and wrapping the chains around the metal pegs beside them, his splinted finger pointing everywhere as he worked.
When he walked outside again, the wind was gusting down hard. He looked toward the road but the El Camino was nowhere to be found.
His car was parked in the employee lot and when he rounded the edge of the building the wind struck him so hard that he had to tilt his body into it to keep walking, reaching the little Datsun and opening the door and sliding inside. The car shook under him with each gust and even when he had started it and was driving down to the road he could still feel its force, the car creaking and trembling all around him as if afraid.
The first thing he saw when he reached the road was a police cruiser pulled over to the side just a few yards away, a green sedan parked just ahead of it, red and blue lights flashing. The second was the El Camino, moving slowly toward him on the opposite side of the street.
Nat slowed and stopped, his car remaining there at the edge of the employee parking lot as if waiting for a break in traffic. But there was no traffic. Only that rust-colored El Camino sliding soundlessly toward him, the windshield reflecting at first only the flat gray pane of the sky and then, suddenly, clearing all at once so that he could see the tattooed man’s smiling face through the glass. The man’s hand came up slowly, his two fingers mimicking the act of firing a pistol through Nat’s windshield. Then he had passed, the El Camino rolling away, so slowly, two red taillights adrift along the road before the car turned the corner at the edge of the dealership and was gone.
Nat looked at the police cruiser again and the officer glanced up at him and Nat raised a hand in greeting. Then he pulled out into the street.
When he reached the Peppermill he returned to Wild Wild Nights, and within the hour he had no money left in his wallet at all.
WHAT THE fuck? Rick said when he told him about the El Camino.
I don’t know, Nat said. He’s freaking me out.
I haven’t seen him.
I’m telling you he’s watching me. Probably watching both of us.
Fucker, Rick said. I guess he needs another lesson.