Odd Hours Part 33

"I understand."

"How long to squeeze a trigger?"

"Fraction of a second, sir."

"See that chair?"

"Yes, sir."

"If that chair moves?"

"Face. Off."

"See that desk set?"

"I see it, sir."

"If that desk set moves?"

"Good-bye face."

"Kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Reverend Moran urged.

The minister was still holding his pistol.

His hand was twitching.

He wanted to waste me himself.

"Get up," Shackett ordered me. "You're gonna talk."

As I obeyed, Reverend Moran objected. "No talk."

"Control yourself," Shackett admonished the minister.

"Just kill him, and let's go."

"I want answers."

"He won't give you any."

"I might," I a.s.sured them. "I will. I'd like to."

Shackett said, "Coast Guard's reporting the tug is beached."

"Yes, sir," I said.

"I'm not talking to you, s.h.i.thead."

"My mistake."

Reverend Moran said, "Beached where?"

"The cove at Hecate's Canyon."

Reverend Moran said, "Could we-"

"No. Coast Guard's all over it."

"Kill him," Reverend Moran said more ferociously.

"When it's time."

Reverend Moran said, "It's time now."

"It's not time," Shackett said.

"It's not," I agreed.

"Hoss, it's over," the minister said.

His gun hand shook like a Pentecostal receiving the spirit.

"I know it's over," Shackett said.

"Do you really really know it's over?" know it's over?"

"Oh, I really know," Shackett said.

"We gotta fly," the minister said.

Shackett said, "We have a little time."

"I want to be gone," Reverend Moran insisted.

"You can't wait five minutes?"

"I want to be gone now."

"You want to be gone now?"

"Right now, Hoss. Gone. Now."

Hoss Shackett shot Reverend Moran in the head, said, "Now you're gone," and had his gun back in my face before I could blink.

"This is bad," I said.

"You think this is bad, Harry?"

"Oh, I know it's bad. Very bad."

"It can get worse."

"Yes. I've seen how it can."

The Reverend and Mrs. Moran were not bleeding. This did not mean they were not human.

They had not had time to bleed. They had died instantly. Neat corpses.

"I want what you've got," Shackett said.

"What have I got?" I asked.

"The juice."

"What juice?"

"The stuff makes you psychic."

"There's no stuff."

"What did you call the power? The furniture power?"

"Telekinesis."

"I want that. I want the juice."

"I told you-one shot, it's for life."

"That was bulls.h.i.t."

If only he knew.

No bull was involved.

I can produce it without a bull.

"One shot," I insisted. "Then they have you."

"You say the government screwed you?"

"I hate them. They screwed me good."

"Where is my gun?"

"It's in my face, sir. May I ask a question?"

"h.e.l.l, no."

I nodded and bit my lip.

He glared at me. "What?"

"Why didn't the coyotes tear you to pieces?"

"What coyotes?"

"When you let them into the Sunday school."

"Don't try to make me think you're crazy on drugs, Harry."

"I wouldn't, sir."

"That would be as pathetic as the amnesia c.r.a.p."

"Yes, sir."

"My point is, if the government screwed you, then you would have sold out for twenty-five million."

"They would have killed my family."

"You're not married."

"No. It's my brother."

"Who cares about a brother?"

"We're twins. We're so close."

"I don't buy it, Harry."

"He's paraplegic, see."

"So what?"

"And he has a learning disability."

"A what?"

"And he lost an eye in the war."

"What're you pulling here?"

"Iraq. My other brother, Jamie, he died there."

"Did that chair just move?"

"No, sir."