shaky. Crow hated the idea of Rose being afraid, but he thought she was. Not for herself, but for the True Knot it was her duty to protect. “You know I’d never send you on with Barry sick if I didn’t think it was absolutely vital.”
“Yeah.”
“Get her, knock her the fuck out, bring her back. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“If the rest of you get sick, if you feel you have to charter a jet and fly her back—”
“We’ll do that, too.” But Crow dreaded the prospect. Any of them not sick when they got on the plane would be when they got off—equilibrium shot, hearing screwed blue for a month or more, palsy, vomiting. And of course flying left a paper trail. Not good for passengers escorting a drugged and kidnapped little girl. Still: needs must when the devil drives.
“Time you got back on the road,” Rose said. “You take care of my Barry, big man. The rest of them, too.”
“Is everyone okay at your end?”
“Sure,” Rose said, and hung up before he could ask her anything else. That was okay. Sometimes you didn’t need telepathy to tell when someone was lying. Even the rubes knew that.
He tossed the phone on the table and clapped his hands briskly. “Okay, let’s gas and go. Next stop, Sturbridge, Massachusetts. Nut, you stick with Barry. I’ll drive the next six hours, then you’re up, Jimmy.”
“I want to go home,” Jimmy Numbers said morosely. He was about to say more, but a hot hand grabbed his wrist before he could.
“We got no choice about this,” Barry said. His eyes were glittering with fever, but they were sane and aware. In that moment, Crow was very proud of him. “No choice at all, Computer Boy, so man up. True comes first. Always.”
Crow sat down behind the wheel and turned the key. “Jimmy,” he said. “Sit with me a minute. Want to have a little gab.”
Jimmy Numbers sat down in the passenger seat.
“These three girls, how old are they? Do you know?”
“That and a lot of other stuff. I hacked their school records when I got the pictures. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Deane and Cross are fourteen. The Stone girl is a year younger. She skipped a grade in elementary school.”
“I find that suggestive of steam,” Crow said.
“Yeah.”
“And they all live in the same neighborhood.”
“Right.”
“I find that suggestive of chumminess.”
Jimmy’s eyes were still swollen with tears, but he laughed. “Yeah. Girls, y’know. All three of them probably wear the same lipstick and moan over the same bands. What’s your point?”
“No point,” Crow said. “Just information. Information is power, or so they say.”
Two minutes later, Steamhead Steve’s ’Bago was merging back onto Interstate 90. When the speedometer was pegged at sixty-five, Crow put on the cruise control and let it ride.
7
Dan outlined what he had in mind, then waited for Dave Stone to respond. For a long time he only sat beside Abra with his head lowered and his hands clasped between his knees.
“Daddy?” Abra asked. “Please say something.”
Dave looked up and said, “Who wants a beer?”
Dan and John exchanged a brief bemused glance and declined.
“Well, I do. What I really want is a double shot of Jack, but I’m willing to stipulate with no input from you gentlemen that sippin whiskey might not be such a good idea tonight.”
“I’ll get it, Dad.”
Abra bounced into the kitchen. They heard the snap of the flip-top and the hiss of the carbonation—sounds that brought back memories for Dan, many of them treacherously happy. She returned with a can of Coors and a pilsner glass.
“Can I pour it?”
“Knock yourself out.”
Dan and John watched with silent fascination as Abra tilted the glass and slid the beer down the side to minimize the foam, operating with the casual expertise of a good bartender. She handed the glass to her father and set the can on a coaster beside him. Dave took a deep swallow, sighed, closed his eyes, then opened them again.
“That’s good,” he said.
I bet it is, Dan thought, and saw Abra watching him. Her face, usually so open, was inscrutable, and for the moment he could not read the thoughts behind it.
Dave said, “What you’re proposing is crazy, but it has its attractions. Chief among them would be a chance to see these . . . creatures . . . with my own eyes. I think I need to, because—in spite of everything you’ve told me—I find it impossible to believe in them. Even with the glove, and