In the night room Page 0,96
his chair, and he watched her heft the white bag as she pushed the door open and walked outside into brilliant sunshine. Through the window in the entrance, he could see her striding off to the side of the building. He went outside and followed, pondering the difficulties of introducing Willy to his brother, which he supposed he would shortly be doing. When he rounded the corner into the side lot, he found Willy staring off into the distance with a vacuous expression on her face. Tim supposed she was thinking about how soon she would need another couple of Score bars, and he opened his mouth to tell her to hurry along.
The sight of the slender young man in a black T-shirt and black jeans leaning against one of the concrete planters froze the words in his throat. Here was the real Mr. Halleden, WCHWHLLDN himself, watching over his charge. He wore sunglasses as black as his shirt, and his hair gleamed in the sun. He appeared to be profoundly irritated, but when had he not?
Tim realized that Willy still stood where she had stopped, and that she had not moved her gaze from the side of the lot. Then he noticed that a conspicuous silence filled the parking lot. Fear sparkling along his nerve endings, he turned and saw Giles Coverley and Roman Richard Spilka standing, in the shadows at the back of the building, on either side of the mud-encrusted Mountaineer. They stepped forward and into the light. Their faces looked pinched and washed out, and even Coverley’s clothes were rumpled and dirty. Both men needed a shave. The nose of the pistol in Roman Richard’s hand twitched like a metronome from Willy to Tim and back again.
“This is just us now,” Coverley said, and Tim realized that he could not see WCHWHLLDN. “Nobody else is going to come around to park here—why would they? And the staff has no reason to wander around to this side of the building. So I want you to know that you will die, both of you. That is the most solemn promise I ever made in my whole life. But before we kill you, you are going to explain what the hell is going on here.”
Willy actually laughed. “Have you had any luck getting in touch with Mitchell? Been getting any assistance from the Baltic Group?”
“It’s not THERE anymore!” Coverley shouted. “And we can’t find Mitchell.”
“The only person we can find is you,” said Roman Richard, who looked confused and furious. Both of them had the hollowed-out, slightly spectral appearance of the seriously hungry. “But we sure are good at that. We could find you anywhere, because we just know where to go. How does that happen, you asshole? What did you do to us?”
“How come your face is on our money?” Coverley screamed. “How come I think I went to school in Millhaven and my second-grade teacher was Mrs. Gross? I’m English!”
“Why do I know all this shit about jazz and poetry?” yelled Roman Richard. “I hate jazz and poetry! I don’t like that shit, I like . . . well, whatever it is I like.” He thought about it for a second. “The Ramones. That’s what I like.”
“How did you pay for your lunch, you asshole?” Coverley asked. “Does your money work here?”
“I put it on a credit card.” Tim glanced back over his shoulder, and WCHWHLLDN was still leaning against the planter with his arms crossed. He looked as furious as Roman Richard, but a lot more bored.
“Our credit cards get turned down, because there is no Continental Trust of New Jersey. And there’s no HENDERSONIA!”
“Would you like a candy bar?” Willy sweetly asked them.
“Christ, we’ve been stealing those things,” Coverley said. “Candy bars are too expensive to pay for, the way we have to get money. I’m not killing people for candy bars anymore.”
“I’m crazy about your scruples,” Tim said, watching Coverley and Roman Richard stare at Willy’s bag.
She knelt down and partially unzipped it. As if they could smell the chocolate, the two men stepped closer. “Do you really want to know what the secret is?” she asked.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll blow your damn head off,” said Roman Richard, aiming the pistol at her. Tim moved up between them.
“Get away, or I’ll shoot you first.” Roman Richard stepped sideways and kept the pistol aimed at Willy.
“The secret is,” Willy said, “you’re in a book. You used to be in a book, and I