She hefted it. "Feels pretty goddamned thick to me. A Stephen King book for sure. He sells by the inch, America buys by the pound."
Roland only shook his head.
Irene said, "Never mind. I'm being smart because Ree doesn't do goodbyes well, never has. You want me to keep this, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Maybe when Big Steve gets out of the hospital, I'll get him to sign it. The way I look at it, he owes me an autograph."
"Or a kiss," Roland said, and took another for himself.
With the book out of his hands, he felt somehow lighter. Freer.
Safer. He drew her fully into his arms and hugged her. Irene Tassenbaum returned his strength with her own.
Then Roland let her go, touched his forehead lightly with his fist, and turned to the door of the Dixie Pig. He opened it and slipped inside with no look back. That, he had found, was ever the easiest way.
SIXTEEN
The chrome post which had been outside on the night Jake and Pere Callahan had come here had been put in the lobby for safekeeping. Roland stumbled against it, but his reflexes were as quick as ever and he grabbed it before it could fall over. He read the sign on top slowly, sounding the words out and getting the sense of only one: CLOSED. The orange electric flambeaux which had lit the dining room were off but the battery-powered emergency lights were on, filling the area beyond the lobby and the bar with a flat glare. To the left was an arch and another dining room beyond it. There were no emergency lights there; that part of the Dixie Pig was as dark as a cave. The light from the main dining room seemed to creep in about four feet-just far enough to illuminate the end of a long table-and then fall dead. The tapestry of which Jake had spoken was gone. It might be in the evidence room of the nearest police station, or it might already have joined some collector's trove of oddities.
Roland could smell the faint aroma of charred meat, vague and unpleasant.
In the main dining room, two or three tables were overturned.
Roland saw stains on the red rug, several dark ones that were almost certainly blood and a yellowish curd that was... something else.
H'rozv it aside! Nasty bauble of the 'heep-God, h'row it aside if you dare!
And the Pere's voice, echoing dimly in Roland's ears, unafraid: / needn't stake my faith on the challenge of such a thing as you, sai The Pere. Another of those he had left behind.
Roland thought briefly of the scrimshaw turde that had been hidden in the lining of the bag they had found in the vacant lot, but didn't waste time looking for it. If it had been here, he thought he would have heard its voice, calling to him in the silence. No, whoever had appropriated die tapestry of the vampire-knights at dinner had very likely taken the skoldpadda as well, not knowing what it was, only knowing it was something strange and wonderful and otherworldly. Too bad. It might have come in handy.
The gunslinger moved on, weaving his way among the tables with Oy trotting at his heel.
SEVENTEEN
He paused in die kitchen long enough to wonder what the constabulary of New York had made of it. He was willing to bet diey had never seen another like it, not in this city of clean machinery and bright electric lights. This was a kitchen in which Hax, the cook he remembered best from his youth (and beneath whose dead feet he and his best friend had once scattered bread for die birds), would have felt at home. The cookfires had been out for weeks, but the smell of the meat that had been roasted here-some of the variety known as long pork-was strong and nasty. There were more signs of trouble here, as well
(a scum-caked pot lying on the green tiles of the floor, blood which had been burned black on one of the stovetops), and Roland could imagine Jake fighting his way through the kitchen.
But not in panic; no, not he. Instead he had paused to demand directions of the cook's boy.
What's your name, cully?
Jochabim, that be I, son of Hossa.
Jake had told them this part of his story, but it was not memory that spoke to Roland now. It was the voices of the dead.
He had heard such voices before, and knew them for what they were.