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.""Yeah.So if he's dying, where would he go? Someplace he hasn't been able to go to for twenty years.""Home.""Yeah.""Was he close to his folks?""He was, but his father died years ago.His mother's still alive, though.""Where did he live?""Little town called Colver.His mother's still there.”“It's an off chance he'd go back.""Where else has he got to go? And what does he have to lose? Besides, it's not just a lead—it's our only lead.""How far is it?""Near Ebensburg.Less than an hour.""Go now?""Tomorrow morning.We'll have to check the motels, if there are any, talk to real estate people.He's got to buy or rent from somebody.Go to the Ebensburg library and check the past few days' papers, see who's renting or selling, and contact them.If the places are gone, we check them out, see who's there.""And maybe it's him.""Maybe it is."~*~The next morning Curly and Woody arrived at the Ebensburg Public Library only to find that it didn't open until 1:00, so they drove on, and were in Colver by 10:30."Helluva town," Curly said, and Woody snorted in ironic agreement.Colver was all too typical of the western Pennsylvania coal towns in which the veins had been cleaned out.The Compton Mines had closed over a decade before, and those who were still young enough to keep working moved away, seeking greener pastures and blacker mines, leaving the town to tired old men, widows, and the giant slag heaps, mountains of dark gray grit, that greeted the visitor.Main Street cut through the center of town, with smaller, residential streets branching off of it.Along Main was a grocery store with gas pumps out front, two churches, a state liquor store, three taverns, one of which was boarded over, a hardware store, and a small video rental shop.They stopped at the grocery store, where the proprietor told them that the only person who handled real estate in town was Gus Pulaski."But he's down in Nanty Glo this morning working on a house—does basements, bathrooms, that kind of thing.Should be back around lunch time.Has a little office down on Second Street."Back in the car, they decided to drive around rather than walk the streets."If he's here," Woody reasoned, "and he sees us, he's gone."At 12:30 a van with "Pulaski Renovation & Remodeling" painted on the side pulled up in front of the office, and a short, squat man in his fifties got out.Woody introduced himself and Curly as Bob and Tim Parsons, brothers from Pittsburgh who were looking for rental investments.Pulaski looked at them warily."Investments? In Colver? Are you kidding? This town isn't exactly booming.""I know," Woody said."The mines closed." He paused, then said quietly, "But factories can open.""Factories? What factories?"Woody smiled."Factories that might be built.""You know something?" Pulaski said."You know something I don't know?"Woody put a finger to his lips."You haven't heard a thing from me, okay? I'll just say that if I were looking to get into real estate right now, Colver might be a good place to start."“Jesus," Pulaski said."Jesus H.Christ." He shook his head in disbelief, picked up an account book from the top of his battered desk, and waggled it at Woody."You know how many places I've sold this past month? None.Not a one.And how many I rented? Just one.A whole damn house for three hundred and fifty bucks a month, for which I get fifty-two dollars and fifty cents.Half the goddam houses in this town are available, and I'm the agent on nearly all of them.""Then I'd say you're in a very favorable position.Now frankly, Tim and I are looking to buy buildings with more than six rental units.Anything like that available?"Pulaski filled his cheeks with air, blew it out in frustration, and dropped the book on the desk."That I don't have.Last apartment house around here was torn down long ago.""Double houses then? Places that could be broken up into four apartments?"His face brightened."Yeah, a lot of those." He grabbed a thick, three-ring binder from a shelf."You wanta look?""Sure." Woody took the binder and opened it, flipping slowly through page after page of watery Polaroids with typed data beneath each."Say," Curly said, "you have a bathroom in here? Long drive from Pittsburgh.""Sure." Pulaski pointed through a door."Down that hall, second door on the right."Curly left the room, and Woody kept paging, murmuring, "Hmmm" or "Uh-huh" every now and then.After a minute, Curly called from the rear of the building."Mr.Pulaski? Something's wrong with the toilet."Pulaski got up and walked back into the hall.Woody immediately opened the account book on the desk and riffled through it until he found the listing of the most recent rental.It was dated several days before, and was for a property at 75 Eighth Street.The name of the tenant was Harold Hall.The name stopped Woody cold, and for a moment he didn't know why.Then the memory came over him like a second skin, chill, damp, and pale, the name of the protagonist of a book he had read long ago.Harold Hall.Harry Haller.Steppenwolf.Keith Aarons was there.The sound of returning footsteps made him slap the book shut and slide it back to its former position.".damn thing never did that before," he heard Pulaski say."Sorry," said Curly."Must've been my fault.""Nah nah, don't worry, no harm done." The two men came into the office, and Pulaski grinned at Woody."So, Mr.Parsons, you find anything?""A few." Woody's voice was shaking, and he cleared his throat."A few look pretty good.""Well, great.Let me take you and your brother around, and you can—"Woody shook his head."Not today, I'm afraid.We've got to get back to our office by four.How about next week? We'll give you a call.""Swell.Here's my card.Call me at home if I'm not here.Both numbers are on there.""Fine." Woody stood up and shook Pulaski's hand."But not a word now, huh?"Pulaski mimed zipping shut his lip."Not from me.You, uh, have a card?"Woody nodded and took out his wallet."Damn, Look at that.Forgot to put them in last time I ran out."Pulaski looked at Curly like a puppy expecting a treat, but Curly shook his head."Bob's the card carrier.I like a thin wallet.""Here, I'll write down our number," Woody said, and scrawled seven random numbers on a note pad."But we'll be in touch."As soon as they got in the car, Woody said, "He's here.”“What, he used his name?""No.Harold Hall.The main character in Steppenwolf is Harry Haller.""Shit, I thought he was smarter than that.""He never would have done anything so obvious before.I bet he just doesn't care anymore.Of course he wouldn't use his own name, but a variation of Harry Haller keeps his anonymity while it shows a little bravado at the same time.""And gives us a clue."Woody shrugged."Like I said, I don't think he cares." Woody gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands, looked down, breathed out shakily."What's the matter?"He gave a little laugh."I didn't think it would come to this.I didn't really think we would find him." He turned and looked at Curly."Now that we have.I'm scared.""Yeah.He's one dangerous guy.He's going to be hard to get.""No.I'm not scared of him.I'm afraid of going back.Afraid we won't be able to get there.And afraid that we will."Chapter 42They drove out of town for several miles and ate lunch at a roadside burger stand.It was 1:30 when they tossed their napkins in the trash."So now we go get him?" Curly said in the car."No.We wait till dark.That way nobody else sees us, and maybe he doesn't either.But now we buy some guns.”“Shit, this is getting nasty.""He's not going to come with us on his own.""But he's gonna have guns too, isn't he? I mean, this is Pan we're talking about—assassin, bomber, terrorist, fellow alumni.”“Not a fellow alumni.He never graduated.""Oh, that's cool.Then we can kill 'im.""No.We can't kill him.We have to take him back [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]