“What do you mean?”

That leering, over-the-shoulder grin again.

“You find out, white boy.” Her eyes, mad but cogent, shifted briefly to the gunslinger. “You bofe be findin dat out.”

Eddie wrapped his hands around the bicycle grips at the ends of the push-handles on the back of her wheelchair and they began north again, now leaving not only footprints but the twin tracks of the Lady’s chair as they moved up the seemingly endless beach.

9

The day was a nightmare.

It was hard to calculate distance travelled when you were moving along a landscape which varied so little, but Eddie knew their progress had slowed to a crawl.

And he knew who was responsible.

Oh yeah.

You bofe be findin dat out, Detta had said, and they hadn’t been on the move more than half an hour before the finding out began.

Pushing.

That was the first thing. Pushing the wheelchair up a beach of fine sand would have been as impossible as driving a car through deep unplowed snow. This beach, with its gritty, marly surface, made moving the chair possible but far from easy. It would roll along smoothly enough for awhile, crunching over shells and popping little pebbles to either side of its hard rubber tires . . . and then it would hit a dip where finer sand had drifted, and Eddie would have to shove, grunting, to get it and its solid unhelpful passenger through it. The sand sucked greedily at the wheels. You had to simultaneously push and throw your weight against the handles of the chair in a downward direction, or it and its bound occupant would tumble over face-first onto the beach.

Detta would cackle as he tried to move her without upending her. “You havin a good time back dere, honey chile?” she asked each time the chair ran into one of these drybogs.

When the gunslinger moved over to help, Eddie motioned him away. “You’ll get your chance,” he said. “We’ll switch off.” But I think my turns are going to be a hell of a lot longer than his, a voice in his head spoke up. The way he looks, he’s going to have his hands full just keeping himself moving before much longer, let alone moving the woman in this chair. No sir, Eddie, I’m afraid this Bud’s for you. It’s God’s revenge, you know it? All those years you spent as a junkie, and guess what? You’re finally the pusher!

He uttered a short out-of-breath laugh.

“What’s so funny, white boy?” Detta asked, and although Eddie thought she meant to sound sarcastic, it came out sounding just a tiny bit angry.

Ain’t supposed to be any laughs in this for me, he thought. None at all. Not as far as she’s concerned.

“You wouldn’t understand, babe. Just let it lie.”

“I be lettin you lie before this be all over,” she said. “Be lettin you and yo bad-ass buddy there lie in pieces all ovah dis beach. Sho. Meantime you better save yo breaf to do yo pushin with. You already sound like you gettin a little sho’t winded.”