“What’s wrong, George?” Tricks Postino asked.

“Shut up,” ’Cimi said. His voice was the low rumble of an idling truck.

They shut up.

George slid a hand inside Henry’s shirt. Oh, this was getting worse and worse. That image of being with a girl in a movie theater wouldn’t leave him. Now here he was, feeling her up, only it wasn’t a her but a him, this wasn’t just narcophobia, it was fucking faggot narcophobia, and Henry’s scrawny junkie’s chest wasn’t moving up and down, and there wasn’t anything inside going thump-thump-thump. For Henry Dean it was all over, for Henry Dean the ball-game had been rained out in the seventh inning. Wasn’t nothing ticking but his watch.

He moved into the heavy Old Country atmosphere of olive oil and garlic that surrounded ’Cimi Dretto.

“I think we might have a problem,” George whispered.

7

Jack came out of the bathroom.

“There’s no dope in there,” he said, and his flat eyes studied Eddie. “And if you were thinking about the window, you can forget it. That’s ten-gauge steel mesh.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the window and it is in there,” Eddie said quietly. “You just don’t know where to look.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Balazar,” Andolini said, “but this crock is getting just a little too full for me.”

Balazar studied Eddie as if he hadn’t even heard Andolini. He was thinking very deeply.

Thinking about magicians pulling rabbits out of hats.

You got a guy from the audience to check out the fact that the hat was empty. What other thing that never changed? That no one saw into the hat but the magician, of course. And what had the kid said? I’m going to walk into your bathroom. I’m going in by myself.

Knowing how a magic trick worked was something he usually wouldn’t want to know; knowing spoiled the fun.

Usually.

This, however, was a trick he couldn’t wait to spoil.

“Fine,” he said to Eddie. “If it’s in there, go get it. Just like you are. Bare-ass.”

“Good,” Eddie said, and started toward the bathroom door.

“But not alone,” Balazar said. Eddie stopped at once, his body stiffening as if Balazar had shot him with an invisible harpoon, and it did Balazar’s heart good to see it. For the first time something hadn’t gone according to the kid’s plan. “Jack’s going with you.”

“No,” Eddie said at once. “That’s not what I—”

“Eddie,” Balazar said gently, “you don’t tell me no. That’s one thing you never do.”

8

It’s all right, the gunslinger said. Let him come.

But . . . but . . .

Eddie was close to gibbering, barely holding onto his control. It wasn’t just the sudden curve-ball Balazar had thrown him; it was his gnawing worry over Henry, and, growing steadily ascendant over all else, his need for a fix.

Let him come. It will be all right. Listen:

Eddie listened.

9

Balazar watched him, a slim, naked man with only the first suggestion of the junkie’s typical cave-chested slouch, his head cocked to one side, and as he watched Balazar felt some of his confidence evaporate. It was as if the kid was listening to a voice only he could hear.