The same thought passed through Andolini’s mind, but in a different way: What’s this? He looks like the dog on those old RCA Victor records!

Col had wanted to tell him something about Eddie’s eyes. Suddenly Jack Andolini wished he had listened.

Wish in one hand, shit in the other, he thought.

If Eddie had been listening to voices inside his head, they had either quit talking or he had quit paying attention.

“Okay,” he said. “Come along, Jack. I’ll show you the Eighth Wonder of the World.” He flashed a smile that neither Jack Andolini nor Enrico Balazar cared for in the slightest.

“Is that so?” Andolini pulled a gun from the clamshell holster attached to his belt at the small of his back. “Am I gonna be amazed?”

Eddie’s smile widened. “Oh yeah. I think this is gonna knock your socks off.”

10

Andolini followed Eddie into the bathroom. He was holding the gun up because his wind was up.

“Close the door,” Eddie said.

“Fuck you,” Andolini answered.

“Close the door or no dope,” Eddie said.

“Fuck you,” Andolini said again. Now, a little scared, feeling that there was something going on that he didn’t understand, Andolini looked brighter than he had in the van.

“He won’t close the door,” Eddie yelled at Balazar. “I’m getting ready to give up on you, Mr. Balazar. You probably got six wiseguys in this place, every one of them with about four guns, and the two of you are going batshit over a kid in a crapper. A junkie kid.”

“Shut the fucking door, Jack!” Balazar shouted.

“That’s right,” Eddie said as Jack Andolini kicked the door shut behind him. “Is you a man or is you a m—”

“Oh boy, ain’t I had enough of this turd,” Andolini said to no one in particular. He raised the gun, butt forward, meaning to pistol-whip Eddie across the mouth.

Then he froze, gun drawn up across his body, the snarl that bared his teeth slackening into a slack-jawed gape of surprise as he saw what Col Vincent had seen in the van.

Eddie’s eyes changed from brown to blue.

“Now grab him!” a low, commanding voice said, and although the voice came from Eddie’s mouth, it was not Eddie’s voice.

Schizo, Jack Andolini thought. He’s gone schizo, gone fucking schi—

But the thought broke off when Eddie’s hands grabbed his shoulders, because when that happened, Andolini saw a hole in reality suddenly appear about three feet behind Eddie.

No, not a hole. Its dimensions were too perfect for that.

It was a door.

“Hail Mary fulla grace,” Jack said in a low breathy moan. Through that doorway which hung in space a foot or so above the floor in front of Balazar’s private shower he could see a dark beach which sloped down to crashing waves. Things were moving on that beach. Things.

He brought the gun down, but the blow which had been meant to break off all of Eddie’s front teeth at the gum-line did no more than mash Eddie’s lips back and bloody them a little. All the strength was running out of him. Jack could feel it happening.