“Too late,” the gunslinger said with a cold indifference that chilled Eddie’s flesh all the way in to the bone.

And Eddie turned away just too late to avoid seeing the lobstrosities swarm over Andolini’s feet, tearing off his Gucci loafers . . . with the feet still inside them, of course. Screaming, waving his arms spasmodically before him, Andolini fell forward. The lobstrosities swarmed greedily over him, questioning him anxiously all the while they were eating him alive: Dad-a-chack? Did-a-chick? Dum-a-chum? Dod-a-chock?

“Jesus,” Eddie moaned. “What do we do now?”

“Now you get exactly as much of the

(devil-powder the gunslinger said; cocaine Eddie heard)

as you promised the man Balazar,” Roland said, “no more and no less. And we go back.” He looked levelly at Eddie. “Only this time I have to go back with you. As myself.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie said. “Can you do that?” And at once answered his own question. “Sure you can. But why?”

“Because you can’t handle this alone,” Roland said. “Come here.”

Eddie looked back at the squirming hump of clawed creatures on the beach. He had never liked Jack Andolini, but he felt his stomach roll over just the same.

“Come here,” Roland said impatiently. “We’ve little time, and I have little liking for what I must do now. It’s something I’ve never done before. Never thought I would do.” His lips twisted bitterly. “I’m getting used to doing things like that.”

Eddie approached the scrawny figure slowly, on legs that felt more and more like rubber. His bare skin was white and glimmering in the alien dark. Just who are you, Roland? he thought. What are you? And that heat I feel baking off you—is it just fever? Or some kind of madness? I think it might be both.

God, he needed a fix. More: he deserved a fix.

“Never done what before?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Take this,” Roland said, and gestured at the ancient revolver slung low on his right hip. Did not point; there was no finger to point with, only a bulky, rag-wrapped bundle. “It’s no good to me. Not now, perhaps never again.”

“I . . .” Eddie swallowed. “I don’t want to touch it.”

“I don’t want you to either.” the gunslinger said with curious gentleness, “but I’m afraid neither of us has a choice. There’s going to be shooting.”

“There is?”

“Yes.” The gunslinger looked serenely at Eddie. “Quite a lot of it, I think.”

18

Balazar had become more and more uneasy. Too long. They had been in there too long and it was too quiet. Distantly, maybe on the next block, he could hear people shouting at each other and then a couple of rattling reports that were probably firecrackers . . . but when you were in the sort of business Balazar was in, firecrackers weren’t the first thing you thought of.

A scream. Was that a scream?

Never mind. Whatever’s happening on the next block has nothing to do with you. You’re turning into an old woman.