“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adam said angrily, wondering why he was angry. He ought to feel relieved.

“Come on now, you’re a smart boy, you went to college. They taught you how to read, didn’t they? Well, read. The handwriting’s on the wall, big as life. You ain’t the boss any more, and you won’t be, either. These fellas, Carey and, what’s his name, Dongen—and the Jumpin’ Preacher—they’re all just dumb tools to you. They sprung you out of jail—”

“How did you know that?”

Griffin continued smiling. “I said, I been studying you. Besides, Mrs. Pearl Lambert knows a few things. She’s got a little telegraph system inside her head: nothing happens she don’t hear about it a few minutes afterwards. Nothing.”

Adam remembered that Mrs. Pearl Lambert had not greeted him when he came in.

“So, okay, Carey and Dongen and that other fella get you sprung, and this means you’re still the big cheese. Don’t it?”

“It happens that they mortgaged their homes, and—”

Griffin laughed. “Sure,” he said. “Sure. Those ignorant little old tools! They’re just gonna hop every time you say hop, aren’t they, and before we know it, you’ll have Shipman in the Governor’s chair and then—why, hell, maybe we’ll even make him President! You will, that is. Mr. Adam Cramer will.”

Adam leaped from the chair, ran to the bed, picked up the gun and pointed it at Sam Griffin’s belly. “I’m sick of listening to you rave,” he said. “Now get the hell out of here before I pull this trigger.”

Griffin laughed even louder. “People,” he said, “are wonderful. Adam, you couldn’t pull that trigger if your life depended on it. Because when you get right down to it, you’re gutless—and you know you’re gutless, too. That’s why you’re doing all this: to prove you ain’t.”

“I’ll give you five,” Adam said. “If you’re not out of here by then, I’ll shoot. One. Two. Three—”

Sam Griffin scratched his arm.

“Four—”

Sam Griffin began to walk toward Adam. “Five,” he said, and plucked the gun away. “See what I mean? Of course, you never want to be too sure of anything, either—” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out five bullets.

“Fuck you,” Adam said.