“What?” he said, scrutinizing Jack. “You run into trouble since you left me at the apartment?”

“What makes you ask?”

“Bandage on your hand and you’re walking funny.”

“Had a lengthy and strenuous argument with a very disagreeable lady.” He rotated his left shoulder gingerly; it was nowhere near as stiff and painful as it had been back at the apartment.

“Lady?”

“It’s stretching the definition, but yeah—lady.”

Abe led Jack toward the rear of the darkened store. The lights were on in the basement, as was the neon sign. Abe hefted a wooden crate two feet long and a foot wide and deep. The top had already been pried open and he lifted it off.

“Here are the bombs. Twelve of them, magnesium compound, all with twenty-four-hour timers.”

Jack nodded. “Fine. But I really needed the incendiary bullets. Otherwise I may never get a chance to set these.”

Abe shook his head. “I don’t know what you think you’re going up against, but here’s the best I could do.”

He pulled a cloth off a card table to reveal a circular, donut-shaped metal tank with a second tank, canteen-sized, set in its middle; both were attached by a short hose to what looked like a two-handed raygun.

Jack was baffled. “What the hell—?”

“It’s a Number Five Mk-1 flamethrower, affectionately known as the Lifebuoy. I don’t know if it’ll suit your purposes. I mean, it hasn’t got much range and—”

“It’s great!” Jack said. He grabbed Abe’s hand and pumped it. “Abe. You’re beautiful! It’s perfect!”

Elated, Jack ran his hands over the tanks. It was perfect. Why hadn’t he thought of it? How many times had he seen Them?

“How does it work?”

“This is a World War Two model—the best I could do on such short notice. It’s got CO at two thousand pounds per square inch in the little spherical tank, and eighteen liters of napalm in the big lifebuoy-shaped one—hence the name; a discharge tube with igniters at the end and an adjustable nozzle. Range is up to ninety feet. You open the tanks, point the tube, pull the trigger in the rear grip, and foom!”

“Any helpful hints?”

“Yeah. Always check your nozzle adjustment before your first discharge. It’s like a firehose and will tend to rise during a prolonged tight stream. Otherwise, think of it as spitting: Don’t do it into the wind or where you live.”

“Sounds easy enough. Help me get into the harness.”

The tanks were heavier than Jack would have wished, but did not cause the anticipated burst of pain from the left side of his back; only a dull ache. As Jack adjusted the straps to a comfortable fit, Abe looked at his neck questioningly.

“Since when the jewelry, Jack?”

“Since tonight… for good luck.”

“Strange looking thing. Iron, isn’t it? And those stones… almost look like—”

“Two eyes? I know.”

“And the inscription looks like Sanskrit. Is it?”

Jack shrugged, uncomfortable. He didn’t like the necklace and knew nothing about its origins.