11/22/63

“I trust you,” I said, and put the envelope in my pocket. “You’re mighty cheery for a fellow who just forked over three large.”

“I won’t deny that you cut into this year’s Fall Classic take,” he said. “Seriously cut into it, although I still made a few bucks. I always do. But I’m mostly in the game because it’s a whattayacallit, public service. People are gonna bet, people are always gonna bet, and I give em a prompt payoff when a payoff’s due. Also, I like taking bets. It’s a kind of hobby with me. And do you know when I like it best?”

“No.”

“When someone like you comes along, a real stampeder who bucks the odds and comes through. That restores my faith in the random nature of the universe.”

I wondered how random he’d think it was if he could see Al Templeton’s cheat sheet.

“Your wife’s view doesn’t appear to be so, um, catholic.”

He laughed, and his small black eyes sparkled. Win, lose, or draw, the little man with the mermaid on his arm flat-out enjoyed life. I admired that. “Oh, Marjorie. When some sad sack comes in here with his wife’s engagement ring and a sob story, she turns into a pile of goo. But on the sports-book stuff, she’s a different lady. That she takes personal.”

“You love her a lot, don’t you, Mr. Frati?”

“Like the moon and the stars, cuz. Like the moon and the stars.”

Marjorie had been reading that day’s paper, and it was still on the glass-topped counter containing the rings and things. The headline read HUNT FOR MYSTERY KILLER GOES ON AS FRANK DUNNING IS LAID TO REST.

“What do you reckon that was about?” I asked.

“Dunno, but I’ll tell you something.” He leaned forward, and the smile was gone. “He wasn’t the saint the local rag is makin him out to be. I could tell you stories, cuz.”

“Go ahead. I’ve got all day.”

The smile reappeared. “Nah. In Derry, we keep ourselves to ourselves.”

“So I’ve noticed,” I said.

14

I wanted to go back to Kossuth Street. I knew the cops might be watching the Dunning house to see if anyone showed an unusual interest in the family, but the desire was very strong, just the same. It wasn’t Harry I wanted to see; it was his little sister. There were things I wanted to tell her.

That she should go out trick-or-treating on Halloween no matter how sad she felt about her daddy.

That she’d be the prettiest, most magical Indian princess anyone had ever seen, and would come home with a mountain of candy.

That she had at least fifty-three long and busy years ahead of her, and probably many more.

Most of all that someday her brother Harry was going to want to put on a uniform and go for a soldier and she must do her very, very, very best to talk him out of it.

Only kids forget. Every teacher knows this.

And they think they’re going to live forever.

15

It was time to leave Derry, but I had one final little chore to take care of before I went. I waited until Monday. That afternoon, the thirteenth of October, I threw my valise into the Sunliner’s trunk, then sat behind the wheel long enough to scribble a brief note. I tucked it into an envelope, sealed it, and printed the recipient’s name on the front.

I drove down to the Low Town, parked, and walked into the Sleepy Silver Dollar. It was empty except for Pete the bartender, as I had expected. He was washing glasses and watching Love of Life on the boob tube. He turned to me reluctantly, keeping one eye on John and Marsha, or whatever their names were.

“What can I get you?”

“Nothing, but you can do me a favor. For which I will compensate you to the tune of five American dollars.”

He looked unimpressed. “Really. What’s the favor?”

I put the envelope on the bar. “Pass this over when the proper party comes in.”

He looked at the name on the front of the envelope. “What do you want with Billy Turcotte? And why don’t you give it to him yourself?”

“It’s a simple enough assignment, Pete. Do you want the five, or not?”

“Sure. Long as it won’t do no harm. Billy’s a good enough soul.”

“It won’t do him any harm. It might even do him some good.”

I put a fin on top of the envelope. Pete made it disappear and went back to his soap opera. I left. Turcotte probably got the envelope. Whether or not he did anything after he read what was inside is another question, one of many to which I will never have answers. This is what I wrote:

Dear Bill—

There is something wrong with your heart. You must go to the doctor soon, or it will be too late. You might think this is a joke, but it is not. You might think I couldn’t know such a thing, but I do. I know it as surely as you know Frank Dunning murdered your sister Clara and your nephew Mikey. PLEASE BELIEVE ME AND GO TO THE DOCTOR!

A Friend

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