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 I m sorry, Jack said.  That s all I have.
 Then I cannot help you.
Mr. Thick turned and Jack saw another one of those strange ripples course over
his body.
 Wait! Jack said. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out the three
brands, laying them out on the counter.
Mr. Thick looked down his long nose at the hunks of bloody, some hairy, flesh.
 That is not nearly enough, he said.
 Hold on, Jack said.
He crossed the lobby to the front door. Opening the door, he bent down, his
stomach screaming, and picked up the six brands placed there.
 How  bout now? he said, putting those on the counter.
 I may be able to help you.
 Great, Jack said.
 But you ll have to help me get this laundry to the back.
 Sure. Whatever.
Mr. Thick ducked down behind the counter and came back up.  I can t lift it by
myself, he said.
Jack went around behind the counter, looking down at the huge white canvas
laundry bag.
 Where you going with it? he asked.
 Just to the back room there.
 I m not in the best condition right now.
 I don t really need your brawn. It s just... awkward is all.
Together they bent down and hoisted up the heavy laundry bag. Jack thought his
insides were going to squeeze out through the bullet wound but the fact this man may be
able to help him eased the pain somewhat. They carried the laundry bag through a door
and into a room containing a heavy mahogany desk and some gray filing cabinets and not
much of anything else.
 On the desk is fine, Mr. Thick said.
With a final heave, they placed the bag on the desk.
Mr. Thick smoothed his greasy, thinning hair back onto his scalp and said,
 Guests really shouldn t be in the office.
Jack stared at him. Mr. Thick stared back. Apparently, he wasn t going to move
until Jack went back to the other side of the counter. Jack crossed back over to the other
side of the counter, leaning against it for support. Mr. Thick came out of the office and
cast a suspicious, sweeping glance around it before shutting the door and turning back to
Jack. He again smoothed his shirt, at least as outdated as this lobby. He cleared his throat
and said:
 The man you re looking for is not who you think he is. He smiles because he s
out of his skin. Try looking in the Utility Shed.
And then Mr. Thick was gone. As though he had never been there to begin with.
Jack looked down at the counter, expecting to see that Mr. Thick had taken the brands,
and saw nine keys instead. Keys for the rooms, of course, Jack thought.
He felt closer to Gina than he had since staring at her underwear clad bottom that
morning.
He gathered up the keys and put them in his pockets.
 Twenty-six
He stepped out into the cold night under a sky the color of old milk.
He had keys.
He didn t know exactly what that meant but the keys were hope. Keys opened
doors and Gina might just be behind one of those doors.
He wondered if the motel only had nine rooms or if he would have to be selective
about the rooms he entered. But it would all be meaningless if the keys didn t open the
door housing Gina, wouldn t it? And there was still the possibility she wasn t here at all.
That this was still some part of Mr. Grin s disturbing game. But he didn t want to believe
that. Despite the incessant moaning of his body, things felt different. They felt better.
They had felt better ever since those people had removed their brands and placed them in
front of the door. In a way, he felt like that was their way of telling him he had made it.
Because they had been sent here to stop him and if they were just giving up then that
meant there wasn t anything to stop, right?
It made sense to Jack.
But again, he wondered if the brands were the work of Mr. Grin or somebody else.
In the end, he figured, they had helped him so maybe they weren t Mr. Grin s. Of course,
if all they did was get him closer to Mr. Grin and, therefore, death, then he supposed that
probably wasn t a lot of help.
The keys were in his left pants pocket. He went to the first door and tried each
key. Once a key didn t work, he placed it in his back pocket. None of the keys opened the
first door.
He went to room number two and began trying the keys. The third key opened the
lock. Pulling the pistol from the back of his pants, he opened the door just a crack,
listening. If Mr. Grin was in there, he assumed he would probably pounce on him as soon
as he stepped into the room.
He heard nothing. Slowly, he eased himself into the room.
It was disorienting.
The room was not at all what he expected.
It wasn t really a hotel room at all. And it was very loud, filled with the
cacophonous sounds of furious typing and the flapping wings of birds.
The room was huge. It reminded him of a warehouse or a large barn. It was full of
people, busy at desks. The room was very brightly lighted, which he found odd because
he hadn t seen the glow of a light from outside. The enormous room s roof was
crisscrossed with a number of wooden beams. Roosting on these beams were thousands
of nondescript birds. Probably pigeons or sparrows, he thought. He didn t really know
birds. A giant ladder was propped against one of the beams.
A squat man with a toupee approached him.
 You gonna get to work? he asked.
 I... Jack didn t really know how to begin.  I don t think I work here.
 Ah, anybody can work here. It s easy as pie. Just watch that guy.
He watched a slender man in a suit and tie and rectangular black framed glasses
stand up from a desk and cross the wooden floor to the ladder. Quickly, expertly, he
climbed the ladder. He slowed once he got closer to the top of the ladder, moving
stealthily, cautiously. After reaching the staggering height of the beam, he reached out,
slowly, and then, lightning-quick, grabbed onto one of the birds.
The squat man in the toupee grunted.  He got im a good un.
The man in the suit, tucking the bird into his blazer, descended the ladder in a
hurry. He crossed back to his desk where a computer monitor and keyboard rested. The
monitor was the old clunky kind. The man opened up the top of the monitor and placed
the bird inside. Jack noticed there was a crank on the right hand side of the monitor. The
man cranked the crank and a bluish glow came from the monitor.
 He ll have to work all night on that, the squat man said. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]