Stephen King - End of Watch

‘Oough.’

‘Correct,’ Jerome says. ‘Oough is correct.’

‘Thurston told me he had snowmobiles,’ Hodges says. ‘He didn’t mention anything about a Sherman tank.’

‘It’s a Tucker Sno-Cat, and you didn’t offer him your MasterCard as collateral. Not to mention an excellent Jeep Wrangler that got me out here to the williwags just fine, thanks.’

‘Is he really dead?’ Holly asks. Her wan face is turned up to Hodges’s, and the huge knot on her forehead actually seems to be pulsing. ‘Really and for sure?’

You saw him put a bullet in his brain.’

‘Yes, but is he? Really and for sure?’

The answer he won’t give is no, not yet. Not until the trails of slime he’s left in the heads of God knows how many people are washed away by the brain’s remarkable ability to heal itself. But in another week, another month at the outside, Brady will be all gone.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘And Holly? Thanks for programming that text alert. The home run boys.’

She smiles. ‘What was it? The text, I mean?’

Hodges struggles his phone out of his coat pocket, checks it, and says, ‘I will be goddamned.’ He begins to laugh. ‘I completely forgot.’

‘What? Show me show me show me!’

He tilts the phone so she can read the text his daughter, Alison, has sent him from California, where the sun is no doubt shining:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY! 70 YEARS OLD AND STILL GOING STRONG! AM RUSHING OUT TO THE MARKET, WILL CALL U LATER. XXX ALLIE

For the first time since Jerome returned from Arizona, Tyrone Feelgood Delight makes an appearance. ‘You is sem’ny years old, Massa Hodges? Laws! You don’t look a day ovah sixty-fi’!’

‘Stop it, Jerome,’ Holly says. ‘I know it amuses you, but that sort of talk sounds very ignorant and silly.’

Hodges laughs. It hurts to laugh, but he can’t help it. He holds onto consciousness all the way back to Thurston’s Garage; is even able to take a few shallow tokes on the joint Holly lights and passes to him. Then the dark begins to slip in.

This could be it, he thinks.

Happy birthday to me, he thinks.

Then he’s gone.

Four Days Later

Pete Huntley is far less familiar with Kiner Memorial than his old partner, who made many pilgrimages here to visit a longterm resident who has now passed away. It takes Pete two stops – one at the main desk and one in Oncology – before he locates Hodges’s room, and when he gets there, it’s empty. A cluster of balloons with HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD on them are tethered to one of the siderails and floating near the ceiling.

A nurse pokes her head in, sees him looking at the empty bed, and gives him a smile. ‘The solarium at the end of the hall. They’ve been having a little party. I think you’re still in time.’

Pete walks down. The solarium is skylighted and filled with plants, maybe to cheer up the patients, maybe to provide them with a little extra oxygen, maybe both. Near one wall, a party of four people is playing cards. Two of them are bald, and one has an IV drip running into his arm. Hodges is seated directly under the skylight, doling out slices of cake to his posse: Holly, Jerome, and Barbara. Kermit seems to be growing a beard, it’s coming in snow-white, and Pete has a brief memory of going to the mall with his own kids to see Santa Claus.

‘Pete!’ Hodges says, smiling. He starts to get up and Pete waves him back into his seat. ‘Sit down, have some cake. Allie brought it from Batool’s Bakery. It was always her favorite place to go when she was growing up.’

‘Where is she?’ Pete asks, dragging a chair over and placing it next to Holly. She’s sporting a bandage on the left side of her forehead, and Barbara has a cast on her leg. Only Jerome looks hale and hearty, and Pete knows the kid barely escaped getting turned into hamburger out at that hunting camp.

‘She went back to the Coast this morning. Two days off was all she could manage. She’s got three weeks’ vacation coming in March, and says she’ll be back. If I need her, that is.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Not bad,’ Hodges says. His eyes flick up and to the left, but only for a second. ‘I’ve got three cancer docs on my case, and the first tests came back looking good.’

‘That’s fantastic.’ Pete takes the piece of cake Hodges is holding out. ‘This is too big.’

‘Man up and chow down,’ Hodges says. ‘Listen, about you and Izzy—’

‘We worked it out,’ Pete says. He takes a bite. ‘Hey, nice. There’s nothing like carrot cake with cream cheese frosting to cheer up your blood sugar.’

‘So the retirement party is…?’

‘Back on. Officially, it was never off. I’m still counting on you to give the first toast. And remember—’

‘Yeah, yeah, ex-wife and current squeeze both there, nothing too off-color. Got it, got it.’

‘Just as long as we’re clear on that.’ The too-big slice of cake is getting smaller. Barbara watches the rapid intake with fascination.

‘Are we in trouble?’ Holly asks. ‘Are we, Pete, are we?’

‘Nope,’ Pete says. ‘Completely in the clear. That’s mostly what I came to tell you.’

Holly sits back with a sigh of relief that blows the graying bangs off her forehead.

‘Bet they’ve got Babineau carrying the can for everything,’ Jerome says.

Pete points his plastic fork at Jerome. ‘Truth you speak, young Jedi warrior.’

‘You might be interested to know that the famous puppeteer Frank Oz did Yoda’s voice,’ Holly says. She looks around. ‘Well, I find it interesting.’

‘I find this cake interesting,’ Pete says. ‘Could I have a little more? Maybe just a sliver?’

Barbara does the honors, and it’s far more than a sliver, but Pete doesn’t object. He takes a bite and asks how she’s doing.

‘Good,’ Jerome says before she can answer. ‘She’s got a boyfriend. Kid named Dereece Neville. Big basketball star.’

‘Shut up, Jerome, he is not my boyfriend.’

‘He sure visits like a boyfriend,’ Jerome says. ‘I’m talking every day since you broke your leg.’

‘We have a lot to talk about,’ Barbara says in a dignified tone of voice.

Pete says, ‘Going back to Babineau, hospital administration has some security footage of him coming in through a back entrance on the night his wife was murdered. He changed into maintenance-worker duds. Probably raided a locker. He leaves, comes back fifteen or twenty minutes later, changes back into the clothes he came in, leaves for good.’

‘No other footage?’ Hodges asks. ‘Like in the Bucket?’

‘Yeah, some, but you can’t see his face in that stuff, because he’s wearing a Groundhogs cap, and you don’t see him go into Hartsfield’s room. A defense lawyer might be able to make something of that stuff, but since Babineau’s never going to stand trial—’

‘No one gives much of a shit,’ Hodges finishes.

‘Correct. City and state cops are delighted to let him carry the weight. Izzy’s happy, and so am I. I could ask you – just between us chickens – if it was actually Babineau who died out there in the woods, but I don’t really want to know.’

‘So how does Library Al fit into this scenario?’ Hodges asks.

‘He doesn’t.’ Pete puts his paper plate aside. ‘Alvin Brooks killed himself last night.’

‘Oh, Christ,’ Hodges says. ‘While he was in County?’

‘Yes.’

‘They didn’t have him on suicide watch? After all this?’

‘They did, and none of the inmates are supposed to have anything capable of cutting or stabbing, but he got hold of a ballpoint pen somehow. Might have been a guard who gave it to him, but it was probably another inmate. He drew Zs all over the walls, all over his bunk, and all over himself. Then he took the pen’s metal cartridge out of the barrel and used it to—’