“Ralph?” Leydecker asked. “Are you still there?”

“Ed didn’t have any stocks,” Ralph said. “He was a research chemist, for Christ’s sake, and his father was foreman in a bottling plant in some crazy place like Plaster Rock, Pennsylvania. No dough there.”

“Well, he got it somewhere, and I’d be lying if I said I liked it.”

“From the other Friends of Life, do you think?”

“No, I don’t. First, we’re not talking rich folks here-most of the people who belong to The Friends are blue-collar types, working class heroes. They give what they can, but this much? No.

They could have gotten together enough property deeds among them to spring Pickering, I suppose, but they didn’t. Most of them wouldn’t, even if Ed had asked. Ed’s all but persona non grata with them now, and I imagine they wish they’d never heard of Charles Pickering.

Dan Dalton’s taken back the leadership of The Friends of Life, and to most of them, that’s a big relief. Ed and Charlie and two other people-a man named Frank Felton and a woman named Sandra McKay-seem to be operating very much on their own hook now.

Felton I don’t know anything about and there’s no jacket on him, but the McKay woman has toured some of the same fine institutions as Charlie. She’s unmissable, too-pasty complexion, lots of acne, glasses so thick they make her eyes look like poached eggs, goes about three hundred pounds.”

“You joking?”

“No. She favors stretch pants from K-mart and can usually be observed travelling in the company of assorted Ding-Dongs, Funny Bones, and Hostess Twinkies. She often wears a big sweatshirt with the words BABY FACTORY on the front. Claims to have given birth to fifteen children. She’s never actually had any, and probably can’t.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I want you to watch out for these people,” Leydecker said. He spoke patiently, as if to a child. “They may be dangerous.

Charlie is for sure, that you know without me telling you, and Charlie is out. Where Ed got the money to spring him is secondary-he got it, that’s what matters. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he came after you again. Him, or Ed, or the others.”

“What about Helen and Natalie-?”

“They’re with their friends-friends who are very hip to the dangers posed by screwloose hubbies, I filled Mike Hanlon in, and he’ll also keep an eye on her, The library is being watched very closely by our men. We don’t think Helen’s in any real danger at the present time-she’s still staying at High Ridge-but we’re doing what we can.”

“Thank you, John. I appreciate that, and I appreciate the call,”

“I appreciate that you appreciate it, but I’m not quite done yet.

You need to remember who Ed called and threatened, my friend-not Helen but you. She doesn’t seem to be much of a concern to him anymore, but you linger on his mind, Ralph. I asked Chief Johnson if I could assign a man-Chris Nell would be my pick-to keep an eye on you, at least until after WomanCare’s Rent-A-Bitch has come and gone. I was turned down. Too much going on this week, he said… but the way I was turned down suggests to me that if you asked, you’d get someone to watch your back. So what do you say?”

Police protection, Ralph thought. That’s what they call it on the TV cop-shows and that’s what He’s talking about-police protection.

He tried to consider the ideal but too many other things got in the way; they danced in his head like weird sugarplums. Hats, docs, smocks, spray-cans. Not to mention knives, scalpels, and a pair of scissors glimpsed in the dusty lenses of his old binoculars. Each thing I do I rush through so I can do something else, Ralph thought, and on the heels of that: It’s a long walk back to Eden, sweetheart, so don’t sweat the small stuff.

“No,” he said.

“What?”

Ralph closed his eyes and saw himself picking up this same phone and calling to cancel his appointment with the pin-sticker man. This was the same thing all over again, wasn’t it? Yes. He could get police protection from the Pickerings and the McKays and the Feltons, but that wasn’t the way this was supposed to go. He knew that, felt it in every beat of his heart and pulse of his blood.

“You heard me,” he said. “I don’t want police protection.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

“I can take care of myself,” Ralph said, and grimaced a little at the pompous absurdity of this sentiment, which he had heard expressed in John Wayne Westerns without number.

“Ralph, I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but you’re old. You got lucky on Sunday. You might not get lucky again.”

I didn’t,just get lucky, Ralph thought. I’ve got friends in high places.

Or maybe I should say entities in high places.

“I’ll be okay,” he said.

Leydecker sighed. “If you change your mind, will you call me?”

“Yes.”

“And if you see either Pickering or a large lady with thick glasses and stringy blonde hair hanging around-”

“I’ll call you.”

“Ralph, please think this over. just a guy parked down the street is all I’m talking about.”

“Done-bun-can’the-undone,” Ralph said, “Huh?”

“I said I appreciate it, but no. I’ll be talking to YOU.”

Ralph gently replaced the telephone in its cradle. Probably John was right, he thought, probably he was crazy, yet he had never felt so completely sane in his life.

“Tired,” he told his sunny, empty kitchen, “but sane.” He paused, then added: “Also halfway to being in love, maybe.”

That made him grin, and he was still grinning when he finally put the kettle on to heat.

He was on his second cup of tea when he remembered what Bill had said in his note about owing him a meal. He decided on the spur of the moment to ask Bill to meet him at Day Break, Sun Down for a little supper. They could start over.

I think we have to start over, he thought, because that little psycho has got his hat, and I’m pretty sure that means he’s in trouble.

Well, no time like the present. He picked up the phone and dialed a number he had no trouble remembering: 941-5000. The number of Derry Home Hospital.

The hospital receptionist connected him with Room 313. The clearly tired woman who answered the phone was Denise Polhurst, the dying man’s niece. Bill wasn’t there, she told him. Four other teachers from what she termed “Uncles glory days” had shown up around one, and Bill had proposed lunch. Ralph even knew how his downstairs tenant would have put it: better belated than never. It was one of his favorites. When Ralph asked her if she expected him back soon, Denise Polhurst said she did.

“He’s been so faithful. I don’t know what I would have done without him, Mr. Robbins.”

“Roberts,” he said. “Bill made Mr. Polhurst sound like a wonderful man.”

“Yes, they all feel that way. But of course the bills won’t be coming to his fan club, will they”

“No,” Ralph said uncomfortably. “I suppose not. Bill’s note said Your uncle is very low.”

“Yes. The doctor says he probably won’t last the day, let alone the night, but I’ve heard that song before. God forgive me, but sometimes it’s like Uncle Bob’s one of those ads from Publishers Clearing House-always promising, never delivering. I suppose that sounds awful, but I’m too tired to care. They turned off the life support stuff this morning-I couldn’t have taken the responsibility all by myself, but I called Bill and he said it was what Unc would have wanted. ’It’s time for Bob to explore the next world,” he said.

“He’s mapped this one to a nicety.” Isn’t that poetic, Mr. Robbins?”

“Yes. It’s Roberts, His. Polhurst. Will you tell Bill that Ralph Roberts called and would like him to call ha-”

“So we turned it off and I was all prepared-nerved up, I guess you’d say-and then he didn’t die.

I can’t understand it. He’s ready, I’m ready, his life’s work is done… so why won’t he die?

“I don’t know.”