I had a moment of revelation on the way up here.
“And this really does have to be speedy. David already suspects I’m up to something; that’s another reason why he wanted me to turn out my pockets. There’ll come a moment—very soon now—when you’re going to have to grab David. When you do, make sure you get a good grip, because he’s going to fight like hell. And make sure you don’t let go.”
“Why?”
“Will your pal with the creative hairdo help if you ask her to?” “Probably, but—”
“Steve, you have to trust me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I had a moment of revelation on the way up here. Except that’s way too stiff; I like David’s phrase better. He asked me if I got hit by a God-bomb. I told him no, but that was another lie. Do you suppose that’s why God picked me in the end? Because I’m an accomplished liar? That’s sort of funny, but also sort of awful, you know it?”
“What’s going to happen? Do you even know?”
“No, not completely.” Johnny picked up the .30-.06 in one hand and the black-visored helmet in the other. He looked back and forth between them, as if comparing their relative worth.
“I can’t do what you want,” Steve said flatly. “I don’t trust you enough to do what you want.”
“You have to,” Johnny said, and handed him the rifle. “I’m all you have now.”
“But—”
Johnny came a step closer. To Steve he no longer looked like the same man who had gotten on the Harley-Davidson back in Connecticut, his absurd new leathers creaking, showing every tooth in his head as the photographers from Life and People and the Daily News circled him and clicked away. The change was a lot more than a few bruises and a broken nose. He looked younger, stronger. The pomposity had gone out of his face, and the somehow frantic vagueness as well. It was only now, observing its absence, that Steve realized how much of the time that look had been there—as if, no matter what he was saying or doing, most of Marinville’s attention was taken up by something that wasn’t. Something like a misplaced item or a forgotten chore.
