“What that kid did back there—the way he got out of that cell—that was impossible,” Billingsley said.
“What that kid did back there—the way he got out of that cell—that was impossible,” Billingsley said.
“Then we must still be back there, locked up,” Johnny said. He thought he sounded all right—pretty much like himself—but what the old veterinarian was saying had already occurred to him. Even a phrase to describe it had occurred to him—unobtrusive miracles. He would have written it down in his notebook, if he hadn’t dropped it beside Highway 50. “Is that what you think?”
“No, we’re here, and we saw him do what he did,” Billingsley said. “Greased himself up with soap and squeezed out through the bars like a watermelon seed. Looked like it made sense, didn’t it? But I tell you, friend, not even Houdini could have done it that way. Because of the head. He shoulda stuck at the head, but he didn’t.” He looked them over, one by one, finishing with Ralph. Ralph was looking at Billingsley now instead of at the seats, but Johnny wasn’t sure he understood what the old guy was saying. And maybe that was for the best.
