Like Eddie, she interpreted what she was seeing in terms of the movies . . . only this looked more like some TV crime show. The setting was a drug-store. She was seeing a druggist who looked scared silly, and Detta didn’t blame him. There was a gun pointing straight into the druggist’s face. The druggist was saying something, but his voice was distant, distorted, as if heard through sound-baffles. She couldn’t tell what it was. She couldn’t see who was holding the gun, either, but then, she didn’t really need to see the stick-up man, did she? She knew who it was, sho.
It was the Really Bad Man.
Might not look like him over there, might look like some tubby little sack of shit, might even look like a brother, but inside it be him, sho. Didn’t take him long to find another gun, did it? I bet it never does. You get movin, Detta Walker.
She opened Roland’s purse, and the faint, nostalgic aroma of tobacco long hoarded but now long gone drifted out. In one way it was very much like a lady’s purse, filled with what looked like so much random rickrack at first glance . . . but a closer look showed you the travelling gear of a man prepared for almost any contingency.
She had an idea the Really Bad Man had been on the road to his Tower a good long time. If that was so, just the amount of stuff still left in here, poor as some of it was, was cause for amazement.
You get movin, Detta Walker.
She got what she needed and worked her silent, snakelike way back to the wheelchair. When she got there she propped herself on one arm and pulled the rope out of the pocket like a fisherwoman reeling in line. She glanced over at Eddie every now and then just to make sure he was asleep.
He never stirred until Detta threw the noose around his neck and pulled it taut.
5
He was dragged backward, at first thinking he was still asleep and this was some horrible nightmare of being buried alive or perhaps smothered.
Then he felt the pain of the noose sinking into his throat, felt warm spit running down his chin as he gagged. This was no dream. He clawed at the rope and tried for his feet.
She yanked him hard with her strong arms. Eddie fell on his back with a thud. His face was turning purple.
“Quit on it!” Detta hissed from behind him. “I ain’t goan kill you if you quit on it, but if you don’t, I’m goan choke you dead.”
Eddie lowered his hands and tried to be still. The running slipknot Odetta had tossed over his neck loosened enough for him to draw a thin, burning breath. All you could say for it was that it was better than not breathing at all.
When the panicked beating of his heart had slowed a little, he tried to look around. The noose immediately drew tight again.
“Nev’ mind. You jes go on an take in dat ocean view, graymeat. Dat’s all you want to be lookin at right now.”
He looked back at the ocean and the knot loosened enough to allow him those miserly burning breaths again. His left hand crept surreptitiously down to the waistband of his pants （but she saw the movement, and although he didn’t know it, she was grinning）。 There was nothing there. She had taken the gun.
She crept up on you while you were asleep, Eddie. It was the gunslinger’s voice, of course. It doesn’t do any good to say I told you so now, but . . . I told you so. This is what romance gets you—a noose around your neck and a crazy woman with two guns somewhere behind you.
But if she was going to kill me, she already would have done it. She would have done it while I was asleep.
And what is it you think she’s going to do, Eddie? Hand you an all-expenses-paid trip for two to Disney World?
“Listen,” he said. “Odetta—”
The word was barely out of his mouth before the noose pulled savagely tight again.
“You doan want to be callin me dat. Nex time you be callin me dat be de las time you be callin anyone anythin. My name’s Detta Walker, and if you want to keep drawin breaf into yo lungs, you little piece of whitewashed shit, you better member it!”