Eddie made choking, gagging noises and clawed at the noose. Big black spots of nothing began to explode in front of his eyes like evil flowers.
At last the choking band around his throat eased again.
“Got dat, honky?”
“Yes,” he said, but it was only a hoarse choke of sound.
“Den say it. Say my name.”
“Detta.”
“Say my whole name!” Dangerous hysteria wavered in her voice, and at that moment Eddie was glad he couldn’t see her.
“Detta Walker.”
“Good.” The noose eased a little more. “Now you lissen to me, whitebread, and you do it good, if you want to live til sundown. You don’t want to be trine to be cute, like I seen you jus trine t’snake down an git dat gun I took off’n you while you was asleep. You don’t want to cause Detta, she got the sight. See what you goan try befo you try it. Sho.
“You don’t want to try nuthin cute cause I ain’t got no legs, either. I have learned to do a lot of things since I lost em, and now I got both o dat honky mahfah’s guns, and dat ought to go for somethin. You think so?”
“Yeah,” Eddie croaked. “I’m not feeling cute.”
“Well, good. Dat’s real good.” She cackled. “I been one busy bitch while you been sleepin. Got dis bidness all figured out. Here’s what I want you to do, whitebread: put yo hands behin you and feel aroun until you find a loop jus like d’one I got roun yo neck. There be three of em. I been braidin while you been sleepin, lazybones!” She cackled again. “When you feel dat loop, you goan put yo wrists right one against t’other an slip em through it.
“Den you goan feel my hand pullin that runnin knot tight, and when you feel dat, you goan say ‘Dis my chance to toin it aroun on disyere nigger bitch. Right here, while she ain’t got her good hold on dat jerk-rope.’ But—” Here Detta’s voice became muffled as well as a Southern darkie caricature. “—you better take a look aroun befo you go doin anythin rash.”
Eddie did. Detta looked more witchlike than ever, a dirty, matted thing that would have struck fear into hearts much stouter than his own. The dress she had been wearing in Macy’s when the gunslinger snatched her was now filthy and torn. She’d used the knife she had taken from the gunslinger’s purse—the one he and Roland had used to cut the masking tape away—to slash her dress in two other places, creating makeshift holsters just above the swell of her hips. The worn butts of the gunslinger’s revolvers protruded from them.
Her voice was muffled because the end of the rope was clenched in her teeth. A freshly cut end protruded from one side of her grin; the rest of the line, the part which led to the noose around his neck, protruded from the other side. There was something so predatory and barbaric about this image—the rope caught in the grin—that he was frozen, staring at her with a horror that only made her grin widen.
“You try to be cute while I be takin care of yo hans,” she said in her muffled voice, “I goan joik yo win’pipe shut wif my teef, graymeat. And dat time I not be lettin up agin. You understan?”
He didn’t trust himself to speak. He only nodded.
“Good. Maybe you be livin a little bit longer after all.”
“If I don’t,” Eddie croaked, “you’re never going to have the pleasure of shoplifting in Macy’s again, Detta. Because he’ll know, and then it’ll be everybody out of the pool.”
“Hush up,” Detta said . . . almost crooned. “You jes hush up. Leave the thinkin to the folks dat kin do it. All you got to do is be feelin aroun fo dat next loop.”
6
I been braidin while you been sleepin, she had said, and with disgust and mounting alarm, Eddie discovered she meant exactly what she said. The rope had become a series of three running slipknots. The first she had noosed around his neck as he slept. The second secured his hands behind his back. Then she pushed him roughly over on his side and told him to bring his feet up until his heels touched his butt. He saw where this was leading and balked. She pulled one of Roland’s revolvers from the slit in her dress, cocked it, and pressed the muzzle against Eddie’s temple.