CHAPTER 12
I followed the courier car for the rest of the week. It seemed as good a way as any to get some sense of location and activity among the Bullies. I located a substation in Wilmington, another one in Lakeville, and one in West Boylston. The driving was a useful way to pass time, it required little concentration but offered some distraction. If things didn't work out between me and Susan, maybe I could catch on someplace as a chauffeur.
Saturday morning I was back out in front of the main church.
I'll give it today, finish out the week, and tomorrow I'II start nosing around the substations.
Good idea.
At about 9:15 one of the small station wagons came down the drive. There were two deacons in it today. They pulled out onto the highway and stopped right in front of me. And got out.
Oh-ho.
It was the same pair of body builders who had ejected me the first visit I made. The one with the thin hair combed over his bald spot was wearing horn-rimmed sunglasses. The one with the crew cut said, "Get out of the car, please. We'd like to speak with you."
I got out and leaned against the car with my arms folded on my chest.
Crew Cut said, "You've been hanging around here for several days."
It didn't seem to be a question so I didn't answer.
"You've been asked," Crew Cut said, "not to interfere in our religious practices."
Still no question.
The bald one said, "So this time you're being told, not asked."
I could feel the quick hot spurt of anger. The exterior and objective part of me was surprised. Well, well, there is anger in there.
I said, "Is that actually your own hair you've got pasted down over your scalp, or does somebody paint it on for you each morning?"
He flushed. Sensitive. His buddy said, "You are very close to getting yourself in some real hot water, pal."
The anger had enlarged and was working its way up from the pit of my stomach, spreading along my back and shoulders and down my arms. I could feel my face getting hot. I was careful with my voice, easing it out so it was steady.
"This is different business," I said, "from pumping iron. It's a business I'm almost sure to be better at than you are. Don't make a mistake." The muscles in my neck and shoulders were starting to bunch on their own. My whole upper body was tense.
The crew-cut deacon said, "You are going to have to be taught a lesson."
He put his left hand out toward me and I hit him with the back of my right hand as I unfolded my arms. I hit Baldy with the front of the same hand. His sunglasses flew off and the genie was out of the bottle. The energy release was immediate and large. It fed itself and intensified as it enlarged so there was only the welter of fists and elbows and knees and feet and forearms. Only butting heads, only gouging and biting, only force expanding in a kind of ecstasy, a frenzy released.
It was over too soon. A shame in a way to waste the energy. The deacons weren't that good. I stood with my chest heaving and the sweat soaking my shirt, staring at them sprawled on the roadway. I had broken at least one arm, and shattered at least one kneecap. When they woke up they'd be in pain.
"My fuse is awful short these days," I said. "Not your fault."
I got into the car and drove up the gravel drive and stopped in front of the church. Bob Owens was standing in the doorway.
"Your deacons will need medical attention," I said. My breath was still coming in short rasps. "And maybe if I don't find Sherry Spellman pretty soon, you will too." I let the clutch pedal out and the car continued around the circular drive and back out onto Route 114. In the rearview mirror I saw people hurrying toward the road.
The Incredible Hulk doesn't have a girlfriend either.