[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.But now it was too late to back out anyway.This was Friday, and Stillson would be heretomorrow if things went the way they were supposed to go.He would be answering questions andlistening to suggestions from the good people of Jackson.There would be a fair-sized entourage withhim.A couple of aides, a couple of advisors - and several others, young men in sober suits and sportsjackets who had been' wearing jeans and riding motorcycles not so long ago.Greg Stillson was still afirm believer in guards for the body.At the Trimbull rally they had been carrying sawedoff pool cues.Did they carry guns now? Would it be so difficult for a U.S.representative to get a permit to carry aconcealed weapon? Johnny didn't think so.He could count on one good chance only; he would have tomake the most of it.So it was important to look the place over, to try and decide if he could take Stillsonin here or if it would be better to wait in the parking lot with the window rolled down and the rifle on hislap.So he had come and here he was, casing the joint while a state cop gave driver-permit exams not thirtyfeet away.There was a bulletin board on his left, and Johnny snapped his unloaded camera at it - why in God'sname hadn't he taken another two minutes and bought himself a roll of film? The board was coveredwith chatty small-town intelligence concerning baked-bean suppers, an upcoming high school play, dog-file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Ste.20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20deadzone.htm (343 of 370)7/28/2005 9:23:01 PM Stephen King: The Dead Zonelicensing information, and, of course, more on Greg.A file card said that Jackson's first selectman waslooking for someone who could take shorthand, and Johnny studied this as though it were of greatinterest to him while his mind moved into high gear.Of course if Jackson looked impossible - or even chancy - he could wait until next week, where Stillsonwould be doing the whole thing all over again in the town of Upson.Or the week after, in Trimbull.Orthe week after that.Or never.It should be this week.It ought to be tomorrow.He snapped the big woodstove in the corner, and then glanced upward.There was a balcony up there.No - not precisely a balcony, more like a gallery with a waist-high railing and wide, white-painted slatswith small, decorative diamonds and curlicues cut into the wood.It would be very possible for a man tocrouch behind that railing and look through one of those doodads.At the right moment, he could juststand up and -'What kind of camera is that?'Johnny looked around, sure it was the cop.The cop would ask to see his filmless camera - and then hewould want to see some ID - and then it would be all over.But it wasn't the cop.It was the young man who had been taking his driver's permit test.He was abouttwenty.two, with long hair and pleasant, frank eyes.He was wearing a suede coat and faded jeans.'A Nikon,' Johnny said.'Good camera, man.I'm a real camera nut.How long have you been working for Yankee?''Well, I'm a free lance,' Johnny said.'I do stuff for them, sometimes for Country Journal, sometimes forDowneast, you know.''Nothing national, like People or Life?''No.At least, not yet.'What f-stop do you use in here?' What in hell is an f-stop.'Johnny shrugged.'I play it mostly by ear.''By eye, you mean,' the young man said, smiling.'That's right, by eye.' Get lost, kid, please get lost.'I'minterested in f,ree4andng myself,' the young man said, and grinned.'My big dream is to take a picturesome day like the flag-raising at Iwo Jima.''I heard that was staged,' Johnny said.file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Ste.20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20deadzone.htm (344 of 370)7/28/2005 9:23:01 PM Stephen King: The Dead Zone'Well, maybe.Maybe.But it's, a classic.Or how about the first picture of a UFO coming in for alanding? I'd sure like that.Anyway, I've got a portfolio of stuff I've taken around here.Who's yourcontact at Yankee?"Johnny was sweating now.'Actually, they contacted me on this one,' he said.'It was a.''Mr.Clawson, you can come over now,' the cop said, sounding impatient.'I'd like to go over theseanswers with you.''Whoops, his master's voice,' Clawson said.See you later, man.' He hurried off and Johnny let out hisbreath in a silent, whispering sigh.It was time to get out, and quickly.He snapped another two or three 'pictures' just so it wouldn't look like a complete rout, but he was barelyaware of what he was looking at through the viewfinder.Then he left.The young man in the suede jacket - Clawson - had forgotten all about him, He had apparently flunkedthe written part of his exam.He was arguing strenuously with the cop, who was only shaking his head.Johnny paused for a moment in the town hall's entryway.To his left was a cloakroom.To his right was aclosed door.He tried it and found it unlocked.A narrow flight of stairs led upward into dimness.Theactual offices would be up there, of course.And the gallery.I.He was staying at the Jackson House, a pleasant little hotel on the main drag.It had been carefullyrenovated and the renovations had probably cost a lot of money, but the place would pay for itself, theowners must have reckoned, because of the new Jackson Mountain ski resort.Only the resort had gonebust and now the pleasant little hotel was barely hanging on.The night clerk was dozing over a cup ofcoffee when Johnny went out at four o'clock on Saturday morning, the attache case in his left hand [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl przylepto3.keep.pl
.But now it was too late to back out anyway.This was Friday, and Stillson would be heretomorrow if things went the way they were supposed to go.He would be answering questions andlistening to suggestions from the good people of Jackson.There would be a fair-sized entourage withhim.A couple of aides, a couple of advisors - and several others, young men in sober suits and sportsjackets who had been' wearing jeans and riding motorcycles not so long ago.Greg Stillson was still afirm believer in guards for the body.At the Trimbull rally they had been carrying sawedoff pool cues.Did they carry guns now? Would it be so difficult for a U.S.representative to get a permit to carry aconcealed weapon? Johnny didn't think so.He could count on one good chance only; he would have tomake the most of it.So it was important to look the place over, to try and decide if he could take Stillsonin here or if it would be better to wait in the parking lot with the window rolled down and the rifle on hislap.So he had come and here he was, casing the joint while a state cop gave driver-permit exams not thirtyfeet away.There was a bulletin board on his left, and Johnny snapped his unloaded camera at it - why in God'sname hadn't he taken another two minutes and bought himself a roll of film? The board was coveredwith chatty small-town intelligence concerning baked-bean suppers, an upcoming high school play, dog-file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Ste.20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20deadzone.htm (343 of 370)7/28/2005 9:23:01 PM Stephen King: The Dead Zonelicensing information, and, of course, more on Greg.A file card said that Jackson's first selectman waslooking for someone who could take shorthand, and Johnny studied this as though it were of greatinterest to him while his mind moved into high gear.Of course if Jackson looked impossible - or even chancy - he could wait until next week, where Stillsonwould be doing the whole thing all over again in the town of Upson.Or the week after, in Trimbull.Orthe week after that.Or never.It should be this week.It ought to be tomorrow.He snapped the big woodstove in the corner, and then glanced upward.There was a balcony up there.No - not precisely a balcony, more like a gallery with a waist-high railing and wide, white-painted slatswith small, decorative diamonds and curlicues cut into the wood.It would be very possible for a man tocrouch behind that railing and look through one of those doodads.At the right moment, he could juststand up and -'What kind of camera is that?'Johnny looked around, sure it was the cop.The cop would ask to see his filmless camera - and then hewould want to see some ID - and then it would be all over.But it wasn't the cop.It was the young man who had been taking his driver's permit test.He was abouttwenty.two, with long hair and pleasant, frank eyes.He was wearing a suede coat and faded jeans.'A Nikon,' Johnny said.'Good camera, man.I'm a real camera nut.How long have you been working for Yankee?''Well, I'm a free lance,' Johnny said.'I do stuff for them, sometimes for Country Journal, sometimes forDowneast, you know.''Nothing national, like People or Life?''No.At least, not yet.'What f-stop do you use in here?' What in hell is an f-stop.'Johnny shrugged.'I play it mostly by ear.''By eye, you mean,' the young man said, smiling.'That's right, by eye.' Get lost, kid, please get lost.'I'minterested in f,ree4andng myself,' the young man said, and grinned.'My big dream is to take a picturesome day like the flag-raising at Iwo Jima.''I heard that was staged,' Johnny said.file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Ste.20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20deadzone.htm (344 of 370)7/28/2005 9:23:01 PM Stephen King: The Dead Zone'Well, maybe.Maybe.But it's, a classic.Or how about the first picture of a UFO coming in for alanding? I'd sure like that.Anyway, I've got a portfolio of stuff I've taken around here.Who's yourcontact at Yankee?"Johnny was sweating now.'Actually, they contacted me on this one,' he said.'It was a.''Mr.Clawson, you can come over now,' the cop said, sounding impatient.'I'd like to go over theseanswers with you.''Whoops, his master's voice,' Clawson said.See you later, man.' He hurried off and Johnny let out hisbreath in a silent, whispering sigh.It was time to get out, and quickly.He snapped another two or three 'pictures' just so it wouldn't look like a complete rout, but he was barelyaware of what he was looking at through the viewfinder.Then he left.The young man in the suede jacket - Clawson - had forgotten all about him, He had apparently flunkedthe written part of his exam.He was arguing strenuously with the cop, who was only shaking his head.Johnny paused for a moment in the town hall's entryway.To his left was a cloakroom.To his right was aclosed door.He tried it and found it unlocked.A narrow flight of stairs led upward into dimness.Theactual offices would be up there, of course.And the gallery.I.He was staying at the Jackson House, a pleasant little hotel on the main drag.It had been carefullyrenovated and the renovations had probably cost a lot of money, but the place would pay for itself, theowners must have reckoned, because of the new Jackson Mountain ski resort.Only the resort had gonebust and now the pleasant little hotel was barely hanging on.The night clerk was dozing over a cup ofcoffee when Johnny went out at four o'clock on Saturday morning, the attache case in his left hand [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]