They Thirst by Robert R McCammon

Author:Robert R McCammon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

6

* * *

Wednesday, October 30

THE HEADMASTER’S GIFT

ONE

Rico Esteban, hands thrust deep into the pockets of a silver jacket and head bowed in thought, was walking home along Sunset Boulevard. Around him the boulevard swirled with nightlife—the sidewalks were crowded with rockers in sleek, black jackets, their hair cut rooster-style and dyed in a variety of outrageous colors; transvestites hung around the entrances of the El Lay Club and the Disco 2001, hoping to be escorted in by some unaware stud; teen-aged girls in jeans so tight they deadened the ass stood in groups on the corners, talking among themselves about shoes and records when they weren’t trying to flag down the driver of a passing Jaguar or Porsche; furtive older men stopped to ask them what time it was or how to find a good disco, and when the laughter hit, they hunched down and scurried off into the shadows; pimps in long Cadillacs cruised up and down the Strip, diamond rings flashing on their hands, their eyes alert for action or trouble. Music crashed around Rico like throbbing, electric thunder from a dozen rock clubs; the lightning was blue and white and green neon, pulsating like silent fury.

He’d made some good sales tonight—a couple of grams of coke in front of the Whiskey à Go Go, some Colombian Red inside Disco 2001. Now there were a couple of ounces of Red left in the lining of his jacket, and he knew he could’ve sold that too if he’d stayed around the disco any longer. But he’d gotten a creepy feeling in there just as the Jets were singing “Body Heat” and the strobe lights had started flashing so fast everybody looked like windup dolls gone berserk. The walls had started closing in around him, reminding him too much of the feeling he’d had in that building on Dos Terros Street. As he’d rushed out, shoving through a knot of people who stood around a couple writhing on the floor, urging them on, a girl with bleached blond hair and glitter on her cheeks had gripped his hand and whispered, “Come home with me, baby.” He’d seen something horrible moving behind her vacant gaze, and her hand was as cold as death. Suddenly the girl on the floor whimpered—Rico heard it quite clearly, though no one else seemed to—and when he looked down, he thought he saw the boy astride her, his lips pressed against her throat. Rico jerked free and ran.

He walked on, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact. Things were going crazy. Everything was falling to pieces. He almost bumped into a skinny kid with a crew cut. When he looked up, Rico saw that the kid wore a T-shirt with WHO IS THE GRAVEDIGGER? scrawled across it in red crayon. The kid cursed and stumbled on, his eyes aflame with uppers. Rico hurried away, the gold chains around his neck merrily tinkling against each other. In another moment he felt himself being watched and looked up again.

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