It by Stephen King Read Free Book Online

and the Parachute Drop. They already had a sign on the Bumper Cars that said ‘closed.’ Wasn’t nothing open but baby rides. So we went down by the games and Webby saw the Pitch Til U Win and he paid fifty cents and he seen that hat the queer was wearing and he pitched at that, but he kept missing it, and every time he missed he got more in a bad mood, you know? And Steve—he’s the guy who usually goes around saying mellow out, like mellow out this and mellow out that and why don’t you fuckin mellow out, you know? Only he was in a real piss-up-a-rope mood because he took this pill, you know? I don’t know what kind of a pill. A red pill. Maybe it was even legal. But he keeps after Webby until I thought Webby was gonna hit him, you know. He goes, You can’t even win that queer’s hat. You must be really wasted if you can’t even win that queer’s hat. So finally the lady gives im a prize even though the ring wasn’t over it, cause I think she wanted to get rid of us. I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t. But I think she did. It was this noisemaker thing, you know? You blow it and it puffs up and unrolls and makes a noise like a fart, you know? I used to have one of those. I got it for Halloween or New Year’s or some fuckin holiday, I thought it was pretty good, only I lost it. Or maybe somebody hawked it out of my pocket in the fuckin playyard at school, you know? So then the fair’s closin and we’re walkin out and Steve’s still on Webby about not bein able to win that queer’s hat, you know, and Webby ain’t sayin much, and I know that’s a bad sign but I was pretty ’faced, you know? So I knew I ought to like change the subject only I couldn’t think of no subject, you know? So when we get into the parkin lot Steve says, Where you want to go? Home? And Webby goes, Let’s cruise by the Falcon first and see if that queer’s around.”
    Boutillier and Rademacher exchanged a glance. Boutillier raised a single finger and tapped it against his cheek: although this doofus in the engineer boots didn’t know it, he was now talking about first-degree murder.
    â€œSo I goes no, I gotta get home, and Webby goes, You scared to go by that queer-bar? And I go, Fuck no! And Steve’s still high or something, and he says, Let’s go grease some queermeat! Let’s go grease some queermeat! Let’s go grease . . .”
11
    The timing was just right enough so that things worked out wrong for everyone. Adrian Mellon and Don Hagarty came out of the Falcon after two beers, walked up past the bus station, and then linked hands. Neither of them thought about it; it was just something they did. It was ten-twenty. They reached the corner and turned left.
    The Kissing Bridge was almost half a mile upriver from here; they meant to cross Main Street Bridge, which was much less picturesque. The Kenduskeag was summer-low, no more than four feet of water sliding listlessly around the concrete pilings.
    When the Duster drew abreast of them (Steve Dubay had spotted the two of them coming out of the Falcon and gleefully pointed them out), they were on the edge of the span.
    â€œCut in! Cut in!” Webby Garton screamed. The two men had just passed under a streetlight and he had spotted the fact that they were holding hands. This infuriated him . . . but not as much as the hat infuriated him. The big paper flower was nodding crazily this way and that. “Cut in, goddammit!”
    And Steve did.
    Chris Unwin would deny active participation in what followed, but Don Hagarty told a different story. He said that Garton was out of the car almost before it stopped, and that the other two quickly followed. There was talk. Not good talk. There was no attempt at flippancy or false coquetry on Adrian’s part this night; he recognized that they were in a lot of trouble.
    â€œGive me that hat,” Garton said.