The Dead Zone by Stephen King Read Free Book Online

all upbeat from there. In fact, it was the best night he could remember in years, maybe the best night ever. He looked at Sarah. Her color was high, her eyes sparkling. “What do you say, Sarah?”
    She shook her head. “It’s Greek to me. What do you do?”
    â€œPlay a number. Or red/black. Or odd/even. Or a ten-number series. They all pay differently.” He gazed at the pitchman, who gazed back blandly. “At least, they should.”
    â€œPlay black,” she said. “It is sort of exciting, isn’t it?”
    â€œBlack,” he said and dropped his odd dime on the black square.
    The pitchman stared at the single dime on his expanse of playboard and sighed. “Heavy plunger.” He turned to the Wheel.
    Johnny’s hand wandered absently to his forehead and touched it. “Wait,” he said abruptly. He pushed one of his quarters onto the square reading 11-20.
    â€œThat it?”
    â€œSure,” Johnny said.
    The pitchman gave the Wheel a twist and it spun inside its circle of lights, red and black merging. Johnny absently rubbed at his forehead. The Wheel began to slow and now they could hear the metronomelike tick-tock of the small wooden clapper sliding past the pins that divided the numbers. It reached 8, 9, seemed about to stop on 10, and slipped into the 11 slot with a final click and came to rest.
    â€œThe lady loses, the gentleman wins,” the pitchman said.
    â€œYou won, Johnny?”
    â€œSeems like it,” Johnny said as the pitchman added two quarters to his original one. Sarah gave a little squeal, barely noticing as the pitchman swept the dime away.
    â€œTold you, my lucky night,” Johnny said.
    â€œTwice is luck, once is just a fluke,” the pitchman remarked. “Hey-hey-hey.”
    â€œGo again, Johnny,” she said.
    â€œAll right. Just as it is for me.”
    â€œLet it ride?”
    â€œYes.”
    The pitchman spun the Wheel again, and as it slid around, Sarah murmured quietly to him, “Aren’t all these carnival wheels supposed to be fixed?”
    â€œThey used to be. Now the state inspects them and they just rely on their outrageous odds system.”
    The Wheel had slowed to its final unwinding tick-tock. The pointer passed 10 and entered Johnny’s trip, still slowing.
    â€œCome on, come on!” Sarah cried. A couple of teenagers on their way out paused to watch.
    The wooden clapper, moving very slowly now, passed 16 and 17, then came to a stop on 18.
    â€œGentleman wins again.” The pitchman added six more quarters to Johnny’s pile.
    â€œYou’re rich!” Sarah gloated, and kissed him on the cheek.
    â€œYou’re streaking, fella,” the pitchman agreed enthusiastically. “Nobody quits a hot stick. Hey-hey-hey.”
    â€œShould I go again?” Johnny asked her.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œYeah, go ahead, man,” one of the teenagers said. A button on his jacket bore the face of Jimi Hendrix. “That guy took me for four bucks tonight. I love to see him take a beatin.”
    â€œYou too then,” Johnny told Sarah. He gave her the odd quarter off his stack of nine. After a moment’s hesitation she laid it down on 21. Single numbers paid off ten to one on a hit, the board announced.
    â€œYou’re riding the middle trip, right, fella?”
    Johnny looked down at the eight quarters stacked on the board, and then he began to rub his forehead again, as if he felt the beginnings of a headache. Suddenly he swept the quarters off the board and jingled them in his two cupped hands.
    â€œNo. Spin for the lady. I’ll watch this one.”
    She looked at him, puzzled. “Johnny?”
    He shrugged. “Just a feeling.”
    The pitchman rolled his eyes in a heaven-give-me-strength-to-bear-these-fools gesture and set his Wheel going again. It spun, slowed, and stopped. On double zero. “House numbah, house numbah,” the pitchman