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(
You
lost
your
temper
again
,
Jack
.
)
Yes
.
Yes
,
he
had
.
No
sense
trying
to
deny
it
.
And
the
bell
of
it
was
,
he
had
no
idea
how
much
influence
that
cheap
little
prick
had
over
Al
,
no
more
than
he
knew
how
much
bullshit
Al
would
take
from
him
in
the
name
of
auld
lang
syne
.
If
Ullman
was
as
good
as
he
claimed
to
be
,
and
if
he
gave
Al
a
he
-
goes
-
or
-
I
-
go
ultimatum
,
might
not
Al
be
forced
to
take
it
?
He
closed
his
eyes
and
tried
to
imagine
telling
Wendy
.
Guess
what
,
babe
?
I
lost
another
job
.
This
time
I
had
to
go
through
two
thousand
miles
of
Bell
Telephone
cable
to
find
someone
to
punch
out
,
but
I
managed
it
.
He
opened
his
eyes
and
wiped
his
mouth
with
his
handkerchief
.
He
wanted
a
drink
.
Hell
,
he
needed
one
.
There
was
a
cafe
just
down
the
street
,
surely
he
had
time
for
a
quick
beer
on
his
way
up
to
the
park
,
just
one
to
lay
the
dust
…
He
clenched
his
hands
together
helplessly
.
The
question
recurred
:
Why
had
he
called
Ullman
in
the
first
place
?
The
number
of
the
Surf
-
Sand
in
Lauderdale
had
been
written
in
a
small
notebook
by
the
phone
and
the
CB
radio
in
the
office
-
plumbers
’
numbers
,
carpenters
,
glaziers
,
electricians
,
others
.
Jack
bad
copied
it
onto
the
matchbook
cover
shortly
after
getting
out
of
bed
,
the
idea
of
calling
Ullman
fullblown
and
gleeful
in
his
mind
.
But
to
what
purpose
?
Once
,
during
the
drinking
phase
,
Wendy
had
accused
him
of
desiring
his
own
destruction
but
not
possessing
the
necessary
moral
fiber
to
support
a
full
-
blown
deathwish
.
So
he
manufactured
ways
in
which
other
people
could
do
it
,
lopping
a
piece
at
a
time
off
himself
and
their
family
.
Could
it
be
true
?
Was
be
afraid
somewhere
inside
that
the
Overlook
might
be
just
what
he
needed
to
finish
his
play
and
generally
collect
tip
his
shit
and
get
it
together
?
Was
he
blowing
the
whistle
on
himself
?
Please
God
no
,
don
’
t
let
it
be
that
way
.
Please
.
He
closed
his
eyes
and
an
image
immediately
arose
on
the
darkened
screen
of
his
inner
lids
:
sticking
his
hand
through
that
hole
in
the
shingles
to
pull
out
the
rotted
flashing
,
the
sudden
needling
sting
,
his
own
agonized
,
startled
cry
in
the
still
and
unheeding
air
:
Oh
you
goddamn
fucking
son
of
a
bitch
…
Replaced
with
an
image
two
years
earlier
,
himself
stumbling
into
the
house
at
three
in
the
morning
,
drunk
,
falling
over
a
table
and
sprawling
full
-
length
on
the
floor
,
cursing
,
waking
Wendy
up
on
the
couch
.
Wendy
turning
on
the
light
,
seeing
his
clothes
ripped
and
smeared
from
some
cloudy
parking
-
lot
scuffle
that
had
occurred
at
a
vaguely
remembered
honky
-
tonk
just
over
the
New
Hampshire
border
hours
before
,
crusted
blood
under
his
nose
,
now
looking
up
at
his
wife
,
blinking
stupidly
in
the
light
like
a
mole
in
the
sunshine
,
and
Wendy
saying
dully
,
You
son
of
a
bitch
,
you
woke
Danny
up
.
If
you
don
’
t
care
about
yourself
,
can
’
t
you
care
a
little
bit
about
us
?
Oh
,
why
do
I
even
bother
talking
to
you
?
The
telephone
rang
,
making
him
jump
.
He
snatched
it
off
the
cradle
,
illogically
sure
it
must
be
either
Ullman
or
Al
Shockley
.
"
What
?
"
he
barked
.
"
Your
overtime
,
sir
.
Three
dollars
and
fifty
cents
.
"
