“Thanks.”
“But stay sober on the street.”
“Oh yes.”
Two policemen cleared a path for Wendy through the crowd of curiosity-seekers outside the gate. One of the gawkers wore a printed T-shirt reading “The Tooth Fairy Is a One-Night Stand.” He whistled at Wendy. The woman beside him slapped his face.
A big policeman squeezed into the 280ZX beside Wendy and she pulled into the traffic. A second policeman followed in an unmarked car.
Chicago smelled like a spent skyrocket in the hot afternoon.
Graham was lonely, and he knew why; funerals often make us want sex—it’s one in the eye for death.
The wind rattled the dry stalks of a funeral arrangement near his feet. For a hard second he remembered palm fronds rustling in the sea wind. He wanted very much to go home, knowing that he would not, could not, until the Dragon was dead.
31
The projection room at Baeder Chemical was small—five rows of folding chairs with an aisle in the middle.
Dolarhyde arrived late. He stood at the back with his arms folded while they screened gray cards, color cards, and cubes variously lighted, filmed on a variety of infrared emulsions.
His presence disturbed Dandridge, the young man in charge. Dolarhyde carried an air of authority at work. He was the recognized darkroom expert from the parent company next door, and he was known to be a perfectionist.
Dandridge had not consulted him in months, a petty rivalry that had gone on since Gateway bought Baeder Chemical.
“Reba, give us the development dope on sample . . . eight,” Dandridge said.
Reba McClane sat at the end of a row, a clipboard in her lap. Speaking in a clear voice, her fingers moving over the clipboard in the semidarkness, she outlined the mechanics of the development—chemicals, temperature and time, and storage procedures before and after filming.
Infrared-sensitive film must be handled in total darkness. She had done all the dark room work, keeping the many samples straight by touch code and keeping a running record in the dark. It was easy to see her value to Baeder.
The screening ran through quitting time.
Reba McClane kept her seat as the others were filing out. Dolarhyde approached her carefully. He spoke to her at a distance while there were others in the room. He didn’t want her to feel watched.
“I thought you hadn’t made it,” she said.
“I had a machine down. It made me late.”
The lights were on. Her clean scalp glistened in the part of her hair as he stood over her.
“Did you get to see the 1000C sample?”
“I did.”
“They said it looked all right. It’s a lot easier to handle than the 1200 series. Think it’ll do?”
“It will.”
She had her purse with her, and a light raincoat. He stood back when she came into the aisle behind her searching cane. She didn’t seem to expect any help. He didn’t offer any.
Dandridge stuck his head back into the room.
“Reba, dear, Marcia had to fly. Can you manage?”
Spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “I can manage very well, thank you, Danny.”
“I’d drop you, love, but I’m late already. Say, Mr. Dolarhyde, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you—”