Insomnia | Page 5

of converging blurs, followed by that quick and toneless
combination of sounds: the cry of the tires, the hollow bang of metal
crimping metal, the tinkle (of glass.

There was even a kind of protocol for this sort of thing: How Should
Behave When Involved in a Low-Speed Collision. Of course there was,
Ralph mused. There were probably a dozen two-bit collisions in Derry
every day, and maybe twice that number in the wintertime, when there was
snow and the roads got slippery. You got out, you met your opposite
number at the point where the two vehicles had come together (and where,
quite often, they were still entwined), you looked, you shook your
heads. Sometimes-often, actually-this phase of the encounter was marked
with angry words: fault was assigned (often rashly), driving skills
impugned, legal action threatened. Ralph supposed what the drivers were
really trying to say without coming right out and saying it was Listen,
fool, you scared the living hell out of me!

The final step in this unhappy little dance was The Exchange of the
Sacred Insurance Screeds, and it was at this point that the drivers
usually began to get control of their galloping emotions . . . always
assuming that no one had been hurt, as appeared to be the case here.

Sometimes the drivers involved even finished up by shaking hands.

Ralph prepared to watch all this from his vantage point less than a
hundred and fifty yards away, but as seen as the driver's door of the
Datsun opened he understood that things were going to go differently
here-that the accident was maybe not over but still happening. It
certainly did not seem that anyone was going to shake at the end of
these festivities.

The door did not swing open; it flew open. Ed Deepneau leaped out, then
simply stood stock-still beside his car, his slim shoulders squared
against a background of deepening clouds, He was wearing faded jeans and
a tee-shirt, and Ralph realized that before today he had never seen Ed
in a shirt that didn't button up the front. And there was something
around his neck: a long white something. A scarf? It looked like a
scarf, but why would anyone be wearing a scarf on a day as hot as this
one had been?

Ed stood beside his wounded car for a moment, seeming to look in every
direction but the right one. The fierce little pokes of his narrow head
reminded Ralph of the way roosters studied their barnyard turf, looking
for invaders and interlopers. Something about that similarity made
Ralph feel uneasy.

He had never seen Ed look like that before, and he supposed that was
part of it, but it wasn't all of way it. The truth of the matter was
simply this: he had never seen anyone look exactly like that.

Thunder rumbled in the west, louder now. And closer.

The man getting out of the Ranger would have made two of Ed Deepneau,
possibly three. His vast, deep belly hung over the rolled waistband of
his green chino workpants; there were sweatstains the size of
dinner-plates under the arms of his open-throated white shirt.

He tipped back the bill of the West Side Gardeners gimme-cap he was
wearing to get a better look at the man who had broadsided him.

His heavy-jowled face was dead pale except for bright patches of color
like rouge high on his cheekbones, and Ralph thought: There's a man
who's a prime candidate for a heart-attack. If I was closer I bet I'd
be able to see the creases in his earlobes.

"Hey!" the heavyset guy yelled at Ed. The voice coming out of that
broad chest and deep gut was absurdly thin, almost reedy.

"Where'd you get your license? Fuckin Sears n Roebuck?"

Ed's wandering, jabbing head swung immediately toward the sound of the
big man's voice-seemed almost to home in, like a jet guided by radar-and
Ralph got his first good look at Ed's eyes. He felt a bolt of alarm
light up in his chest and suddenly began to run toward the accident. Ed,
meanwhile, had started toward the man in the sweat-soaked white shirt
and gimme-cap. He was walking in a stiff-legged, high-shouldered strut
that was nothing at all like his usual easygoing amble.

"Ed!" 'Ralph shouted, but the freshening breeze-cold now with the
promise of rain-seemed to snatch the words away before they could even
get out of his mouth. Certainly Ed never turned.

Ralph made himself run faster, the ache in his legs and