The Hollow Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

only window, Bremen could see now that he was an old man, toothless, liver spots almost glowing in the errant touch of daylight.
    Norm Sr. turned back. “Verge don’t talk so good after his last stroke … aphasia is what Doc Myers calls it … but his mind’s all right. We got an opening on one of the island cabins. Forty-two dollars a day, plus rental of one of the boats an’ outboards. Or Verge could take you out … no charge for that. Good spots right from the island.”
    Bremen nodded. Yes. Yes to everything.
    Norm Sr. returned the nod. “Okay, minimum three nights’ stay, so there’s a hundred-and-ten-dollar deposit. You gonna stay three nights?”
    Bremen nodded. Yes.
    Norm Sr. turned to a surprisingly modern electroniccash register and began totaling the bill. Bremen pulled several fifties from his wad of bills, shoved the rest into his pocket.
    “Oh …” said Norm Sr., rubbing his cheek. Bremen could sense the reluctance to ask a personal question. “I imagine you got clothes for fishin’, but if … ah … if you need somethin’ else to wear. Or groceries …”
    “Just a minute,” said Bremen, and left the store. He walked up the narrow trail, past where he had vomited, back to the rental Beretta. There was a single piece of luggage on the passenger seat: his old gym bag. Bremen had no recollection of checking it through, but there was a claim check on it. He lifted it, felt the uneasy emptiness except for a single lump of weight, and unzipped it.
    Inside, wrapped in a red bandanna that Gail had given him the previous summer, was a Smith & Wesson .38-caliber revolver. It had been a gift from Gail’s policeman brother the year they had lived in Germantown and there had been break-ins up and down their block. Neither Bremen nor Gail had ever fired it. He had always meant to throw it away—it and the box of shells Carl had given them with the pistol—but instead had left it locked in the lower right-hand drawer of his desk.
    Bremen had no memory of packing the thing. He lifted the pistol, unwrapped the bandanna, knowing that at least he would not have loaded it.
    It was loaded. The tips of five slugs were partially visible in the round cradles of their chambers, gray-curved and pregnant with death. Bremen wrapped the pistol, set it in the bag, and zipped the bag shut. He carried it back to the store.
    Norm Sr. raised his eyebrows.
    “I guess I brought the wrong clothes for fishing,” said Bremen, trying a grin. “I’ll look on the racks over there.”
    The man behind the counter nodded.
    “And some groceries,” said Bremen. “I’ll need three days’ worth, I guess.”
    Norm Sr. walked over to shelves near the front of the store and began removing cans. “The cabin’s got an old stove,” he said. “But most guys just use the hot plate. Soup an’ beans an’ stuff okay?” He seemed to sense that Bremen was not up to making decisions himself.
    “Yeah,” said Bremen, finding a pair of work pants and a khaki shirt only one size away from his own. He carried them over to the counter and looked at his feet, frowning at his polished penny loafers. One glance around told him that this miraculous store did not stock boots or sneakers.
    Norm Sr. retotaled the bill and Bremen peeled off twenties, thinking that it had been many years since he had been so pleased to make a purchase. Norm Sr. dumped the goods in a cardboard box, cartons of live bait going in next to bread and white-paper-wrapped packages of cold cuts, and handed Bremen the fiberglass rod he’d chosen for him.
    “Verge’s got the outboard warmed up. That is, if you’re ready to go on out …”
    “I’m ready,” said Bremen.
    “You might wanna move your car down from the road. Park it out behind the store.”
    Bremen did something that surprised even himself. He handed Norm Sr. the keys, knowing beyond certainty that the car would be safe with the man. “Would you mind …?” Bremen could not conceal his