The Scream Read Online Free PDF Page B

that video, if you don't mind."
    "Please do."
    There was a pause in the stage monitors, a second or two of video static that the home audience didn't catch . . . and then the last verse of the song kicked in, rock-solid and pumping. Peter Stewart, the Hamer Band's lead guitarist, appeared on the screen in the guise of a gawky and ludicrous nerd, lying on his bed, watching television. His hair was slicked back with sweat and Brylcreem. Enormous horn-rimmed glasses perched on his beaky nose. He was clad in a white pajama shirt, a black pajama tie, black pajama pants, and black and white bunny slippers. A big fuzzy Bible-shaped pillow was clutched to his bosom as he lip-synched to Jake's voice . . .
    "I am a sinner,
    Yes, I'm lost in sin.
    Each night I
    Let the holy angels in.
    I do exactly
    What they want of me;
    I give them money
    And they set me free."
    The nerd scribbles checks furiously and holds them out to the screen as an impossibly long arm reaches out to grab his big fuzzy wallet.
    "I have no trouble
    When I go to sleep.
    I lay me down
    The Lord my soul to keep.
    I work for Jesus
    By the light of day.
    We fight abortions
    And the E.R.A."
    Cut to extreme close-up of Pete, in fish-eye distortion, stamping big red forbidden symbols on records, tapes, magazine centerfolds, books, newspapers . . .
    "They told me
    'Blessed are the poor and meek'!
    So now I send them
    Money every week.
    It's so nice
    To be e-van-gel-i-cal.
    It's been so peaceful
    Since they took control!"
    Then came the thundering chorus, with the visuals jump-cutting rapidly:
    "TEE-VEE MINISTRIES!
    TEE-VEE MINISTRIES GOT ME!
    TEE-VEE MINISTRIES!"
    Cut to the nerd in the straitjacket, clutching his Bible-pillow and howling as he's overwhelmed by a half dozen gorgeous, nearly naked women . . .
    "TEE-VEE MINISTRIES!"
    Cut to the Jacob Hamer Band in live performance, Jake spinning, guitar in hand, as Hempstead the sax player ground out his lines over Jesse's wall o' synth sound and Bob One and Bob Two thrashed through the beat . . .
    "TEE-VEE MINISTRIES GOT ME!"
    Cut to a hundred black and white bunny slippers, goose-stepping in unison, then black and white documentary footage of ten thousand lock-stepped Nazi jackboots . . .
    "TEE-VEE MINISTRIES!"
    And Jimmy Pastor, pounding the pulpit to bring his point home . . .
    "MINISTRIES!"
    And Adolph Hitler, exhorting the crowd to hysteria . . .
    "MINISTRIES, MINISTRIES!"
    And brownshirts, burning piles of forbidden books . . .
    "MINISTRIES!"
    And Pastor Furniss, tossing a pile of records into a blazing pyre . . .
    "I think you get the idea," Dick Moynihan said, as the music faded and the screen went blank. He needn't have bothered.
    Because the audience was waving its hands and wiggling in its collective seat like an assembly of grade-school kids who all had to pee at once. There was a beehive hum of mutterance, some hoots and hollers from either side of the theological fence. They had gotten the idea, alright; and they all had something to say.
    Dick Moynihan moved up the aisle toward the back of the churning throngs. There was no way of saying where he'd stop. who he'd pick, what the chosen would choose to say. All that Jake knew for sure was that the smell of blood in the room was stronger now. Much stronger.
    Much closer to the surface.
    Let it come
, Jake thought.
Let's see your best shot, clowns. I'm ready
.
    Dick's mike went down in the next-to-last row. It came up with a steel-eyed matron who looked fit to spit nails. "That was the most insulting thing I've ever seen," she said, staring straight at Jake. "And I'd just like to know who in the world you think you are!"
    CLAPPITYCLAPPITYCLAP!
Aunt Bea and roughly a hundred other people seemed to agree. Boy, were they pissed. Jake did a spot-check of his people: the redhead and her boyfriend were smiling and shaking their heads; the guy with the mustache was laughing his head off and waving his hand at Dick; the eagle-lady looked as pissed as his opponents.
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