Billy Summers by Stephen King Page A

Smith.”
    He holds out his hand. She gives it a token touch, then draws her own hand back. But she’s willing to talk. “Well, it’s not the greatest area, as you can see, and the nearest supermarket’s a mile away, but me and my husband haven’t had any real problems. Kids get into that old trainyard across the way sometimes, probably drinking and smoking dope, and there’s a dog around the corner that barks halfthe night, but that’s about the worst of it.” She pauses and he sees her look down, checking for a wedding ring that’s not there. “ You don’t bark at night, do you, Mr. Smith? By which I mean parties and loud music.”
    â€œNo, ma’am.” He smiles and touches his stomach. The fake pregnancy belly has been inflated to about six months. “I like to eat, though.”
    â€œBecause there’s a clause about excessive noise in the rental agreement.”
    â€œMay I ask how much you pay per month?”
    â€œThat’s between me and my husband. If you want to live here, you’d have to take it up with Mr. Richter. He’s the man that handles this place. Couple of others down the block, too… although this one’s nicer. I think.”
    â€œCompletely understood. I apologize for asking.”
    Mrs. Jensen thaws a little. “I will tell you that you don’t want the third floor. That place is a hotbox, even when the wind blows from across the old trainyard, which it does most of the time.”
    â€œNo air conditioning, I take it.”
    â€œYou take it right. But when it comes on cold weather, the heat’s okay. Course you have to pay for it. Electricity, too. It’s all in the agreement. If you’ve rented before, I guess you know the drill.”
    â€œBoy, do I ever.” He rolls his eyes and finally gets a smile out of her. Now he can ask what he really wants to ask. “What about the downstairs? Is that a basement apartment? Because it looks like there’s a bell—”
    Her smile widens. “Oh yes, and it’s quite nice. Furnished, like the sign says. Although, you know, just the basics. I wanted that one, but my husband thought it would be too small if our application gets approved. We’re trying to adopt.”
    Billy marvels at this. She has just revealed a crucial piece of her heart—of her marriage’s heart—after she balked at revealing how much rent she and her husband pay. Which he asked not becausehe really wanted to know but because it would make him seem plausible.
    â€œWell, good luck to you. And thanks. If this Mr. Richter and I see eye to eye, maybe you’ll see more of me. You have a good day, now.”
    â€œYou too. Nice to meet you.” This time she holds out her hand for a real shake, and Billy thinks again about what Nick said— You get along with people without buddying up to them . Nice to know that works even if you look fat.
    As he walks down the sidewalk, she calls after him, “I bet that basement apartment stays nice and cool even in the hottest weather! I wish we’d taken it!”
    He gives her a thumbs-up and heads back toward downtown. He has seen all he needs to see and has come to a decision. This is the place he wants, and Nick Majarian doesn’t need to know a thing about it.
    Halfway back he comes to a hole-in-the-wall store that sells candy, cigarettes, magazines, cold drinks, and burner phones in blister packs. He buys one, paying cash, and sits on a bus bench to get it up and running. He will use it as long as he has to, then dispose of it. The others as well. Always supposing the deal goes down, the cops are going to know right away that it was David Lockridge who assassinated Joel Allen. They will then discover that David Lockridge is an alias of one William Summers, a Marine vet with sniper skills and sniper kills. They will also discover Summers’s association with Kenneth Hoff, the designated fall