Billy Summers by Stephen King Page B

guy. What they must not discover is that Billy Summers, aka David Lockridge, has disappeared into the identity of Dalton Smith. Nick can never know that, either.
    He calls Bucky Hanson in New York and tells Bucky to send the box marked Safeties to his Evergreen Street address.
    â€œSo this is it, huh? You’re really pulling the pin?”
    â€œLooks like it,” Billy says, “but we’ll talk some more.”
    â€œSure we will. Just make sure it isn’t collect from some toolie-bop city jail. You’re my man, hoss.”
    Billy ends the call and makes another. To Richter, the real estate guy who is serving as rental agent for 658 Pearson.
    â€œI understand it’s furnished. Would that include WiFi?”
    â€œJust a second,” Mr. Richter says, but it’s more like a minute. Billy hears paper rustling. At last Richter says, “Yes. Put in two years ago. But no television, you’d have to supply that.”
    â€œAll right,” Billy says. “I want it. How about I drop by your office?”
    â€œI could meet you there, show you the place.”
    â€œThat won’t be necessary. I just want it as a base of operations while I’m in this part of the country. Could be a year, could be two. I travel quite a bit. The important thing is the neighborhood looks quiet.”
    Richter laughs. “Since they demolished the train station, you bet it is. But the people out there might trade a little more noise for a little more commerce.”
    They set a time to meet the following Monday and Billy returns to Level 4 of the parking garage, where his Toyota is parked in a dead spot neither of the security cameras can see. If they can see at all; they look mighty tired to Billy. He removes the wig, the mustache, the glasses, and the fake pregnancy belly. After stowing them in the trunk, he takes the short walk back to Gerard Tower.
    He’s there in time to get a burrito from the Mexican wagon. He eats it with Jim Albright and John Colton, the lawyers from five. He sees Colin White, the dandy who works for Business Solutions. Today he’s looking mighty cute in a sailor suit.
    â€œThat guy,” Jim says, laughing. “He’s quite the bandbox, isn’t he?”
    â€œYes,” Billy agrees, and thinks, A bandbox who’s just about my height.
5
    It rains all weekend. On Saturday morning Billy goes to Walmart where he buys a couple of cheap suitcases and a lot of cheap clothes that will fit his overweight Dalton Smith persona. He pays cash. Cash has amnesia.
    That afternoon he sits out on the porch of the yellow house, watching the grass in his front yard. Watching it rather than merely looking at it, because he can almost see it perking up. This is not his house, not his town or state, he’ll leave without a look back or single regret, but he still feels a certain proprietorial pride in his handiwork. It won’t be worth mowing for a couple of weeks, maybe not even until August, but he can wait. And when he’s out there, zinc ointment on his nose, mowing in gym shorts and a sleeveless tee (maybe even a wifebeater), he’ll be one step closer to belonging. To blending in with the scenery.
    â€œMr. Lockridge?”
    He looks next door. The two kids, Derek and Shanice Ackerman, are standing on their porch, looking at him through the rain. It’s the boy who’s spoken. “My ma just made sugar cookies. She ast me to ast you if you want half a dozen.”
    â€œThat sounds good,” Billy says. He gets up and runs through the rain. Shanice, the eight-year-old, takes his hand with a complete lack of self-consciousness and leads him inside, where the smell of fresh-baked cookies makes Billy’s stomach rumble.
    It’s a neat little house, tight and shipshape. There are about a hundred framed photos in the living room, including a dozen on the piano that holds pride of place. In the kitchen, Corinne Ackerman is just removing a baking