Free Big Driver by Stephen King Page B

was.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œWas he big or was he real big?”
    â€œReal big,” Tess said. She felt a peculiar watchful happiness that seemed located not in her head but in the center of her chest. It was the way she felt when the strings of some outlandish plot actually started to come together, pulling tight like the top of a nicely crafted tote-bag. She always felt both surprised and not surprised when this happened. There was no satisfaction like it.
    â€œDid you happen to notice if he was wearing a ring on his little finger? Red stone?”
    â€œYes! Like a ruby! Only too big to be real. And a brown hat—”
    Neal was nodding. “With white splatters on it. He’s been wearing the damn thing for ten years.That’s Big Driver you’re talking about. I don’t know where he lives, but he’s local, either Colewich or Nestor Falls. I see him around—supermarket, hardware store, Walmart, places like that. And once you see him, you don’t forget him. His real name is Al Something-Polish. You know, one of those hard-to-pronounce names. Strelkowicz, Stancowitz, something like that. I bet I could find him in the phone book, because he and his brother own a trucking company. Hawkline, I think it’s called. Or maybe Eagle Line. Something with a bird in it, anyway. Want me to look him up?”
    â€œNo, thanks,” Tess said pleasantly. “You’ve been helpful enough, and my cabdriver’s waiting.”
    â€œOkay. Just do yourself a favor and stay away from that boyfriend of yours. And stay away from The Stagger. Of course, if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll have to find you and kill you.”
    â€œFair enough,” Tess said, smiling. “I’d deserve it.” At the doorway, she turned back. “A favor?”
    â€œIf I can.”
    â€œIf you happen to see Al Something-Polish around town, don’t mention that you talked to me.” She smiled more widely. It hurt her lips, but she did it. “I want to surprise him. Give him a little gift, or something.”
    â€œNot a problem.”
    Tess lingered a bit longer. “I love your eyes.”
    Neal shrugged and smiled. “Thanks. They don’t quite match, do they? It used to make me self-conscious, but now . . .”
    â€œNow it works for you,” Tess said. “You grew into them.”
    â€œI guess I did. I even picked up some work modeling in my twenties. But sometimes, you know what? It’s better to grow out of things. Like a taste for bad-tempered men.”
    To that there seemed to be nothing to say.

- 26 -
    She made sure her Expedition would start, then tipped the cabdriver twenty instead of ten. He thanked her with feeling, then drove away toward the I-84. Tess followed, but not until she’d plugged Tom back into the cigarette lighter receptacle and powered him up.
    â€œHello, Tess,” Tom said. “I see we’re taking a trip.”
    â€œJust home, Tommy-boy,” she said, and pulled out of the parking lot, very aware she was riding on a tire that had been mounted by the man who had almost killed her. Al Something-Polish. A truck-driving son of a gun. “One stop on the way.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re thinking, Tess, but you should be careful.”
    If she had been home instead of in her car, Fritzy would have been the one to say this, and Tess would have been equally unsurprised. She had been making up voices and conversations since childhood, although at the age of eight or nine,she’d quit doing it around other people, unless it was for comic effect.
    â€œI don’t know what I’m thinking, either,” she said, but this was not quite true.
    Up ahead was the US 47 intersection, and the Gas & Dash. She signaled, turned in, and parked with the Expedition’s nose centered between the two pay phones on the side of the building. She saw the number for Royal Limousine on the dusty cinder