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file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Stephen%20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm“Not at all,” Louis said, unsmiling. “I haven’t a license to jack.” The clerk blinked and then decided tolaugh. “In other words, mind my own business, huh? Well, look—you can’t hood one of those big lights,but you can get a piece of felt and poke a hole in the middle of it. Cut the beam clown to a penlight.”“That sounds fine,” Louis said. “Thanks.”“Surely. Anything else for you today?”“Yes indeed,” Louis said. “I need a pick, a shovel, and a spade. Short-handled shovel, long-handledspade. A stout length of rope, eight feet long. A pair of work gloves. A canvas tarpaulin, maybe eight byeight.”“I can do all that,” the clerk said.“I’ve got a septic tank to dig up,” Louis said. “It looks like I’m in violation of the zoning ordinances, andI’ve got some very nosy neighbors. I don’t know if hooding my light will do any good or not, but Ithought I might give it a try. I could get a pretty good fine.”“Oh-oh,” the clerk said, “better get a clothespin for your nose while you’re at it.”Louis laughed dutifully. His purchases came to $58.60. He paid cash.As gas prices went up, they had used the big station wagon less and less. For some time it had had a badwheel-bearing, but Louis had kept putting off the repair job. This was partly because he didn’t want topart with the two hundred it was likely to cost, hut mostly because it was a nuisance. Now, when hecould have really used the big old dinosaur, lie didn’t dare chance it. The Civic was a hatchback, andLouis was nervous about going hack to Ludlow with the pick, shovel, and spade in there. Jud Crandall’seyes were sharp, and there was nothing wrong with his brains either. He would know what was up.Then it occurred to him that there was no real reason to go back to Ludlow anyway. Louis recrossed theChamberlain Bridge into Bangor and checked into the Howard Johnson’s Motor Lodge on the OdlinRoad—once again near the airport, once again near Pleasantview Cemetery where his son was buried.He checked in under the name Dee Dee Ramone and paid cash for his room.He tried to nap, reasoning that he would be glad of the rest before tomorrow morning. In the words ofsome Victorian novel or other, there was wild work ahead of him tonight—enough wild work to last alifetime.But his brain simply would not shut down.He lay on the anonymous motel bed beneath a nondescript motel print of picturesque boats at dockbeside a picturesque old wharf in a picturesque New England harbor, fully dressed except for his shoes,file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20St...20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm (248 of 333)7/28/2005 9:21:50 PM