ut he didn't have to。 Percy just let go； and the gun fell to the floor。 His eyes went across us like they were skates and we were ice。 There was a low hissing sound and a sharp ammoniac smell as Percy's bladder let go； then a brrrap sound and a thicker stink as he filled the other side of his pants； as well。 His eyes had settled on a far corner of the corridor。 They were eyes that never saw anything in this real world of ours again； so far as I know。 Back near the beginning of this I wrote that Percy was at Briar Ridge by the time that Brutal found the colored slivers of Mr。 Jingles's spool a couple of months later； and I didn't lie about that。 He never got the office with the fan in the er； though； never got a bunch of lunatic patients to push around； either。 But I imagine he at least got his own private room。
He had connections； after all。
Wharton was lying on his side with his back against the wall of his cell。 I couldn't see much then but a lot of blood soaking into the sheet and splattered across the cement； but the coroner said Percy had shot like Annie Oakley。 Remembering Dean's story of how Percy had thrown his hickory baton at the mouse that time and barely missed； I wasn't too surprised。 This time the range had been shorter and the target not moving。 One in the groin； one in the gut； one in the chest； three in the head。
Brutal was coughing and waving at the haze of gunsmoke。 I was coughing myself； but hadn't noticed it until then。
〃End of