Odd Hours Read Free Page A

pier. Usually a few evening fishermen would already have arrived with rods and tackle boxes.
    I glanced back and saw Boo moving closer to the three men, who were oblivious of him. The hulk with the chin beard looked over the heads of the other two, again staring at Annamaria and me.
    The shore was still distant. The shrouded sun slowly sank behind a thousand fathoms of clouds, toward the drowning horizon, and rising mist damped the lamplight.
    When I looked back again, the freckled pair were approaching at a brisk walk.
    “Keep going,” I told Annamaria. “Off the pier, among people.”
    She remained calm. “I’ll stay with you.”
    “
No.
I can handle this.”
    Gently, I pushed her ahead of me, made sure that she kept moving, and then turned toward the redheads. Instead of standing my ground or backing away, I walked toward them, smiling, which surprised them enough to bring them to a halt.
    As the one with the bad teeth looked past me at Annamaria, and as number two reached inside his unzipped jacket, I said, “You guys know about the tsunami warning?”
    Number two kept his hand in his jacket, and the poster boy for dental hygiene shifted his attention to me. “Tsunami?”
    “They estimate twenty to thirty feet.”
    “They who?”
    “Even thirty feet,” I said, “won’t wash over the pier. She got scared, didn’t want to stay, but I want to ride it out, see it. We must be—what?—forty feet off the water. It could be cool.”
    Throughout all this, the big guy had been approaching. As he joined us, number two asked him, “You hear about a tsunami?”
    I said with some excitement, “The break slope on the shore here is twenty feet, but the other ten feet of the wave, man, it’s gonna wipe out the front row of buildings.”
    Glancing back, as if to assess the potential for destruction, I was relieved to see Annamaria reaching the end of the pier.
    “But the pier has deep pilings,” I said. “The pier will ride it out. I’m pretty sure. It’s solid. Don’t you think the pier will ride it out?”
    The big guy’s mother had probably told him that he had hazel eyes. Hazel is a light golden-brown. He did not have hazel eyes. They were yellow rather than golden, and they were more yellow than brown.
    If his pupils had been elliptical instead of round, I could almost have believed that he was a humanoid puppet and that an intelligent mutant cat was curled up in his skull, peering at me through the empty sockets. And not a
nice
intelligent mutant cat.
    His voice dispelled the feline image, for it had a timbre more suited to a bear. “Who’re you?”
    Instead of answering, I pretended excitement about the coming tsunami and looked at my wristwatch. “It could hit shore in like a few minutes. I gotta be on the observation deck when it comes.”
    “Who’re you?” the hulk repeated, and he put his big right paw on my left shoulder.
    The instant he touched me, reality flipped out of sight as if it were a discarded flashcard. I found myself not on the pier but on the shore instead, on a beach across which squirmed reflections of fire. A hideous bright something rose in a sea that pulsed with hellish light under an apocalyptic sky.
    The nightmare.
    Reality flipped into view again.
    The hulk had snatched his hand back from my shoulder. With his wide eyes focused on his spread fingers, he looked as if he had been stung—or had seen the red tide of my dream.
    Never before had I passed a dream or a vision, or a thought, or anything but a head cold, to someone else by a touch. Surprises like this spare me from a dull life.
    Like the cold-jewel stare of a stone-temple god, the yellow gaze fixed on me again, and he said, “Who the
hell
are you?”
    The tone of his voice alerted the redheads that an extraordinary event had occurred. The one with his hand inside his jacket withdrew a pistol, and the one with bad teeth reached into his jacket, most likely not for dental floss.
    I ran three steps to the side of the