or what？〃
Still screaming and laughing； Wharton went back to choking Dean with his chain。 Why not？ Wharton knew what we all knew： they could only fry him once。
〃Hit him； Percy； hit him！〃 Harry screamed； struggling to his feet。 But Percy only stood there； hickory baton in hand； eyes as wide as soup…plates。 Here was the chance he'd been looking for； you would have said； his golden opportunity to put that tallywhacker of his to good use； and he was too scared and confused to do it。 This wasn't some terrified little Frenchman or a black giant who hardly seemed to be in his own body； this was a whirling devil。
I came out of Wharton's cell； dropping my clipboard and pulling my 。38。 I had forgotten the infection that was heating up my middle for the second time that day。 I didn't doubt the story the others told of Wharton's blank face and dull eyes when they told it； but that wasn't the Wharton I saw。 What I saw was the face of an animal … not an intelligent animal； but one filled with cunning 。。。 and meanness 。。。 and joy。 Yes。 He was doing what he had been made to do。 The place and the circumstances didn't matter。 The other thing I saw was Dean Stanton's red； swelling face。 He was dying in front of my eyes。 Wharton saw the gun and turned Dean toward it； so that I'd almost certainly have to hit one to hit the other。 From over Dean's shoulder； one blazing blue eye dared me to shoot。
Part Three：
Coffey's Hands
1。
Looking back through what I've written； I see that I called Georgia Pines； where I now live； a nursing home。 The folks who run the place wouldn't be very happy with that！ According to the brochures they keep in the lobby and send out to prospective clients； its a 〃State…of…the…art retirement plex for the elderly。〃 It eve