Four Past Midnight by Stephen King Page A

American program,” Nick said. “Science fiction. Exploring strange new worlds, like the one which apparently exists inside your head. And if you don’t shut your gob at once, you bloody idiot, I’ll be happy to demonstrate Mr. Spock’s famous Vulcan sleeper-hold for you.”
    â€œYou can’t talk to me like that!” Crew-Neck snarled. “Do you know who I am?”
    â€œOf course,” Nick said. “You’re a bloody-minded little bugger who has mistaken his airline boarding pass for credentials proclaiming him to be the Grand High Pooh-Bah of Creation. You’re also badly frightened. No harm in that, but you are in the way.”
    Crew-Neck’s face was now so clogged with blood that Brian began to be afraid his entire head would explode. He had once seen a movie where that happened. He did not want to see it in real life. “You can’t talk to me like that! You’re not even an American citizen!”
    Nick Hopewell moved so fast that Brian barely saw what was happening. At one moment the man in the crew-neck jersey was yelling into Nick’s face while Nick stood at ease beside Brian, his hands on the hips of his pressed jeans. A moment later, Crew-Neck’s nose was caught firmly between the first and second fingers of Nick’s right hand.
    Crew-Neck tried to pull away. Nick’s fingers tightened ... and then his hand turned slightly, in the gesture of a man tightening a screw or winding an alarm clock. Crew-Neck bellowed.
    â€œI can break it,” Nick said softly. “Easiest thing in the world, believe me.”
    Crew-Neck tried to jerk backward. His hands beat ineffectually at Nick’s arm. Nick twisted again and Crew-Neck bellowed again.
    â€œI don’t think you heard me. I can break it. Do you understand? Signify if you have understanding.”
    He twisted Crew-Neck’s nose a third time.
    Crew-Neck did not just bellow this time; he screamed.
    â€œOh, wow,” the stoned-looking girl said from behind them. “A nose-hold.”
    â€œI don’t have time to discuss your business appointments,” Nick said softly to Crew-Neck. “Nor do I have time to deal with hysteria masquerading as aggression. We have a nasty, perplexing situation here. You, sir, are clearly not part of the solution, and I have no intention whatever of allowing you to become part of the problem. Therefore, I am going to send you back into the main cabin. This gentleman in the red shirt—”
    â€œDon Gaffney,” the gentleman in the red shirt said. He looked as vastly surprised as Brian felt.
    â€œThank you,” Nick said. He still held Crew-Neck’s nose in that amazing clamp, and Brian could now see a thread of blood lining one of the man’s pinched nostrils.
    Nick pulled him closer and spoke in a warm, confidential voice.
    â€œMr. Gaffney here will be your escort. Once you arrive in the main cabin, my buggardly friend, you will take a seat with your safety belt fixed firmly around your middle. Later, when the captain here has assured himself we are not going to fly into a mountain, a building, or another plane, we may be able to discuss our current situation at greater length. For the present, however, your input is not necessary. Do you understand all these things I have told you?”
    Crew-Neck uttered a pained, outraged bellow.
    â€œIf you understand, please favor me with a thumbs-up.”
    Crew-Neck raised one thumb. The nail, Brian saw, was neatly manicured.
    â€œFine,” Nick said. “One more thing. When I let go of your nose, you may feel vengeful. To feel that way is fine. To give vent to the feeling would be a terrible mistake. I want you to remember that what I have done to your nose I can just as easily do to your testicles. In fact, I can wind them up so far that when I let go of them, you may actually fly about the cabin like a child’s airplane. I expect you to leave with