Clover Street and working at the Nash Street Market.
“Maybe. I don’t know,” Delores had answered, hurt that she had to find out from her sister where he worked. She neglected to say she had already seen him, not to allay her sister’s fears, but because of her own regret at dropping in on him like that. And now, wasn’t this the very same thing? My God, what was she turning into, a stalker? She didn’t even have food in the cart. He would know she was here to see him. That stricken look would darken his eyes, and once again she would feel so desperate and pitiful.
“You looking for a special cut, miss?” A droopy-eyed man leaned out from the meat-cutting room, his apron stiff with blood.
“No. No, thank you.” She hurried back the way she’d come.
“Delores!” a voice called when she was almost at the front door. Gordon. She turned, grinning, only to see Neil Dubbin atop a ladder, removing stained tiles from the ceiling. “Hey, how’ve you been?” he asked, climbing down quickly.
They knew each other from the Chamber of Commerce. At the last meeting he’d sidled up, whispering how they’d better stick together. There weren’t many of them left in Collerton. Many what? White faces, he’d said.
He was telling her how the roof leak kept triggering the alarms. “One of these times the cops just aren’t gonna come.” His brown-spotted hands trembled, and his hair was a lank, yellowish gray. They were all aging, but his seemed like decay. “And then what happens?” He sighed. “I mean with all the crap that goes on around here. I used to park my car out back, you know, leave the prime spots for customers,” he said, pointing to the narrow front lot. “But no sir, not anymore. Now I’m right out there. Right by the door.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah, well, my customers don’t have cars anyway.” He laughed. “If they did, they’d go shop someplace cheaper. Same as your place, right? It’s like this captive clientele we got.” He leaned closer. “They don’t get no choice cuz they got no choice.” He laughed.
“Well, anyway,” she said as she moved toward the door. She thought she’d seen Gordon’s approaching reflection in the plate glass.
“Last month I had two break-ins and one holdup, this stupid junkie shaking so much he dropped his food stamp ID card trying to shove the bills into his pocket.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She took another step. “I read about that.”
“But not anymore. Cuz now I got the best security of all.” He held his hand to his mouth. “You remember Gloomis, don’t you?”
It was Delores Dufault. Gordon froze halfway down the coffee and baking aisle. She was talking to Neil. He turned, then hurried into the back room, where he busied himself moving pallets so he could mop the floor.
“This one’s out on Lowell Road.” Jilly Cross handed him the listing sheet. Gordon had agreed to look at the condos only to pacify Dennis. The ladder incident had escalated. Mrs. Jukas had called Dennis three times, demanding it be removed from Gordon’s garage. Dennis kept assuring her he had spoken to his brother and it would be taken care of. This morning an Attorney Martin had called Dennis at his office to say that his client, Mrs. Elsbeth Jukas, wanted her ladder back. She claimed the ladder had left her property under false pretenses, that Dennis had led her to believe it would be going to his house, not next door into the hands of a convicted murderer. Dennis canceled his last two appointments and drove over to Gordon’s and pleaded with him to let the Salvation Army take it away, but he refused. Their father’s ladder was not going to end up with strangers.
“Because it’s such a fucking precious heirloom, right?” Dennis shouted, and Gordon went silent. Dennis apologized. All right, then, he conceded. He’d keep the ladder at his house and drive it over to Collerton whenever Gordon needed it. “For the sake of
“Maybe. I don’t know,” Delores had answered, hurt that she had to find out from her sister where he worked. She neglected to say she had already seen him, not to allay her sister’s fears, but because of her own regret at dropping in on him like that. And now, wasn’t this the very same thing? My God, what was she turning into, a stalker? She didn’t even have food in the cart. He would know she was here to see him. That stricken look would darken his eyes, and once again she would feel so desperate and pitiful.
“You looking for a special cut, miss?” A droopy-eyed man leaned out from the meat-cutting room, his apron stiff with blood.
“No. No, thank you.” She hurried back the way she’d come.
“Delores!” a voice called when she was almost at the front door. Gordon. She turned, grinning, only to see Neil Dubbin atop a ladder, removing stained tiles from the ceiling. “Hey, how’ve you been?” he asked, climbing down quickly.
They knew each other from the Chamber of Commerce. At the last meeting he’d sidled up, whispering how they’d better stick together. There weren’t many of them left in Collerton. Many what? White faces, he’d said.
He was telling her how the roof leak kept triggering the alarms. “One of these times the cops just aren’t gonna come.” His brown-spotted hands trembled, and his hair was a lank, yellowish gray. They were all aging, but his seemed like decay. “And then what happens?” He sighed. “I mean with all the crap that goes on around here. I used to park my car out back, you know, leave the prime spots for customers,” he said, pointing to the narrow front lot. “But no sir, not anymore. Now I’m right out there. Right by the door.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah, well, my customers don’t have cars anyway.” He laughed. “If they did, they’d go shop someplace cheaper. Same as your place, right? It’s like this captive clientele we got.” He leaned closer. “They don’t get no choice cuz they got no choice.” He laughed.
“Well, anyway,” she said as she moved toward the door. She thought she’d seen Gordon’s approaching reflection in the plate glass.
“Last month I had two break-ins and one holdup, this stupid junkie shaking so much he dropped his food stamp ID card trying to shove the bills into his pocket.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She took another step. “I read about that.”
“But not anymore. Cuz now I got the best security of all.” He held his hand to his mouth. “You remember Gloomis, don’t you?”
It was Delores Dufault. Gordon froze halfway down the coffee and baking aisle. She was talking to Neil. He turned, then hurried into the back room, where he busied himself moving pallets so he could mop the floor.
“This one’s out on Lowell Road.” Jilly Cross handed him the listing sheet. Gordon had agreed to look at the condos only to pacify Dennis. The ladder incident had escalated. Mrs. Jukas had called Dennis three times, demanding it be removed from Gordon’s garage. Dennis kept assuring her he had spoken to his brother and it would be taken care of. This morning an Attorney Martin had called Dennis at his office to say that his client, Mrs. Elsbeth Jukas, wanted her ladder back. She claimed the ladder had left her property under false pretenses, that Dennis had led her to believe it would be going to his house, not next door into the hands of a convicted murderer. Dennis canceled his last two appointments and drove over to Gordon’s and pleaded with him to let the Salvation Army take it away, but he refused. Their father’s ladder was not going to end up with strangers.
“Because it’s such a fucking precious heirloom, right?” Dennis shouted, and Gordon went silent. Dennis apologized. All right, then, he conceded. He’d keep the ladder at his house and drive it over to Collerton whenever Gordon needed it. “For the sake of
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