Elizabeth. Business, at first, had been hard, and the family
ate cheap vegetable soup and corn biscuits at night, even though they served
hams and chickens by day.
A new housing
policy changed all that, and overnight the area was designated suitable for a
new suburb. The Save-U Supermart attracted more and more customers as houses
and streets went up all around it. What had once been a wilderness of truck
stops and rough fields became a thriving cluster of chalet-style suburban
houses, with neat gardens and kids on scooters. Now Edgar Paston had a healthy
yearly profit, a four-bedroomed chalet, and two cars.
To look at, he
was a supermarket manager and nothing else. Thirty-nine years old, with thinning
hair, thick-lensed spectacles, a five o’clock shadow and a taste for plaid
short-sleeved shirts.
He finished the
peanut bar and tucked the wrapper in his shirt pocket. He never littered. It
was eight-fifteen. He would be back at the store in twenty minutes. That would
just give him time to unload the peaches, lock everything up, and go home for
his dinner. Today was his wife, Tammy’s, half-day at the telephone company, and
that meant a good hot supper with fresh-baked bread. Soon the wide lighted window
of Save-U Supermart appeared at the end of the block, and Edgar swung the
station wagon off the road, over the car park, and pulled up outside.
He-switched off the engine, and wearily climbed out.
He opened the
Mercury’s tailgate, dragged out one-of the boxes of peaches, and walked quickly
across to the supermarket entrance, and inside. The lights were bright in
there, and he blinked. His assistant, Gerry, was standing by the cash-desk
chewing a pencil.
Edgar put down
the box. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said, half-stern and
half-joking.
‘Your mother not feeding you enough?’
Gerry, a thin
and serious boy of sixteen with a beaky nose and short blond hair, looked
worried.
‘Hi, Mr. Paston. It’s those kids again. They came in about
ten minutes ago, and they’re up to something, but I don’t know what. I daren’t
leave the cash desk, and they’ve been down by the freezers for quite a while.’
Paston peered
down the length of the store, past the shelves filled with cereals and cookies
and baby-foods. There were only a few late shoppers left now, trundling their
carts around and picking up TV dinners and canned drinks. The freezers, where
he kept the meat and the beer, were down at the far end.
‘Hold on,
Gerry. I’ll go and take a look.’
When he reached
the end of the supermarket, he saw exactly what was going on.
Four or five
teenage boys in denims and black leather jackets were sitting around on the
floor, drinking beer from a six-pack they had taken from the fridge.
‘Okay,’ said
Edgar sharply. ‘What the hell’s happening here?’
The kids looked
at him, and then looked at each other. A couple of them giggled.
‘Come on, get
your butts out of her, or I’ll call the cops.’
None of the
kids moved. One of them took a mouthful of beer and sprayed it in the air, and
the rest of them laughed.
‘All right,’
said Edgar. ‘I’ve warned you before. If that’s the way you want it.’
He turned away,
and walked towards the telephone on the wall. He was just about to pick it up,
when one of the boys called out, ‘Paston!’
He looked
round. He had seen this kid before. He was tall for his age, with a tight black
jacket decorated with zippers. He had a thin, foxy face, and greased-back hair.
‘Are you
talking to me?’ said Edgar, putting the phone back on the hook.
‘That’s right,
Paston,’ said the kid. He came up closer and stood only a couple of feet away,
his thumbs in his belt, chewing a large wad of gum with quick, noisy chews.
‘It’s Mr.
Paston to you,’ said Edgar calmly. The kid nodded. ‘That’s okay, Mr. Paston.
And it’s Mr.
McManus to you.’
Edgar adjusted
his glasses. ‘Are you going to leave the store now, or do I have to call the
cops and get you
ate cheap vegetable soup and corn biscuits at night, even though they served
hams and chickens by day.
A new housing
policy changed all that, and overnight the area was designated suitable for a
new suburb. The Save-U Supermart attracted more and more customers as houses
and streets went up all around it. What had once been a wilderness of truck
stops and rough fields became a thriving cluster of chalet-style suburban
houses, with neat gardens and kids on scooters. Now Edgar Paston had a healthy
yearly profit, a four-bedroomed chalet, and two cars.
To look at, he
was a supermarket manager and nothing else. Thirty-nine years old, with thinning
hair, thick-lensed spectacles, a five o’clock shadow and a taste for plaid
short-sleeved shirts.
He finished the
peanut bar and tucked the wrapper in his shirt pocket. He never littered. It
was eight-fifteen. He would be back at the store in twenty minutes. That would
just give him time to unload the peaches, lock everything up, and go home for
his dinner. Today was his wife, Tammy’s, half-day at the telephone company, and
that meant a good hot supper with fresh-baked bread. Soon the wide lighted window
of Save-U Supermart appeared at the end of the block, and Edgar swung the
station wagon off the road, over the car park, and pulled up outside.
He-switched off the engine, and wearily climbed out.
He opened the
Mercury’s tailgate, dragged out one-of the boxes of peaches, and walked quickly
across to the supermarket entrance, and inside. The lights were bright in
there, and he blinked. His assistant, Gerry, was standing by the cash-desk
chewing a pencil.
Edgar put down
the box. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said, half-stern and
half-joking.
‘Your mother not feeding you enough?’
Gerry, a thin
and serious boy of sixteen with a beaky nose and short blond hair, looked
worried.
‘Hi, Mr. Paston. It’s those kids again. They came in about
ten minutes ago, and they’re up to something, but I don’t know what. I daren’t
leave the cash desk, and they’ve been down by the freezers for quite a while.’
Paston peered
down the length of the store, past the shelves filled with cereals and cookies
and baby-foods. There were only a few late shoppers left now, trundling their
carts around and picking up TV dinners and canned drinks. The freezers, where
he kept the meat and the beer, were down at the far end.
‘Hold on,
Gerry. I’ll go and take a look.’
When he reached
the end of the supermarket, he saw exactly what was going on.
Four or five
teenage boys in denims and black leather jackets were sitting around on the
floor, drinking beer from a six-pack they had taken from the fridge.
‘Okay,’ said
Edgar sharply. ‘What the hell’s happening here?’
The kids looked
at him, and then looked at each other. A couple of them giggled.
‘Come on, get
your butts out of her, or I’ll call the cops.’
None of the
kids moved. One of them took a mouthful of beer and sprayed it in the air, and
the rest of them laughed.
‘All right,’
said Edgar. ‘I’ve warned you before. If that’s the way you want it.’
He turned away,
and walked towards the telephone on the wall. He was just about to pick it up,
when one of the boys called out, ‘Paston!’
He looked
round. He had seen this kid before. He was tall for his age, with a tight black
jacket decorated with zippers. He had a thin, foxy face, and greased-back hair.
‘Are you
talking to me?’ said Edgar, putting the phone back on the hook.
‘That’s right,
Paston,’ said the kid. He came up closer and stood only a couple of feet away,
his thumbs in his belt, chewing a large wad of gum with quick, noisy chews.
‘It’s Mr.
Paston to you,’ said Edgar calmly. The kid nodded. ‘That’s okay, Mr. Paston.
And it’s Mr.
McManus to you.’
Edgar adjusted
his glasses. ‘Are you going to leave the store now, or do I have to call the
cops and get you
Similar Books
