heroically to tell the truth.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We simply don’t have that model. It’s been discontinued.”
“I hardly have time,” she said, “to bandy about on this matter with a clerk.” Then she walked quickly from the store.
Louie finished up with his customer and swaggered my way. He looked down at his shoes and scraped a fleck of dead skin off the bridge of his nose.
“That was pretty smooth, Nick. You didn’t call her any names before you blew her out the door, did you, just so I know?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Yeah, well. You been off the floor too long. Half the people come in here be actin’ all superior—you can’t let that bust on your groove. It’s part of the job, man, it’s what they payin’ us for.”
I looked at his sagging, tired face, and then at McGinnes and Malone, who were talking to each other in the Sound Explosion. The twelve-hour shifts, the standing on one’s feet all day long on concrete floors and the varicose veins that resulted from that, the constant degradation from customers and management alike, the absence of praise or compliment, the cycle of work and drink and drugs and back again—it was taking its toll on all of them. The money became insignificant; ultimately the only reward was to get the deal, a small victory for its own sake that led inevitably to some suburban funeral parlor, where small groups of old men in stubbornly plaided polyesters stood in circles and said things like, “I remember the time Johnny stepped a customer off a giveaway RCA to a no-name piece of dreck that had a fifty dollar bill on it.”
“I’m going to take a break, Louie.”
“Go ahead,” he said.
THE RAIN WAS NOT ABATING. I crossed the Avenue and jogged south two blocks to an Amoco station, as the wet tires of slow-moving vehicles hissed past. I bought road maps of Virginia and the Carolinas in the office of the station and fitted them in the dry inside pocket of my jacket.
By the time I had run back up the block and entered the Golden Temple, I was heavy with rainwater. The matriarch of the family-owned restaurant seated me at a warm deuce in the rearmost corner. She set down a cup of tea and left the pot.
Her husband came out of the kitchen shortly thereafter, rubbing his hands with a rag. He was wearing a white uniform and had a white paper hat on his head. Straight gray hair shot out from underneath the hat in several directions. He clapped me on the shoulder. I said hello as he pulled the menu from my hands.
“You don’t need,” he said, and walked back to the kitchen after tossing the menu behind the register.
He returned five minutes later with steamed dumplings and some combination noodles that were mixed with thin slices of pork, shrimp, spring onions, and ginger. I ate while I studied the road maps I had spread out on the table.
Mama-san handed me the check when I was finished. I left fourteen on nine and walked to the entranceway, where I dropped a quarter into a payphone and dialed. Pence picked up on the second ring.
“This is Nick Stefanos.”
“Mr. Stefanos,” he said, bringing some phlegm up from his throat. “What’s the word on your progress?”
I told him nearly everything I had learned in the last few days, soft-pedaling the character of Broda’s companions and omitting entirely the theft and drug angles.
“Frankly,” I said, “I think your grandson is just on a long joyride. He’ll be back as soon as the money runs out.”
“And you plan on leaving it at that?”
“Not entirely. But I believe he’s safe right now.” The old man picked up the doubt in my voice.
He sighed, said in a sarcastic manner, “You do what you can,” and hung up.
I replaced the receiver and stood looking through the window at the rain, which was slicing at the road diagonally now, powered by a fierce wind. I pushed open the heavy door of The Golden Temple, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and let the stinging water hit my face.
FOURTEEN
THE FLOOR WAS dense with customers when I returned. Louie, who was hopelessly tied up with an elderly man, raised his arm over the man’s head and pointed to a couple of live ones in the TV department.
I made my way towards them, ignoring a guy in a down jacket who was carrying a clipboard and demanding, for anyone who would listen, to see some