Tammy stacked the dishes in the dishwasher while Edgar rinsed them under the tap. Their kitchen was simple and modern, and decorated in candy-apple red. On the wall was a color print of fall tints in the Catskills, and a wrought-iron profile of President Eisenhower.
'Emergency plan?' asked Tammy. 'Eddie — I don't think we have to. You remember the last time we had an emergency plan, during Cuba? You spent the whole weekend digging a hole in the garden for an atom shelter!'
Edgar laughed at the memory of it. 'I guess you're right. Tam. I guess I made a fool of myself over that.'
After they had washed and wiped the dishes, they went into their yellow-decorated living-loom and joined their children, 10-year-old Marvin and 14-year-old Chrissie.
Both children were watching television. Edgar asked, 'Is there any more news about the plague?'
Chrissie said, 'Nothing much, dad. They said they had some people in isolation at Newport News, but they didn't know if they were sick with the plague.'
'Newport News? I though they only had the plague in Georgia.'
'Well,' she shrugged, 'that's what they said. They're going to have another speech by the President later.'
Edgar frowned. 'That doesn't sound too healthy. I just hope the darned thing doesn't spread up this way.'
'Dad — what's plague?' Marvin said.
Edgar Paston blinked. 'Plague? Well, it's a kind of disease. You know, a real serious disease, that you can die of.'
'Sure, Dad. But what's it like?'
Edgar Paston looked at Tammy, but Tammy knew as little about it as he did.
'I don't know. Why don't you look it up in your Children's Encyclopedia? It cost me five dollars a month for three centuries, you might as well use it.'
Edgar watched television until seven o'clock, then roused himself to go and close the store. Gerry was in charge at the moment, but Edgar always liked to check the final day's takings himself, and make sure that everything was locked up. He kissed Tammy at the front door, and went out into the cool darkness to fetch his car.
A cricket was chirruping on the front lawn. He climbed into his Mercury wagon, and switched on the lights. Tammy waved from the front door. He drove down the road, and round the corner to the junction where the Save-U Supermart stood.
He didn't realize that anything was wrong until he pulled up outside. He saw Gerry inside the brightly-lit store, bending over for some reason. Then, as he climbed out of the wagon, he saw what had happened. He ran heavily across the car park and into the supermarket, panting with exertion.
Gerry had a red bruise on his left eye. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Paston, I did try to stop them. But they held me down, and they hit me. I'm just trying to clear up.'
Edgar looked around his store in frantic horror. Every shelf in the entire store had been cleared of groceries, and every can and packet and bag had been tossed on to the floor. Thousands of dollars' worth of flour and candies and nuts and cake-mixes and household goods had been spilled and trampled on.
He walked the length of the supermarket in a stunned dream of despair. A few customers still stood around, embarrassed and silent. As Edgar walked, he trod on fruit and broken glass, corn-meal and crumpled packets. Gerry, dabbing his bruised eye, followed behind.
'What happened here?' Edgar said hoarsely, when he got to the freezer cabinet. Though he could see for himself.
'They — er — they pissed in it,' said Gerry. Tm sorry, Mr. Paston. I did try my level best to stop them.'
Edgar stood still and cast his gaze over the whole wrecked store. The new store-front window, which had been installed first thing that morning, had been cracked. Displays and signs costing hundreds of dollars had been torn down and smashed. Honey and molasses oozed from cracked jars, the contents of cereal boxes were strewn everywhere.
'Who was it?' asked Edgar quietly. 'McManus?'
Gerry looked at the floor. 'They said they'd kill me if I told. I'm sorry, Mr. Paston. I'm so sorry.'
Edgar laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'I understand. Well, I guess we'd better call the cops.'
'I would have called them myself, sir, but after yesterday I didn't know whether they'd like it.'
Edgar shook his head. 'It's not a question of whether they like it. It's their job.' He went to the wall phone, and picked it up.
He was in the middle of dialing when he heard someone laughing outside the store. A raucous, mocking laugh. He paused, and then laid the telephone receiver down again. Quickly, making sure that he didn't tread in any debris, he made his way towards the cash-desk, searching in his pants pocket for his keys.
Gerry called, 'Mr. Paston — ' but he ignored the boy, and ducked low behind the counter. He lifted his keys, examined them closely, and picked the right one. Then he unlocked the drawer under the till, and took out a.38 revolver.
Holding the pistol behind his back, he stalked slowly towards the front of the store. He eased open the glass door, and looked out into the breezy night. Across the car-park, close to his station wagon, he saw a huddled group of kids. They were laughing and hooting and horsing around, and he knew damned well who they were. He shouted, 'McManus! Shark McManus!' The kids went quiet, and looked in his direction. He raised the.38 in his right hand, supporting his wrist with his left, and squinted down the barrel. The kids were all close together, and they presented an easy target. Edgar, his voice tight, shouted again, 'McManus! Stand forward, McManus, and get what's coming to you!'
The kids evidently didn't realize that Edgar was holding a gun, because they started laughing again, and jeering. Edgar aimed carefully at the tallest figure in the group, and let out his breath. He fired, and the pistol kicked in his hand. There was a flat, echoing bang. One of the kids fell to the ground, without a sound. The rest of them suddenly scattered.
Edgar, holding his gun raised up, walked slowly across the car park to the fallen youth. The boy was sprawled on his stomach, and there was a wide pool of glistening blood around his head. Edgar hunkered down and examined him. The bullet had hit him in the back of the skull, and must have killed him instantly.
He looked around. The car park was silent.
Gerry, walking on tippy-toes for some reason, came up behind him.
'Mr. Paston — ' he breathed.
'What is it, Gerry?'
'Mr. Paston, you shouldn't have!'
Edgar stood up. 'Shouldn't have? Did you see what these scum did to my store? These are scum, Gerry, and don't you forget it! He tried to destroy my way of life, and the only way I could answer that was to try and destroy his! Don't you forget that, Gerry!'
Edgar was shaking. He still had the gun in his hand, but he didn't know what to do with it.
'Mr. Paston,' said Gerry, miserably. 'This isn't Shark McManus. This isn't his gang.'
Edgar felt cold. He looked down at the boy's body lying on the concrete. The blood kept spreading, and there was no way to mop it up and return it to his veins.
'I don't understand you. He was laughing. They were all laughing.'
'They come around here quite often,' Gerry said. 'They don't mean no harm. I know one or two of them. They come around to the store after meetings, and buy candy.'
'Meetings?' said Edgar numbly. 'What meetings?'
'Boy scout meetings, Mr. Paston. They're boy scouts.'
Edgar stared down at the body. 'Boy scouts,' he whispered, 'Well — what — I mean — boy scouts?
He was still standing by the body when the black and white police car came howling into the car park, lights flashing, and squealed to a stop beside them. The doors opened, and Officers Trent and Marowitz came briskly across the concrete.
They looked down at the body. Marowitz said briskly, 'Is he dead? Has anyone checked?
Edgar said, 'He's dead all right. I got him in the head.'
He lifted his pistol, and handed it silently to Officer Marowitz.
