Free Live Free

“Wow!” Candy looked around at the darkened buildings. “It seems more like midnight. It really got late early tonight.”

Nimo capering ahead of the rest, stopped and threw his arms wide. “Lipstick!”

“Listen,” Barnes told Stubb. “I got to get slicked up. She’s going to pick me up in front of the Consort at eight.”

“Okay, you’re not heavy. I bet Candy could do it.”

Nimo dropped to his knees before her. “If I only had a lipstick, I could make stripes on these pajamas. I could give myself a red nose, too.”

“Jim, get him away from me! I think he’s going to sing that song from The Wizard of Oz.”

“I like it,” Little Ozzie announced. “We’re o-o-off to see the Wizard, the Wonnerful WizardoFoz!”

“No, no,” Nimo told him. “I-i-if I only had a lipstick, they could not think me a dipstick. I would not be thought insane! With a lipstick I could stripe me, I could even overripe me, they would not suspect my brain!”

“Blow me down,” Barnes muttered. “I’m cold.” He glanced down a side street where a fire winked like a star as dark figures passed before it. “Those guys might be working on a haberdashery right now.”

Little Ozzie looked up at him. “You wouldn’t steal the clothes, would you, Dad?”

“Of course not,” Barnes told him. “But there’s a thing called the right of salvage—that means that if something’s found abandoned, the finder gets to keep it. For instance, if somebody’s already broken into some store, and there’s nobody there to take care of the things, that store is considered shop-wrecked, and until the owner or the police come, anybody can take whatever he wants. Candy, will you look after Little Ozzie for a while?”

“If you’ll try to get me a coat.”

“Fine,” Barnes said. He turned and darted across the street. Once his hospital slippers slipped on the ice, but he did not quite fall.

“I didn’t know Ozzie could run like that,” the fat girl said.

Stubb shook his head. “I hope he doesn’t get caught. The power could come on any minute.”

The boy, who had not far to look, looked up at him. “If the store is store-wrecked, it’s all right, isn’t it?”

Candy said, “See, Little Ozzie, the lights are sort of like. having a cop watching the place.”

“Or the sun could come up!” Nimo looked at the dark sky and threw wide his arms.

“Hey, you really are crazy, aren’t you?”

“It could happen,” he told her seriously. “Anything could, and something has to happen. I’ll bet you a massage—against a kiss—that the sun will rise within a minute.”

“Are you a good masseur? I bet you are. Okay, it’s a bet.”

“Come here,” Nimo said to Little Ozzie. “Get up on me. I’ll carry you awhile.” He crouched, and the boy clambered onto his back. Nimo hitched him to his shoulders and stood. “See! Ozzie is that other Ozzie’s son, and he has risen!”

“Okay, I owe—” Candy broke off her sentence and pointed. “Jim! Do you see that?”

“See what?”

“That sign, down there. Jim, it’s the Dilly Deli. They have the greatest corned-beef sandwiches, wine, beer, all that stuff. Aren’t you hungry? My God, I’m starving.”

“I’m hungry,” Little Ozzie announced from Nimo’s shoulders.

“Sure you are! And we’re going to get you something to eat. You trust Candy. Nimo, come on!”

Half a block down, the delicatessen was silent and dark, its windows filled with bread, bottles, and hand- lettered cardboard signs.

“You’d think they’d be there, wouldn’t you?” Candy said. “They used to be open till nine.”

“If they were there,” Stubb remarked practically, “you couldn’t get in and scarf a sandwich. You haven’t got any money.”

“What the hell do you mean, a sandwich? A super-Dilly, with pastrami, corned beef, roast beef, liver sausage, and Russian dressing, with a bowl of matzo-ball soup and a malted. Jim, can you get us inside?”

Stubb squinted at the door. “Maybe I could, but I won’t.”

“For Christ’s sake, Jim! You want me to bust the window with a brick?”

“No, I want you to walk about another four blocks. Then I’ll get you whatever you want to eat. Come on.” The small man started down the icy sidewalk. After a moment Nimo followed him, carrying the boy.

Panting, Candy waddled after them. “Jim, this better be good. My feet hurt and my legs hurt, and I’m cold. And I’m so God-damned hungry I could eat my own arm.”

Nimo was scratching the crown of his head, arm held high and hand bent in an exaggerated gesture of rube puzzlement. “We’re getting close to my clownhouse,” he said. “I can show you an unlocked window, but there isn’t much in my Peterpantry.”

“Nah,”. Stubb said. “It isn’t that. We’re going to the Sandwich Shop. Candy just reminded me—it’s Friday night.”