“You?”
“Stock Novelties Incorporated,” Barnes said. “Straight commission.”
“Times are tough, good buddy.”
Barnes nodded, and for a while they sat without speaking, each locked in his own private hell. The mutter of the doctor’s voice came faintly from the examination room beyond, rising and falling as though he lectured to a class of one.
Barnes found a tattered
A shriveled, white-haired woman came out of the examination room, and Sheppard leaned over to whisper, “I ought to tell her about our Eternity Cottages—a durable home for all of life, an eternal resting place when life is gone. The beds convert, so your kids can move back in with you if they want to, when their time comes.”
The old doctor looked out, glancing from Barnes to Sheppard. He wore a white surgical coat and had a doughnut-shaped reflector strapped to his head. Sheppard rose and went in. After a time, Barnes heard him cough.
Arf! Said The Greyhound
The bus that had rounded the corner as Barnes and the sailor left the station stood silent and empty now beyond the wide glass doors. Inside, the passengers who had straggled from it were nearly gone, most of them having carried their luggage to taxis, to the cars of relatives, to city busses, or down the icy city streets. A boy of about seven, wearing black shoes, navy-blue trousers, a white shirt, and a navy blazer with a crest, stood forlornly beside his little suitcase. An old man in a dirty gray sweater slept on the bench where Reeder had sprawled.
Candy had paid her driver grandly with bills; now she discovered that she had no quarters with which to rent a locker. She crossed the station to the magazine stand and asked the concessionaire for change.
“Sure,” he said. Then, as he was scooping coins from the drawer of his register, “I never seen you around here so early.”
Candy thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I have been here a few times, late. I was looking for somebody.”
“You usually found him,” the concessionaire said. He was a bald, wizened little man with a crooked nose, and on impulse Candy kissed his bald head as he gave her the change. The kiss left a distinct scarlet print on his scalp. “Hey!” he said. “What the hell?”
“I found him this morning too,” Candy told him. She leaned against the stand and tried to throw her hips to one side like the model of the cover of
“Like hell,” the concessionaire said. “Anyway, doll, it’s too early for dinner. Only a little after ten.”
“Have it your way. A champagne lunch. Lunch from now till midnight.”
“You don’t look like you need it.”
“Sure, but you do.” Candy picked up an Almond Joy. “These free? For me, I mean?”
“Like hell. Fifty cents.”
As she returned two of his quarters, there was a tug at her skirt. “Ma’am, have you seen my dad?”
Candy glanced down at the boy. “No, ’fraid not. If I were you, kid—” She hesitated, staring. “Hey, maybe I have at that. What’s your name?”
“Osgood M. Barnes.”
“Oh, Lord,” Candy said. And then again, “Oh, Lord.” The concessionaire turned away, his back ostentatiously signaling that he had nothing to do with lost children in the bus station. Candy shrugged, took two more Almond Joys, and dropped them into her purse.
“Have you seen my dad?” the boy asked again.
“Uh huh. What’s your mother call you?”
“Ozzie or Little Ozzie.”
“Right. Well, you know, Little Ozzie, I call your dad Ozzie, so I’m going to call you Little Ozzie. That way I can keep the two of you straight. You want the other half of my candy?”
Little Ozzie nodded.
“Let’s go over and sit down on those benches for a minute. Did you get any breakfast today?”
The boy nodded. “Real early. It wasn’t even daylight outside.”
“What was it? Breakfast, I mean.”
“Cornflakes.”
“Uh huh. And then your mother took you down and put you on the bus, right? And she told you your dad would be meeting you here?”
The boy nodded.
“I know your dad, Little Ozzie.”
