CHAPTER SIXTEENIn the morning, I stopped off at Tiny’s for the papers. Brushing through the usual conglomeration of kids around the comic books, I picked up the three morning editions and worked my way back to where Tiny sat on his high stool behind the candy bars and cigarettes.
He laid his overgrown cigar on the edge of the counter and took the quarter I handed him. While he made change, I gave a quick glance at the headlines. The death of Harry Shulman hadn’t made a particular stir—Carr’s death did. The news rags had finally caught on. Two deaths, both by seemingly supernatural means, a science fiction convention background—all three papers, even the staid Times, were up in arms.
I looked up at Tiny.
His little face was expressionless. He took the cigar up again, put it in his mouth
