Nine
Somebody wanted a beer and Eddie went off to serve it. He rang up the fifteen cents and came back.
“He wanted to know where you went. I told him you asked the way to Route 32.
You reach it by the way you started, but without making the turn off you made.” He seemed very pleased with himself.
“Thanks,” I said. “He’ll be back. The next time, you can tell him where I am. It’s not important and he’s a tough boy. I wouldn’t want you to get involved.”
“I’ve always got this,” he said, showing me a short baseball bat he brought up from under the bar.
“This one doesn’t play that way. He uses a gun.”
“Is that why you’re carrying one?” he asked.
I was surprised. The average person can’t spot a g*n in a shoulder holster. “What did you say you did in New York City?”
“The same thing I’m do
