Crow went back in to the store and worked for a few hours while Mike sat behind the counter and finished his homework, a paper on Ray Bradbury’s
He made a call to Pittsburgh and talked with Tom Savini, and went over the budget for the makeup effects workshop he was giving at the college. Savini was going to have the workshop students do full-on monster makeup so that the whole class would look like flesh-eating zombies. The materials were expensive, but every seat had already been booked and he asked Savini to consider doing a second workshop the following day. Pine Deep was going to
When he was done with his calls, he ordered pizza delivery and when it arrived, Mike saved his file, shut down his laptop, and the two of them taunted each other with science fiction trivia while they plowed through double-pepperoni, onion rings, and large Cokes. Customers came and went, waited on by both of them, their mouths puffed out like chipmunks around big bites of pizza.
Munching the last onion ring, Crow strolled outside for some air. Corn Hill was crammed with cars as Tuesday afternoon faded into evening and the after-work crowd mingled with a fresh tide of tourists. There was laughter everywhere and music coming from at least three bars, the happy sounds spilling out into the street. It was dark, but the street was alight with neon and the glow from hundreds of store windows. Crow leaned against the wall by his door and watched the crowd as he chewed. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number for Saul Weinstock. It was answered on the third ring.
“Crow! I’m so glad you finally called.”
“I tried earlier but you were in a meeting, and then I got busy at the store. So, what’s the big thing you want to tell me? You’re acting very weird these days.”
“A lot of things are very weird these days,” Weinstock said softly.
“Oh good, you’re being even more cryptic.”
“Look, I need to run a few things by you. Can you come over tomorrow?”
“Can’t…I’m taking a reporter down into Dark Hollow tomorrow. He’s doing a story on the Reaper Murders and I—”
“You’re
Crow explained, but Weinstock replied with a huge sigh. “You’re a moron sometimes, Crow. Jesus H. Christ. Look, I need to see you. Soon.”
“Okay. How about tomorrow night?”
“‘Night’?” Weinstock echoed. “No, I don’t think that would be good. Can you meet me at my office Saturday morning? Say, nine?”
“Sure.”
“Good. And, Crow…be careful down there. I mean it…really careful.” With that he hung up.
Crow looked at his phone “Everyone in this town is freaking nuts!”
He went back inside. The store was empty of customers and Mike was perched on the stool behind the counter just staring off into space, his eyes half-closed like a mystic in a trance, and Crow had to snap his fingers a couple of times to shake the kid out of it.
“You’re not getting weird on me, too, are you?” he said with a smile, and though Mike smiled back and shook his head, there was an odd distant and dreamy quality about him that dissipated slowly over the next hour. Crow didn’t like that, either.
At five-thirty Crow pulled on his jacket and fished for his car keys from under the counter, shooting Mike a quick glance. The kid seemed to be back to his own self again, with no trace of the odd distance in his eyes. Even so, Crow lingered at the door and said, “I’m heading out to Val’s. You going to be okay closing up tonight?”
“Sure,” Mike said brightly. “I’m on it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah?” Mike asked, surprised. “Why ask?”
Crow smiled and shook his head. “Just making sure I didn’t work you too hard earlier. I threw a lot of stuff at you today. Maybe we worked out too hard…?”
“No, I’m cool. It was fun.” His smile began a little lopsided. “Kind of.”
“Okay. But if you feel tired or sick or anything, give me a call.”
“Yesss, massster,” Mike said in his best Igor lisp.
(2)
