“I don’t know. Maybe a day or two.”
A flicker of disappointment passed over Jasper’s face, but then he reminded himself it was always better to look on the bright side. “Well, look, if you’re still here in the morning and want to get in on some more inspections, just meet me at that bench around the same time, okay?” As he watched Junior turn and hurry off, he vaguely wondered where he and his brother might be going. He’d always wanted to take a trip himself, see how people did things, say, over in Indiana or up in Michigan. He hoped they stuck around for a while; it had been nice having someone to talk to who didn’t make fun of him or call him names like Crapper Cop and Shit Bucket. In fact, it was better than nice; he figured it had been the best day he’d had since before Itchy died.
54
SHORTLY AFTER NINE o’clock that morning, Cane had awakened to find Cob missing. He shaved and washed up hurriedly and threw his clothes on, then spent the next two hours walking up and down the streets looking for him and regretting he’d ever drank that pint of whiskey last night. The last thing he remembered was Richard III limping along a gloomy corridor talking crazy shit to himself. What the hell would they do if Cob got lost, or, God forbid, got himself arrested for some trivial offense? Would he be able to keep his story straight? Cane was headed back to the McCarthy to see if his brother might have returned when he came upon a bookstore he had passed by earlier. Fuck it, he thought, ten minutes wouldn’t make much difference one way or another. A bell rang when he opened the door, but he didn’t see anyone behind the counter. He was looking through the shelves when a pretty, dark-haired woman by the name of Susannah Chapman came out of the back and asked if he needed any help finding something. Cane glanced at her, then quickly returned his gaze to the shelves. His throat constricted a little as he realized he was probably standing as close to a real lady as he ever had in his life, but after a moment, he managed to ask, in a slightly hoarse voice, “You wouldn’t happen to have one called The Life and Times of Bloody Bill Bucket, would ye?”
“No,” Susannah said, “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that one. Is it something new?” It sounded trashy to her, and her father made it a point not to carry such books, which was a noble idea, but also an impractical one when it came to doing business in a factory town like Meade. Most people here weren’t interested in expanding their minds or learning something new or reading the classics; they just wanted to be entertained a little in between another boring supper and another dead sleep.
“No, it’s pretty old, I think.” He turned and looked around the shop. “Nice place ye got here.” The smell of so many books combined with her perfume was more intoxicating than any whiskey he’d ever tasted.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s my father’s store. I just help out sometimes.”
“Ye got anything you’d recommend?”
“Well, what do you like?”