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I
left
the
three
of
them
standing
by
the
cooler
,
each
working
a
second
can
of
beer
,
and
went
looking
for
Brent
Norton
.
I
found
him
in
sober-sided
conversation
with
Bud
Brown
at
Register
2
.
The
pair
of
them-Norton
with
his
styled
gray
hair
and
his
elderly-stud
good
looks
,
Brown
with
his
dour
New
England
phiz
-
looked
like
something
out
of
a
New
Yorker
cartoon
.
As
many
as
two
dozen
people
milled
restlessly
in
the
space
between
the
end
of
the
checkout
lanes
and
the
long
show
window
.
A
lot
of
them
were
lined
up
at
the
glass
,
looking
out
into
the
mist
.
I
was
again
reminded
of
the
people
that
congregate
at
a
building
site
,
Mrs.
Carmody
was
seated
on
the
stationary
conveyor
belt
of
one
of
the
checkout
lanes
,
smoking
a
Parliament
in
a
One
Step
at
a
Time
filter
.
Her
eyes
measured
me
,
found
me
wanting
,
and
passed
on
.
She
looked
as
if
she
might
be
dreaming
awake
.
"
Brent
"
I
said
.
"
David
!
Where
did
you
get
off
to
?
"
"
That
's
what
I
'd
like
to
talk
to
you
about
.
"
"
There
are
people
back
at
the
cooler
drinking
beer
,
"
Brown
said
grimly
.
He
sounded
like
a
man
announcing
that
X-rated
movies
had
been
shown
at
the
deacons
'
party
.
"
I
can
see
them
in
the
security
mirror
.
This
has
simply
got
to
stop
.
"
"
Brent
?
"
"
Excuse
me
for
a
minute
,
would
you
,
Mr.
Brown
?
"
"
Certainly
.
"
He
folded
his
arms
across
his
chest
and
stared
grimly
up
into
the
convex
mirror
.
"
It
is
going
to
stop
.
I
can
promise
you
that
.
"
