“Maybe I should write Charlie an obit, I thought, and I smiled at the reaction that would have gotten from him. And then I did a mental double take and thought maybe that was exactly what I should do. In a way, anyway. First, though, I wanted to set up a little street theatre. I headed up the Fourth Street hill and back toward my office, but I went on past it and then across the street and down the block to Nickel Pete Carchetti’s pawnshop. Its name is Pawn USA, but I always call it the Empo...rium of Broken Dreams. An old-fashioned jingle bell clanked as I went in the door and saw Pete brooding at his usual perch behind the teller’s cage. With a jeweler’s loupe stuck on his troll-like forehead, he looked like one of the seven dwarfs, just back from the mines. Grumpy, to be exact. His bottle of Pepto-Bismol was on the counter in front of him, half full, and I guessed his Panzer-class heartburn was staging another major offensive.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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