He thought for a minute. "All right, buddy. Go on in. You pick out
what you want, see? We'll straighten out the price when you come out."
"Fair enough." I started past him.
He grabbed me by the arm. "No tricks," he ordered. "You come out the
same door you went in, understand?"
"Sure," I said, "if that's the way you want it."
That figured--one way or another: either they got a commission, or,
like everybody else, they lived on what they could knock down. I filed
that for further consideration.
Inside, the store smelled pretty bad. It wasn't just rot, though there
was plenty of that; it was musty and stale and old. It was dark, or
nearly. About one light in twenty was turned on, in order to conserve
power. Naturally the escalators and so on weren't running at all.
* * * * *
I passed a counter with pencils and ball-point pens in a case. Most of
them were gone--somebody hadn't bothered to go around in back and had
simply knocked the glass out--but I found one that worked and an old
order pad to write on. Over by the elevators there was a store
directory, so I went over and checked it, making a list of the
departments worth visiting.
Office Supplies would be the typewriter. Garden & Home was a good
bet--maybe I could find a little wheelbarrow to save carrying the
typewriter in my arms. What I wanted was one of the big ones where all
the keys are solenoid-operated instead of the cam-and-roller
arrangement--that was all Arthur could operate. And those things were
heavy, as I knew. That was why we had ditched the old one in the
Bronx.
Sporting Goods--that would be for a gun, if there were any left.
Naturally, they were about the first to go after it happened, when
_everybody_ wanted a gun. I mean everybody who lived through it. I
thought about clothes--it was pretty hot in New York--and decided I
might as well take a look.
Typewriter, clothes, gun, wheelbarrow. I made one more note on the
pad--try the tobacco counter, but I didn't have much hope for that.
They had used cigarettes for currency around this area for a while,
until they got enough bank vaults open to supply big bills. It made
cigarettes scarce.
I turned away and noticed for the first time that one of the elevators
was stopped on the main floor. The doors were closed, but they were
glass doors, and although there wasn't any light inside, I could see
the elevator was full. There must have been thirty or forty people in
the car when it happened.
I'd been thinking that, if nothing else, these New Yorkers were pretty
neat--I mean if you don't count the Bronx. But here were thirty or
forty skeletons that nobody had even bothered to clear away.
You call that neat? Right in plain view on the ground floor, where
everybody who came into the place would be sure to go--I mean if it
had been on one of the upper floors, what difference would it have
made?
I began to wish we were out of the city. But naturally that would have
to wait until we finished what we came here to do--otherwise, what was
the point of coming all the way here in the first place?
* * * * *
The tobacco counter was bare. I got the wheelbarrow easily
enough--there were plenty of those, all sizes; I picked out a nice
light red-and-yellow one with rubber-tired wheel. I rolled it over to
Sporting Goods on the same floor, but that didn't work out too well. I
found a 30-30 with telescopic sights, only there weren't any
cartridges to fit it--or anything else. I took the gun anyway; Engdahl
would probably have some extra ammunition.
Men's Clothing was a waste of time, too--I guess these New Yorkers
were too lazy to do laundry. But I found the typewriter I wanted.
I put the whole load into the wheelbarrow, along with a couple of odds
and ends that caught my eye as I passed through Housewares, and I
bumped as gently as I could down the shallow steps of the motionless
escalator to the ground floor.
I came down the back way, and that was a mistake. It led me right past
the food department. Well, I don't have to tell you what _that_ was
like, with all the exploded cans and the rats as big as poodles. But I
found some cologne and soaked a handkerchief in it, and with that over
my nose, and some fast footwork for the rats, I managed to get to one
of the doors.
It wasn't the one I had come in, but that was all right. I sized up
the guard. He looked smart enough for a little bargaining, but not too
smart; and if I didn't like his price, I could always remember that I
was supposed to go out the other door.