“Got Marvel Tales, Weird Tales, Tales from the Darkside, Sonic’s Pal Tails, Tale Spin, Shirt Tales and Tales Guaranteed to Drive You Bats , but nope, no Canterbury Tales . Sorry. Hold up, I missed one. A Tale of Two Cites .”
“Dickens!” Doc cried. “Let me view it, please!” Chet consulted the list a second time. “Box 63-A, Row F,” he read before wading out and pulling down a box from a wooden rack. He removed the lid, and inside were bagged and boarded comics. He pulled one out and handed it over with a flourish to Doc.
He stared down at the cover. ” Classics Illustrated ?” he snorted.
“Don’t get a call for those, anymore. You are a man of taste.”
“Wait, wait a moment,” Doc said, struggling to communicate. His entire skinny frame nearly shook with frustration. “I don’t believe we’re on the same page, to coin a phrase. I see all of the men’s magazines and juvenile antics of the comics, and I appreciate your discovery of this crudely drawn mockery of the good Charles Dickens, but I wonderdare I askif you have any books at all?”
Chet looked insulted. “Of course!”
“Splendid,” Doc said with relief in his educator’s voice. “What kind?”
Chet started counting down on his fingers again before launching into a litany of selections in a merry singsong voice. “What kind? We got Big Little Books, Golden Books, Tell-Me-a-Story books, black-and-white and color Graphic Novelsboth original and reprints, Whitman Tell-a-Tale, Wonder Books, talking story books, but I’m afraid they no longer talk when you pull the string, and a near complete line of every TV-paperback tie-in known to the historians.”
“Really.”
“You bet! What kind you wanting?”
“I believe I’m in need of that rare animal book book.”
“A book book? Never heard of it.”
“I’m not surprised,” Doc sniffed, and turned on his heel to exit.
Chapter Fifteen
According to the locals, the best place for food in Freedom where the food was worth a damn was a former eatery, one of a chain specializing in Southwest cooking. The exterior and interior of the crowded former fast-food restaurant had been repainted in shades of green, but there was no disguising the faux-Tex-Mex building facade and architecture.
Mildred and J.B. were seated at a black metal mesh table with a wooden top, watching the people and waiting for their friends to join them.
“Make A Run For The Border,” Mildred quoted, a fragment of cultural memory floating up, untethered, to the surface of her conscious mind. “That used to be this place’s advertised motto.”
“Skipping borders is bad news. Why would they want you to do that?” J.B asked. “They some kind of food smugglers or what?”
“I always believed it referred to the eventual run to the bathroom,” Mildred replied with as straight a face as she could manage. “Tacos could be hard on the stomach of the uninitiated.” The Armorer glanced down at his wrist chron.
“I’m hungry. Wonder where the others are? Not like Ryan to be late.”
“We’re in a shopping mall, J.B. No man, woman or child ever made it on time to a meeting place in a mall, especially one as huge as this,” the woman replied lightly. “Ryan’ll be along. He’s probably being held up by Dean and Doc wanting to go into every store they pass.”
“And Krysty and Jak,” J.B. agreed. “Something in this gussied-up warehouse for everybody.”
Mildred reached up and took off the new pair of glasses. “How are your eyes feeling, John?”
“Good,” he replied. “Real good. That eye doc was true to his word in finding me a new pair similar to my old ones. These feel a bit thicker than my other pair, but other than that, my vision’s as good as it ever was.”
“The glass is thicker because your eyes are getting weaker. Comes with age.”
“Bullshit,” the Armorer replied. “If losing your eyesight comes with age, Doc would be tripping and falling on his skinny ass everywhere we went.”
“I heard that, John Barrymore!” Doc boomed out in his most able educator’s tone of voice. “I will have you know my skinny posterior remains upright, thank you very much.”