Catherine didn’t answer. The aged candy-store proprietor was standing behind the counter and scowling at the three young men and saying, “Well? Well?”
“Well what?” Scarface said.
“This is a store. Whatcha wanna buy?”
“We ain’t in no hurry,” the middleweight said. He turned to Catherine. “I like to take my time. It makes things more interesting.” He edged closer to her.
“Please go away,” Catherine said.
The proprietor was pointing to a sign on the wall behind the counter. “You read English?” he demanded of the three young men. “It says, ‘No Loafing.’ ”
“We’re not loafing,” the middleweight said mildly. “We’re here to keep a date, that’s all.”
Catherine started to get up from the stool. But she was crowded from all sides and they wouldn’t give her room. Kerrigan didn’t move. He told himself he would wait until one of them put a hand on her.
The proprietor took another deep breath. “This is a store,” he repeated. “If you’re not here to buy something, get out.”
“All right, Pop.” The middleweight reached into his pocket and took out a dollar bill. “Three root-beer floats.” He made a casual reach for the bottle in Catherine’s trembling hand. He took the bottle away from her and said to the proprietor, “Make it four.”