Deadly Honeymoon
“He passed it on the wrong side of the street and walked to Seventh Avenue and Forty-second, then got his bearings and retraced his steps. The stand was at Forty-third Street, in the island behind the Times Tower. He asked for a copy of the Scranton morning paper. The newsie ducked into his shack and came back with a folded copy of the Scranton Courier-Herald. He looked at the date. It was Saturday’s paper.
“This the latest?”
“What is it, Saturday? That’s the latest. No good?”
“I need today’s.”
The newsie said, “Can’t do it. The bigger cities, Chicago or Philly or Detroit, we get in the afternoon if it’s a morning paper or the next day if it’s a night paper. The towns, we rim about two days behind. You want Monday’s Courier-Herald, it would be Wednesday afternoon by the time I had it for you, maybe Thursday morning.”
“I need this morning’s paper. Even if it’s late.”
“You could use it Wednesday?”
“Yes,” he said. “And tomorrow’s, too.”
“Yeah.
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