““Hi,” he said. “I’m Paul, remember?” Eugene looked blank. “Where’s the boss? Where’s Mr. Barker?” Paul asked. Eugene brayed like a donkey. “Him. He’s over to the bank in an armored car, making a couple deposits.” “You sound like my grandmother,” Paul told him. “She’s always complaining about the prices here.” Eugene winked at Paul. “The old man’s no fool. He knows how to charge. Maybe if I stay here long enough, he’ll remember me in his will. Like, he’s got no son, right? He’s got nobody but th...e missus to leave his dough to.” Eugene’s brow furrowed with thought. “Get on the good side of him, maybe he’ll leave the poor orphan five, ten thousand clams, who knows? That’s not a bad idea.” “Are you an orphan?” Paul asked, interested. He’d never known a real orphan before. “Nah,” Eugene said. His face seemed to grow longer as Paul watched him. “But who knows? I might be someday.” “How do you like working here?” Paul leaned against the counter.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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