They tugged the obstinate display free. “Where’s Myers?” Bean asked once they were inside the empty work bay. “I thought he usually works on Sunday.”

“So did I,” answered Houter, disgusted. “Probably sleeping off a drunk someplace. I hope the boss fires his ass.” He looked at the squad car outside. “Anything I can get you ’fore I close up?”

“No thanks. I just wanted to use your phone.”

“Help yourself.” He headed back toward the drive. “I’ve gotta get busy or my supper’s gonna be cold by the time I get home.”

Bean used the phone in the back room of the station and dialed the Swango’s number from recent memory, no longer needing the dog-eared paper from his wallet. But there was no answer at the other end, just a busy signal. Probably off the hook. Damn. This thing was dragging out too damn long, and he didn’t like it. The apartment seemed too quiet already and he wasn’t even there yet. For a change he really dreaded going home.

“ ’Scuse me, Charlie,” Houter said from out in the middle of the bay, where he was setting water cans and an unplugged air hose atop the dormant lift. “I wonder if you could do me a favor?”

Bean looked at the phone in his hand, considered calling again, but hung up instead. “Sure, Kenny. Shoot.”

“Well,” the attendant hemmed and hawed, “it’s not really for me. It’s for Poop-deck Pappy out there.” He nodded out toward the pumps to where a familiar scarecrow loitered. George Bailey stood in the middle of the island clutching an Isherwood Hardware bag in one hand and a small gas can with the other, barely keeping erect against the stout breeze. He was staring away at the horizon, his pinched and scowling expression matching the dis­array of his silvery hair. He looked like a refugee from a Frankenstein movie or, better yet, from an old issue of Creepy magazine.

“Oh, that weird duck,” Charlie said. “He’s ornery as hell. What’s he want?”

“Well, he was wanting me to call him a cab, but Lorene at the switchboard told me two of their drivers didn’t show up and the other’s on a call all the way to Bedford. Mr. Bailey could be waiting out there for a good while and I’m almost ready to close, so I was in hopes you’d give him a lift. It’s not too far, just up to the old folks’ home.”

Bean thought about it. “I don’t know. Why are you so worried about this crotchety old bird?”

Kenny threw up his arms. “I figure I’m gonna be old some day, you know, an’ I’ll probably be pretty pissed about it myself. C’mon, Charlie.”