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Show 196 began to grow wet, he was sweating like a soaker hose had been turned on inside him. His earlobes began twitching. "Can you help me?" the woman asked, looking up at the pharmacist. He said nothing. His hands remained poised over the typewriter keys. His earlobes were wildly twitching. Quick, violent little starts. The woman's face was wrinkled, with the washed-out grey eyes of an elderly person, the bulbous nose. But there was an independence about her, an alertness to her quick little movements-what was she doing out at this hour, midnight? Irritation crossed her face. She could see Sharon and Steve now, Mr. Richards was still out of her angle of vision. "I said," the woman demanded, "can anyone help me!" The pharmacist cleared his throat, weakly, and cleared it again. Behind her, Sharon could hear the man breathing now-short, shallow gasps. Finally the pharmacist spoke, in a high-pitched voice which was not his: "We'll be with you in a moment, mam." The old woman looked at Steve, and then over to Sharon. When she realized they were not going to make a move to help her, she shook her head in contempt, turned, and walked directly down the main aisle, her shopping back swinging beside her, and out the front door. A large splotch had appeared on the man's yellow forehead, the color of rotten meat, his mouth was drawn back into a grotesque arc. "You!" he pointed the gun at Steve, "Pull out that damn phone!" The pharmacist's phone was at the end of the counter. With one bound, Steve was up the steps. He grabbed the black wire and gave a hard jerk. The baseboard under the counter popped out on one side. Steve stood looking down in disbelief at the unbroken wire in |