But McCarthy had caught and so had Lad. Henry remembered it well, that seesawing hand as much a part of Pete as the chewed pencils and toothpicks were of Beaver. Perlmutter had him placed now; Brodsky, his name was. As he walked back toward the counter (staggering and weaving but still on his feet), his gaze fell on the teeth lying on the floor.
But McCarthy wasn't dead. Not the plop of a turd dropping — at least Jonesy didn't think so. Looking at him gave Deke the same sense of vertigo he felt when he looked down from a high place. “They say Bekh was brilliant in Stuttgart last week,” Jirasek said hopefully.
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