The surgeon
Page 30
When he stopped at the second light he saw the cart with the orange and green umbrella at the opposite comer. The young man who took the old man's place was serving a customer, with a couple of others waiting, in their work clothes and out of one of the warehouses or, perhaps, off the docks.
The light changed and he drove across the intersection. He turned the car across the street and up onto the apron and stopped it next to the cart, the front bumper almost touching the corrugated steel door of the warehouse. He had done it many times just like this, while the old man was still alive, and he turned off the motor and found he had no change and that the smallest Bill he had was a ten. He waited until the young man, seeing him, walked over.
"What's yours, Mac?" the young man said.
"Let me have a hot dog with mustard," he said, handing him the Bill, "and a Coke."
"One with mustard and a Coke," the young man said. He had turned and had started back toward the cart, but he stopped and turned around again and handed back the Bill. "I ain't got change of a ten."
"But I haven't anything smaller," he said, "and I want to eat."
"I already told you," the young man said, looking at him again and shrugging.
"All right," he said. "You hold the ten. I'll be back in a couple of days to get the change. I trust you."
"I don't wanna be responsible for it," the young man said, turning his back on him again and walking back to the wagon.
He waited while the young man served another customer. He waited for him to look at him again.
"Look," he said, finally, the others eating their hot dogs and watching this now. "Are you going to give me something to eat or not?"
"I told you I ain't got the change, Mac," the young man said, and then he looked at the others and shrugged. "I already told him that."
It was 2:55 p.m.