“How far to Caribou, Maniac?” somebody asked him. Garraty looked around. It was Barkovitch. He had tucked his rainhat into his back pocket where it flapped obscenely. “How the hell should I know?” “You live here, don’t you?” “It’s about seventeen miles,” McVries told him. “Now go peddle your papers, little man.” Barkovitch put on his insulted look and moved away.
