headed toward the basement door, ignoring the two of them. "I'll be downstairs."
"But Verne!" Madge protested. "What's happened?"
Verne, halted briefly at the door. "I quit my job."
"I quit my job. I finished Larson off. There won't be anymore of him." The basement door slammed.
"God Lord!" Madge shrieked. clutching at Tyler hysterically. "He's gone out of his mind!"
Down in the basement, Verne Haskel snapped on he light impatiently. He put on his engineer's cap and pulled his stool up beside the great plywood table.
Morris Home Furnishings. The big plush store. Where the clerks all looked down their noses at him.
He rubbed his hands gleefully. No more of them. No more snooty clerks, lifting their eyebrows when he came in. Only hair and bow ties and folded handkerchiefs.
He removed the model of Morris Home Furnishings and disassembled it. He worked feverishly, with frantic haste. Now that he had really begun he wasted no time. A moment later he was glueing two small buildings in its place. Ritz Shoeshine. Pete's Bowling Alley.
Haskel giggled excitedly. Fitting extinction for the luxurious, exclusive furniture store. A shoeshine parlor and a bowling alley. Just what it deserved.
The California State Bank. He had always hated the Bank. They had once refused him a loan. He pulled the Bank loose.
Ed Tildon's mansion. His damn dog. The dog had bit him on the ankle, one afternoon. He ripped the model off. His head spun. He could do anything.
Harrison Appliance. They had sold him a bum radio. Off came Harrison Appliance.
Joe's Cigar and Smoke Shop. Joe had given him a lead quarter in May, 1949. Off came Joe's.
The Ink Works. He loathed the smell of ink. Maybe a bread factory, instead. He loved baking bread. Off came the Ink Works.
Elm Street was too dark at night. A couple of times he had stumbled. A few more streetlights were in order. Not enough bars along High Street. Too many dress shops and expensive hat and fur shops and ladies' apparel. He ripped a whole handful loose