They wore black slicks, rubber boots and hard hats, and as they huddled together in small groups beside their gleaming red trucks, they reminded Ben of the swarms of crows that had plagued his grandfather’s cornfields – nervous, squawky, their heads continually jerking left and right, always ready to leap into the air at the slightest sound.Teddy Langley and Sammy McCorkindale stood at the entrance to the building, both of them staring expressionlessly in the general direction of Fourth Avenue.‘What’s all this, now?’ Ben asked as he walked up to them.‘Just more bullshit,’ Langley said bitterly.McCorkindale laughed. ‘What do you want to do, Teddy, mow them all down with machine guns?’Langley looked at Ben pointedly. ‘Maybe just one would do. What do you think, Ben?’McCorkindale shook his head. ‘You beginning to sound like a racist, Teddy,’ he said. He smiled jokingly. ‘I think you’re turning mean in your old age.’Langley frowned irritably, hunched his shoulders and stalked off down the stairs toward his car.‘Everybody’s wearing down, Ben,’ McCorkindale said as he watched Langley walk away.
