The Bad Book Affair: A Mobile Library Mystery (8 page)

“Aye, well, the vegetenarianism’d be yer problem. Ye’ve the skitters, have ye?”

“What?”

“Aye, all them there fruit and vegetables, skittering the guts out of ye. It’s a wonder ye’re not on the po the whole time.”

“I have been vegetarian for many years, Ted. And my digestive system remains in good working order, thank you.”

Ted finished one sandwich and then slid another from under the firmly elastic-banded lid of his lunchbox.

“So ye’re just off yer food, are ye?”

“I suppose so.”

“Ye frettin’ about yer birthday, eh? And the girl?” Ted spoke with his mouth full, pointing at Israel with the sharp end of the sandwich.

“No. I am not fretting about my birthday. And no, I am not fretting about Gloria.”

“Well, it’s strange but, isn’t it, seeing as ye were a wee ball of lard when you were with her.”

“I was not a ‘wee ball of lard’ when I was with Gloria, thank you, Ted.”

“Wee bunty, so you were. Ye want to get back on the stew and the Guinness, boy. Get a good rozner in ye, ye’d be right as rain.”

“A rozner?”

“A good feed, boy, and ye’ll be out gropin’ the hens again.”

“Well. Thank you for your dietary and relationship advice, Ted. To the point, as ever.”

“I tell ye, ye’ll be playing the vibraphone on your ribs soon enough, ye keep this up.”

“Right.”

“It’s not healthy, so it’s not, losing all that weight like that. Ye’ll see. Ye’ll put it all back on again. Ye’re depressed, just.”

“I am not depressed, Ted.”

“Good.”

“I’ve just got things on my mind,” said Israel.

“Very dangerous,” said Ted, midmouthful.

Ted finished his sandwich in silence, screwed the cup back on the top of his Thermos, and looked at his watch.

“Books,” said Israel.

“Books?” said Ted.

“What are they?”

“Ach, knock it off,” said Ted.

“I mean a book is not a person, is it? Or an idea. Not just an idea.”

“No,” said Ted, disinterested.

“It’s not an issue or a theme.”

“No,” said Ted. “I’ll tell you what it is: a book is a blinkin’ book, for goodness’ sake. End of conversation.”

“But—” began Israel.

At which point a man entered the van.

“Hi!” he said.

“Hello,” said Israel.

“Saved by the bell,” said Ted. “I’m away for a smoke here. Think you can cope?”

“Yes, I think so?” said Israel.

“Not going to go crazy in my absence?”

“No, Ted. I am not going to go crazy.”

“Good,” said Ted. “Watch him,” he instructed the man. “He’s a bit”—he tapped a finger to the side of his head—“ye know.”

The man was wearing a navy crombie jacket, faded jeans, and cowboy boots, a look that was one part bohemian to one part gentleman farmer, to one part middle manager in corporate marketing. He also sported a goatee beard, which added to the overall effect and which gave him a rather sincere appearance, like he’d just made a decision and was mulling over the consequences, and he also had close-cropped hair that made him look as if the decision he’d just taken was a serious one, possibly related to the military or the sale of some new kind of social-networking software. Israel wondered if it might be an idea for him to have his hair cut short, to look as though he were making important decisions relating to weapons technology or new media. Unfortunately, when Israel had his hair cut short in the past, it made him look like he meant to commit a serious crime.

“Neil Gaiman,” said the man.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Israel. “I’m Israel Armstrong.”

“No, sorry,” said the man, laughing. “I mean, do you have any books by Neil Gaiman.”

“Ah,” said Israel. “Right. Yes! Of course. I think we’re all out actually. Sorry. We could always do an interlibrary loan request.”

“No, that’s OK, I’m not really in for borrowing,” said the man.

“Right,” said Israel. “You’re not one of our regulars?” And as he spoke these words Israel almost choked: he
knew
the regulars; he had become a local; he was mired, inured, and immersed in Tumdrum.

“No,” said the stranger. “My parents are originally from here. But I live in Belfast.”

“Well, nice to see a new face,” said Israel. Oh, god.

“My name’s Seamus,” said the man. “Seamus Fitzgibbons. I’m the Green Party candidate for the forthcoming election.”

Seamus stuck out a friendly hand.

“Oh. Hello. I’m Israel. Israel Armstrong.”

“Look, thanks for coming,” said Seamus.

“That’s OK,” said Israel. “I work here.”

“Oh, yes!” laughed Seamus. “I’m so busy at the moment with meetings and meet and greets it’s difficult to remember where I am.”

God. Israel would give anything to not know where he was. He knew exactly where he was: stuck. Seamus looked to be about Israel’s age, but while Israel had drifted and gone from job to job, aimlessly, Seamus had obviously set out with a goal and achieved a position of responsibility—prospective parliamentary candidate! A position where he wasn’t sure
where he was, and conducted meetings and meet and greets! And he was a man who looked as though he enjoyed shouldering the responsibility; it was something in his eyes. If you looked closely in his eyes you could see Atlas with the world upon his shoulders.

“Let me come straight to the point, Israel,” said Seamus. Israel could never get to the point. That’s how people who shouldered responsibility spoke! They got straight to the point. “We in the Green Party don’t have a campaign bus.”

“Uh-huh,” said Israel.

“And so…”

“Yes?” said Israel, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Well, we were wondering if we could perhaps use the mobile library?”

“Ha!” said Israel.

“Is that a yes?”

“No!” said Israel instinctively. “I mean yes…No. I mean no.”

“Oh.”

“No. No. I don’t think so. No, Linda would go mad.”

“Who’s Linda?”

“Linda Wei, she’s responsible for the library provision in Tumdrum and—”

“Well, maybe I should speak to Linda directly, if you’re unable to make those sorts of decisions.”

“Well. I…It’s not that I…I mean, I am responsible for the mobile library.”

“But that sort of bigger decision would be out of your hands?”

“Not entirely,” said Israel, smarting rather from the implication that he was a powerless functionary. “I do have
some…sway with these things.” He had no sway with anything: he didn’t even have sway with himself.

“Well.”

“I could probably take it to the mobile library subcommittee,” offered Israel.

“Well, the election’s in less than a week now, so we would really need to know very soon,” said Seamus.

“Ah,” said Israel.

“I don’t suppose it could be justified on the basis of educational benefit?”

“I don’t think so,” said Israel.

“Look,” said Seamus. “I really didn’t want to put you in a difficult position. It was worth asking, but.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“If you don’t ask you don’t get,” said Seamus.

“That’s true,” said Israel. Israel didn’t ask. He didn’t get.

“Look, that’s fine. Let’s forget about using the van. Maybe I could just leave you some of these.” He produced from a battered old leather satchel a thick bundle of election leaflets.

“Sure,” said Israel. “Just leave them there.”

Seamus carefully fanned out the leaflets on the issue desk.

“There,” he said proudly.

“Recycled paper?” said Israel pointlessly.

“Of course,” said Seamus. “Look, thanks a million for your help.”

“My pleasure,” said Israel.

“Look,” said Seamus—he liked to say “look,” a lot. “Look, I’m afraid I need to get on here. The campaign’s hotting up in the final few days.”

“Of course,” said Israel. “Yes.”

“We’ve got to keep out Maurice Morris.”

“Quite,” said Israel.

“I think the tide’s turning toward the Greens,” said Seamus.

“Good. Good,” said Israel. He thought he might vote Green, actually.

“Well, lovely to meet you, and thanks again,” said Seamus.

As Seamus left, Ted reentered, smelling of cigarettes. He honed in immediately on the leaflets.

“What are these?” he said disdainfully.

“What?” said Israel, who was still trying to decide whether or not to vote Green.

“These.”

“They’re leaflets.”

“I can see they’re leaflets.”

“The man just left them in.” They featured a picture of Seamus, with his goatee and cropped hair, in what looked like an orchard, eating an apple. “They’re for the Green Party. For the election. I’m thinking I might vote Green, actually.”

“Ach,” said Ted.

“No, I might,” said Israel.

“Aye, you would,” said Ted. “But we’re going to have to get rid of these.” And he scooped up the leaflets from the counter.

“We’re allowed to carry public information leaflets,” said Israel.

“Public information,” said Ted. “Aye. But this isn’t public information, is it? This is propaganda.”

“It’s not propaganda,” said Israel.

“It is, so it is.”

“What about all the billboards Maurice Morris has up ev
erywhere?” said Israel. There was one, in fact, looming above the van even now, high up on a telephone pole, with Maurice’s face grinning out into the cold wind.

“Aye, well, he’s entitled, isn’t he? He’s paid for that. The Greens want to get organized themselves, get some billboards up, nothing to stop them.”

“They probably can’t afford it.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” said Ted.

“Anyway,” said Israel, grabbing the leaflets back out of Ted’s hands. “I told him I was going to display his leaflets.”

“We’re not supposed to,” said Ted.

“Well, I told him, and I will.”

“Ach,” said Ted.

“It’s censorship if we don’t,” said Israel.

“Censorship!” said Ted. “I don’t know anything about censorship. But I do know that Linda wouldn’t like it.”

“Well, Linda doesn’t need to know, does she?” said Israel, fanning the leaflets back out on the counter. “How would she find out?”

6

“H
e did what?” said Linda Wei, who was not only Israel’s boss, but also Tumdrum’s only and most prominent lesbian Chinese single mother, and who was currently sipping a large glass of restorative Friday night chardonnay at the bar of the back room of the First and Last. Linda was wearing her habitual heavy makeup and her trademark sunglasses, perched film-starishly high up on her forehead, and she’d pushed the sartorial boat out even further than usual this evening, with a red beret, a voluminous bright purple silk blouse, and a pair of green-and-brown camouflage combat trousers, teamed with blazing pink customized plastic clogs: she looked like she was ready for anything, from the catwalk to the playgroup, to her own show on
a shopping channel, to tackling insurgents in the jungles of Belize.

“Hmm,” said Ron, chairman of the Mobile Library Steering Committee, who was wearing his gray suit and nursing a glass of tap water. “Leaflets.”

“Is he a total idiot?” said Linda.

“And what with lending out the Unshelved—” said Ron.

“But Maurice Morris’s daughter!” exclaimed Linda. “Is he out of his tiny mind! The Unshelved! To Maurice’s daughter!”

“Aye,” said Ron, who was a man of few and usually rather depressing words. “Alas.”

“How old is she?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen!” said Linda. “God love her. What do they know at fourteen? My eldest’s sixteen, for goodness’ sake, and he’s a wee babby still. Fourteen!”

“Just turned fourteen,” said Ron. “Closer to thirteen, actually.”

“Oh! What’s she been borrowing?”

“I don’t know. I would think the usual suspects,” said Ron meditatively.

“
Lolita
,” said Linda, with disgust. “I bet.
Slaughterhouse-Five
.”

“
Wuthering Heights
,” said Ron. “Very strange.”

“
Wuthering Heights
! That’s not Unshelved,” said Linda.

“We read it at school,” said Ron. “I found it very strange.”

“
American Psycho
,” said Linda. “That’s what we’re talking about here, Ron. Filth.”

“
Sex and the City
,” said Ron.

“That’s a TV program,” said Linda.

“But I suppose girls mature more quickly…”

“Have you ever read
American Psycho
?” said Linda.

“I’m more of a Patrick O’Brian man myself,” said Ron.

“You could live till a hundred and twenty and still not be old enough to read that sort of filth!” said Linda. And then, “Filth!” she repeated, for good measure.

“Patrick O’Brian?” said Ron. “Aubrey and Maturin? There’s nothing wrong with them, so there’s not.”

“No!
American Psycho,
” said Linda. “That sort of stuff. Denigrating to women.”

“Bad books,” said Ron.

“Exactly!” said Linda, adjusting the angle of her beret. “
Bad books
. Have you any idea how damaging this is to our reputation as a responsible library service? When I get a hold of that idiot I am going to…”

Israel, who had no idea that Linda was on the bad books warpath, waved to her from his table on the other side of the room, and was about to call out in greeting when the Reverend England Roberts announced, “Let’s get busy with the quizzy!” and the one hundred plus people crammed into the back room of the First and Last suddenly quietened, put down their—mostly nonalcoholic—drinks and took up their pencils.

Because if it was the last Friday night of the month—and it was—then it was Fish and Chip Biblical Quiz Night in Tumdrum. The idea for Fish and Chip Biblical Quiz Nights had come originally from a friend of the Reverend Roberts, a man named Francie McGinn, a millionaire minister who ran his own rapidly growing house church movement and Chris
tian franchise business a little way down the coast from Tumdrum. Francie McGinn’s inspiration was an American pastor called Rick Warren, founder of the phenomenally successful Saddleback Church in southern Orange County, California, and author of the
New York Times
number-one bestselling
The Purpose-Driven Life
,
The Purpose-Driven Church
,
The Purpose-Driven Life Journal
, and
The Purpose-Driven Life Scripture Keeper Plus
. Pastor Warren’s was a kick-ass-go-getting-positive-mental-attitude-plus-sacrificial-prayerfulness kind of a philosophy, which Francie McGinn, after facing a number of personal and financial difficulties and setbacks, had taken seriously and taken on board and had applied diligently to his own life and work, managing to build up both his congregation and a range of businesses, which now included the very popular chain of Family Viewing DVD rental shops, the nationwide Christian Eventides Homes, and the Jacob’s Well Christian day spas and nail and beauty bars. Francie had also acquired the UK and Irish distribution rights for a range of Christian snack bars and health drinks, which meant that throughout the length and breadth of the land, from the supermarkets of County Down to the corner-shops of County Cork, you could now purchase the Seeds of Samson (“A Holy Good Mixture of Sunflower Seeds, Pumpkin Seeds, Cashews, and Peanuts”), and a range of—mostly honey-based—Sweet Shalom Smoothies, the Lion Bar of Judah, Land of Beulah Yogurt-Coated Raisins, and Jacob’s Ladder energy drinks (“We Are Climbing Jacob’s Ladder, with Added Ginseng”), all of which came with inspirational scripture verses prominently displayed on their packaging.