The Sign of the Book (21 page)

I was out at the book fair again in the morning. I wanted to touch their books, see what was signed, what was not, and just be a continuing irritant. I wanted to stare up the Preacher's nose and see if he'd tell me something new. Sometimes it happens that way: a jolt like I had given him last night takes time to work through the brain and get a guy talking. Even if he lies, you learn something.

By the time I went through admissions and got out to the middle of the hall, it was nine-fifteen. His booth was empty, his books were gone, his tablecloth rumpled and thrown on the floor.

It was the talk of the fair. When a dealer signs on at a book fair, he commits himself for the entire weekend, but sometime in the hour before the doors had opened, the Preacher and Wally had come in, and in fifteen minutes they had dismantled their booth and hustled themselves out to the back ramp. There had been a strenuous argument with the fair organizers. The Preacher had offered no excuse, not even a hint of a family emergency: “The only thing he said was, ‘I've got to go, get out of my way,'” said the dealer directly across the aisle. “In the end, what can you do about it? They're his books, it's a free country, all you can do is tell him to go to hell if he ever tries to sign up for a fair around here again.”

I sat in the makeshift cafeteria and drank some serious coffee. By now they're in San Bernardino heading east, I thought. They'd be in Monte Vista for at least a day, clearing out that facility. They wouldn't move those books in fifteen minutes.

I called United Airlines and got on a noonday flight to Denver. Picked up my books, said adios to everybody, and headed for the gates.

I knew it would take them thirteen hours for the return trip to Colorado: that's if they drove straight through, spelling each other at the wheel. They'd be there sometime late tonight, not in any great shape to move twenty thousand books, but well motivated. There'd be three of them by then, but even at that it seemed like an all-day job.

They couldn't do anything about the road time: it takes as long as it takes to drive nine hundred miles. Figure half a day to get a rental truck and move the books if they were true supermen: the only way it could be done, even in that time, was to hire some help. Assume that. Assume they would get home bushed after thirteen hours on the road and start loading immediately. Figure they'd be out of there before noon tomorrow.

Meanwhile, my flight would touch down in Denver a little before four o'clock. Just about the time Wally and the Preacher would be streaking across Arizona, I'd be in the air. When they reached Four Corners, I'd be heading down I-25. I had time, unless they called ahead and had Willie start breaking down the warehouse now… which of course they would do.

I called Erin from a phone booth. Got her machine.

I tried her again from my hotel.

Tried her again at the airport and got lucky. I explained things fast, with my flight being announced in the background.

“I can get you down there,” she said. “There's an airfield in Alamosa: you could use Todd and we could have a rental car waiting for you. The question is, what are you going to do when you get there? Leaving a book fair early isn't against any law I've ever heard of. You can't have them arrested, you have no proof of anything, so what are you going to do about it?”

“What I always do. Grope, hope, wander in the wilderness, play it by ear.”

“There she is,” Todd said, nodding toward a string of lights in the distance. “We'll be on the ground in a few minutes. Then what?”

“Then I get in my rental car and drive to Monte Vista and you get to go home.”

He banked low over the hills and started his approach into Alamosa. We had said nothing about my purpose on the trip down, and now I read more into his question than the usual small talk. “I don't know,” he said at last. “What if I ride along with you instead? Just to keep you company.”

“It's only twenty miles, Todd.”

“Twenty miles on the ground can be a long, lonely trip.”

“This sounds like a put-up job,” I said. “Erin's handiwork is hard to miss.”

“It's nothing she said. I just got a feeling.”

“Uh-huh. So what didn't she say?”

“Just that there's a warehouse full of books that might be evidence in this case you're working on for her. Might be some bad apples guarding it.”

He talked to someone on the ground and eased the plane into a landing pattern.

“It's just a thought,” he said.

“Did she tell you there's a remote chance it might get ugly?”

“I can handle ugly.”

“There's also a question of the law. We don't know yet whether the guys who get arrested, if anybody does, will be them or us.”

“I guess that's why we've got us a good lawyer.”

We bumped twice on the landing strip and he taxied us in.

Twenty minutes later we were in a rental car heading west on U.S. 160. It was just after seven-thirty: by my best guess, Wally and the Preacher were out on the same highway, somewhere in Colorado, heading our way through Cortez and Durango.

We got into Monte Vista a little before eight. It was a cold, clear night and the streets were almost empty. I drove past the Preacher's house first, only because it was on the way. It was locked and dark. We moved on across town, easing into the narrow lane where the warehouse was. “There he is,” I said. “Looks like he's all by himself.”

Willie had the door up and had pulled a large U-Haul truck up to the ramp. I could see him working feverishly around the edges of the truck, loading boxes as fast as he could carry them. From that limited vantage point, I could also see one long row of bookshelves and part of a crossing shelf, both empty. Todd said, “If he's been working like that all day, he won't have much fight left in him.” I said, “Let's hope,” but just in case I got my gun out of the backseat. Todd stared at it as I gave it a check and snapped the holster on my belt.

“Why don't you sit here and be the lookout?” I said.

“Are you trying to insult me?”

I reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Yeah, I was; glad you didn't take it personally. What I really want you to do is hang back in the dark and don't let him know you're there till we see how the wind blows.”

“I'm not a bad guy in a fight, you know.”

“If it comes to that. The idea here is
not
to fight unless we absolutely have to. If these books do turn out to be evidence, the last thing we want is to taint it with some gestapo tactic.”

I flicked off the interior lights and we got out. “Easy with that door,” I said, and we pushed them almost shut and left them that way, making no noise. I walked as quietly as I could along the graveled path, and I could see Todd's shadow moving forward across the driveway. To the left of the ramp was a small steel stairway, and I took the steps carefully, two at a time, coming only to the edge of the door.

I could hear him now, rummaging somewhere in the back. From there I could look into the room and see how much work he had done. He had to be well motivated to rent the truck, box those books, clear out this room and the shelves well into the back, all alone. The Preacher must have called him early, maybe before they even went to the hall and broke down their booth. If I had put some fear in all of them, that's what I wanted, that's what I hoped.

I heard him grunt: a tired man struggling with the endless parade of boxes. He came into the room and we stared at each other for the smallest time, a second maybe, before he dropped the box of books on his foot.

“Willie,” I said softly. “Looks like you've been at this awhile. You need some help?”

He sat on the floor beside the box, which had split open on two corners and was spilling books on the floor.

“You shouldn't be doing this alone,” I said. “You'll get a hernia.”

I still hadn't crossed his threshold yet. “Really, I'd be happy to help if you need it. Just say the word.”

Just say hi, you son of a bitch, and invite me in.

“Who the hell
are
you?”

I told him my name, knowing full well that's not what he meant. I had my coat pushed back so he could see the gun on my belt, not much of it but enough. All legal, all kosher: I had a proper, legal permit for my nonthreatening gun.

“May I come in, Willie?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said numbly, and I stepped into the light.

“Looks like you guys are clearing out fast. What's the deal?”

He still looked stunned, as if I had just hit him between the eyes with a two-by-four. “Who are you?” he said again.

“I hate to say this, but I'm the guy who's about to send your big ugly ass to jail.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“Do I look like I'm kidding? And by the way, in case you've got any crazy ideas, do I look like I'm stupid enough to come here alone?” I called out through the crack, “How's it look out there?” and Todd, giving it both balls and a bucket of octane, said, “Everything's fine, boss.”

“So where are we in the scheme of things, Willie? The Preacher and that idiot brother of yours will be here in a couple of hours. Question is, where will you be?”

“I don't understand.”

“Come on, Willie, don't play stupid. Maybe you're just trying to buy some time, but your choices at this point are pretty well limited. You can stay there on the floor and we can all wait for those boys to arrive. You can keep loading your books. You can decide to cooperate. I guess you could start a fight, but that would be disappointing and unfortunate. If you get my drift.”

He shook his head, like a man still in some kind of shock.

“How much more have you got to do back there?”

“Oh, Jesus,” he said. His look said,
Oh, God, tons.

“I think it's only fair to tell you,” I said: “you can load them, but don't count on leaving here with them.”

“Then what's the point?”

“Exactly.”

He leaned forward and massaged his foot, still trying to buy time.

“Willie?”

“I'll wait for the Preacher.”

“That's fine. You can all go together when you go.”

“Go where?”

“I think you know where.”

He got up slowly. I moved a step closer.

“No sudden moves,” I said. “If you've decided to wait, you can sit in that chair against the wall. That would be my advice.”

“What if I don't take your advice? What if I just walk on out of here?”

“That would be your choice. The wrong one, I think.”

“But you're not gonna stop me, are you?”

He was beginning to get the drift of things now. He knew I had no authority except force, which as things now stood would be illegal.

“What if I get in that truck and just drive off?”

“I'm afraid I will have to stop you then.”

“But not if I walk off.”

“We'll have to see about that.”

He started to move toward the door. I was standing in his way and I could see the fear on his face and in his eyes. He took another step. One more and he'd be in my face.

He took the step.

I moved aside.

He walked out the door.

I came out on the ramp and saw him hobbling down the steps.

“You're making a mistake,” I said.

He flipped me off and kept going, past the truck and on down the road.

“Follow him,” I told Todd. “Keep well back, try not to let him see you. When you find out where he's going, come on back here and let me know.”

I sat in my rental car and watched the warehouse. An hour passed.

So far, so good, I hoped. I hadn't touched anything. Hadn't searched, seized, stormed the gates, roughed up anybody; hadn't really threatened except that one warning about stopping him if he tried to take the truck. I didn't know how a court might interpret that if it ever came out; maybe I hadn't done anything wrong, but I wished now I hadn't said it. At least I had left us with a fighting chance, but so far it was a moot point. We still had no case against them for anything.

I saw Todd come into the road. He opened the door and got in beside me.

“He went to the bus station. He's there now: looks like he's waiting for a bus out of town.”

“Okay. Take the car and drive out to a phone booth. Call Erin and tell her what's going on. Tell her the warehouse is wide open, the truck's sitting here full of books, the Preacher might pull up in another hour or two and I'd be interested in her advice.”

I was painfully aware how thin my legal situation was.
Christ, we've got nothing on these guys,
I thought again, but I said, “Tell Erin I tried not to compromise things too much.”

I stood off in a small grove of trees. This time Todd was gone ten minutes.

“She says hang loose and call her yourself when you can. If they take off, get their plate numbers so we can find them if she wants to subpoena them down the road. And don't do anything she wouldn't do.”

Yeah, like I'm supposed to know what that is.

“She says she trusts you.”

I fought back a laugh. “Damnedest thing I ever saw. Hard to tell which side of the street I'm working on. It almost seems like I'm making their case for them.”

He had brought some coffee. I took one of the two steaming cups, said, “Bless you, my son,” and tried to lighten the moment.

Ten o'clock came and went. The truck filled my vision, blocking the interior lights like some solar eclipse where only the glow around the edges is visible. At ten-thirty I stirred restlessly. “Time they were getting here.”

Almost in the same breath I saw the Preacher's station wagon turn in to the road.
Uncanny,
I thought.
Maybe it's a sign, maybe a harbinger. But of what?

We slumped below the dashboard. They had pulled up beside the U-Haul and now got wearily out of the wagon. I had my window cracked; I heard the Preacher say, “Something's wrong.” They stood in indecision; then the Preacher walked warily around the U-Haul and looked inside. “He left the keys in it.”

He went to the little iron staircase and I heard him call Willie's name. “Something's not right here,” he said.

For a moment I thought they might make some kind of run for it—jump in the wagon and leave it all here. But he overcame his fear and went up the steps to the ramp.

“Willie?” he called softly.

Wally was still standing at the bottom of the steps. But he climbed to the ramp as the Preacher disappeared inside.

“I'm going in,” I said.

“Let's go, then.”

“Same as before. You be the backup out here.”

I got up the steps to the door and Todd stood in the shadows at the front of the truck. I heard the Preacher say, “Let's get the truck and get out of here.”

“What about the rest of the stuff?”

“Leave it.”

“God, Preach, there's five thousand books left back there.”

“You want to go to jail over five thousand cheap books? Now come on, let's get these lights off and get the place locked up.”

I stepped up to the doorway. They were standing just across the room, about fifteen feet away. The Preacher's eyes narrowed to slits as he saw me.

“I knew it would be you,” he said. “I knew it the minute I got out of the wagon.”

“You're a smart man, Preacher.”

“Not smart enough, apparently.”

We looked at each other. Wally stood limply and stared at nothing. The Preacher said, “You're trespassing. I could have you arrested.”

“Willie invited me in.”

“Willie doesn't pay the rent here. He has no authority.”

“Hey, you weren't here, Willie's your authorized agent.”

“We could argue that all night. Where has Willie gone?”