Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [18]
‘You read a lot.’
‘Nah,’ the man said. ‘Presents I don’t want.’
‘Right.’
‘Fifty bucks. That’s a bargain.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t need them.’
An instant aggression prickled the air around the man. Jack remembered somebody telling him: always watch out for the short guys.
‘Yes, you do,’ said the short guy.
Jack watched him look around the shop: nobody but the two of them. What if he jumped the counter? Pulled a knife?
‘Fifty bucks.’
‘No,’ said Jack.
The man’s watery eyes were a little narrower now. He glanced towards the front door, then down to his right. He looked back at Jack, grinning. Slowly, he turned to his left, followed the aisle of books that led to the rear door. Craned his head, squinted at something. Nodded a couple of times, as though agreeing to buy the place.
‘Okay. See you next time.’ He walked out with his merchandise.
‘Can’t wait,’ whispered Jack.
That was it until about 3.00 p.m. as far as business went. At 3.10 the mailman stuck his head inside the front door, smiled and said: ‘Nothing for you today.’ For some reason he had never liked Jack.
Half an hour later, the phone rang. It was Chester Sinclair.
‘What?’
‘I was just thinking that I should sell you the name Jack and the Bookstalk. It’d suit you more than me. Seein’ as your name’s Jack. How about twenty-five grand?’
‘Sure. Rupees okay with you?’
‘You mock me and I come with an open heart.’
‘What did you find when you opened it? An IOU?’
‘Boy. Somebody better get nice if they want to hear something interesting.’
‘Chester, I’m busy. What do you want?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Right.’
‘Wait!’
Jack waited.
‘Well?’ said Chester.
‘Well what?’
‘You going to say sorry and ask nicely for the information I’ve acquired? I’m sure you’d love it.’
‘Yeah, of course.’
‘It concerns your poet.’
Jack took a deep breath and forced it out through his nostrils. ‘And?’
‘Now I’m not sure if I should tell you.’
‘Chester, I think I know why you can’t get a woman.’
‘Now I’m definitely not going to tell you.’
‘Bye.’
‘Hold it, hold it. So fucking nasty today.’
‘Okay. You have my sincerest apologies.’
‘Fine. That’s all I wanted. See how easy it is to be nice?’
Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘And so?’
‘Well, I reckon you’ve ripped me off. Those Kass books are pretty popular all of a sudden. First some guy, then you, and now today some lady was after them as well. She was posh, too. And she was very interested to hear about you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I told her that I’d sold my last copies and she asked who to — hang on, she said to whom — and I told her about you. Expect her sometime today or tomorrow.’
‘Did she tell you who she was?’
‘No. Wasn’t bad looking though, for an older chick.’ Chester paused. ‘So we’ll forget about the first lot, but from now on, whatever I get we split down the middle.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The Kass books. You’ve got the contact, I’ll get the merchandise. Fifty-fifty.’
‘Do you think you’re in a movie, Chester?’
‘Hey man, I sent her over as a gesture of goodwill. Come on. This is business. We’ll find more books if we’re both looking.’
‘How many books do you think I need?’ Jack hoped his voice sounded loose and unconcerned.
‘You tell me. Then I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse,’ said Chester with a terrible Godfather accent.
‘Sinclair, I promise I’ll keep you in mind when the Cosa Nostra approach me about heroin distribution. Okay?’
‘Wait —’
Jack put the phone down. Hearing from Chester Sinclair was one of his least favourite things in the world.
It was one minute to closing time when she walked in.
‘Are you still open?’
‘Sorry, just locking up.’ Jack finished putting his coat on.
‘Oh.’
He switched off the heaters and walked over to where the lady was standing, just inside the front door. She was an older woman, maybe in her early fifties, but looked like she took care of herself. She had a broad oval face