Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [7]
‘Come in,’ said Jack.
‘I’ll just need a hand, if you don’t mind … ’
Jack walked across to the counter and put his coffee down. Maybe there was an Edward Kass or two in there? He helped the man drag the box over. It weighed a ton. Jack had a look inside.
‘What do you reckon?’
All Jack could see were copies of Reader’s Digest. ‘Is your son picking you up again in the car?’
‘Eh?’
‘I don’t buy magazines.’
‘Oh.’ The old man’s hand went to his chin. Then he reached into the box and began to pull the copies of Reader’s Digest out. ‘Hang on, there’s books in here, too! My wife packed the bloody thing, you just can’t see them. Take a look!’
Soon they were piled over the concrete floor of Susko Books. Reluctantly, Jack crouched down and went through them: rejects on the right, offers on the left. Most went on the right. But he did manage to find a few things worth keeping: half-a-dozen Beatrix Potter books; a hardcover book on embroidery; a 1982 edition of the Macquarie Dictionary of Australian Quotations; Gemstones of the World by Walter Schumann; Let’s Speak French by The Commonwealth Office of Education, Sydney; Patrick O’Brien’s Picasso; The Eye of the Storm by Patrick White; a 1982 edition of the Collins English Dictionary; Foucault’s Pendulum by Umberto Eco; and The Complete Book of Flower Preservation by Geneal Condon.
‘Forty dollars,’ said Jack.
It was clear from the look on the old man’s face that this was not the amount he had confidently predicted to his wife and son.
‘What about the rest?’
‘Sorry. Can’t use it.’
‘Not at all?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Not if you gave it to me for free.’
‘I just can’t believe it.’
They never could. And they always took it personally, as though Jack were passing judgement on what they had chosen to read. He supposed he was. It was one of the few perks of the job. But it was just a small God complex, nothing too serious. It did not affect the fate of nations.
‘I can give you a hand up the stairs if you want.’
Jack locked the front door and pulled the Yellow Pages out from a dented, grey filing cabinet behind the counter. Apart from the shelving, the only other furniture in the shop included a cheap pinewood chair, a small trestle table that served as a desk, a set of drawers tucked in underneath, and a tall free-standing lamp that he had inherited from the last business that occupied the premises. ‘Antique World’ had not lasted long and in the end made a quick, overnight exit, leaving a good portion of rent unpaid. Jack moved in cheaply because nobody wanted basement premises in the city: apart from porn operators, who did not rely on display windows so much for their trade. But ‘Serious Titillation’ was already there, and had been for years, right above the basement site. With its bright yellow sign and bright yellow façade, it deflected a lot of attention away from Susko Books. But that was okay. On some days there was a little bit of flow-on traffic. Always the odd customer who came in accidentally and was convinced to buy a copy of The Story of O.
Jack flipped through the Yellow Pages until he got to Books — Secondhand &/or Antiquarian. He dropped a pen into the spine. He figured he would let his fingers do the walking. This was going to be the easiest money he had ever made.
The phone on the counter began to ring. Jack drank some coffee before answering.
‘Susko Books.’
‘Yeah, I was wondering if you had a copy of a particular book.’
‘What’s the title?’
‘It’s by a guy called Edward Kass.’
‘Kass?’
‘Yeah. Got anything by him?’
Jack sipped his coffee again. It was a little too early for coincidences. ‘Not sure,’ he said. ‘Let me check.’ He held the phone for half a minute. Then: ‘Is that K, A, double S?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. I’ll take everything you got.’
‘Hang on.’
Jack put the phone down. He drank some more coffee. He did not feel so good. Kasprowicz might have twenty people out there working for him, all over the country. It was