Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [36]
“He stepped out.”
“Back soon?”
Jack shook his head and pointedly looked at his watch. “No. And we’re sort of past closing time.”
“So soon? I have a minute for a quick look around?”
Jack shrugged. “If you’re really interested in something, I’ll wait.”
“Oy!” He raised his hands as he started down the center aisle. “Like a rabbit I’ll run.”
Something about this guy—Jack wasn’t sure what—was putting him on alert. Nothing particularly sinister about him, just that … he seemed to have an agenda. Jack just wished he knew what it was.
The man returned with an armful of old comic books. Mr. Rosen kept a few boxes of them in the back. When Jack had first come to work here the old guy had handed him a copy of something called Overstreet’s Comic Book Price Guide and told him to look up each and every issue to see if it might be rare and valuable. No luck. Mostly the likes of Archie and Hot Stuff and Little Lotta. Kids’ stuff. Not valuable, simply old.
“Here,” the man said, plopping the stack on the counter. “I’ll take these.” He handed Jack a five-dollar bill. “That should cover it.”
“Hang on,” Jack said, doing a quick count. “You’ve got twenty here. You’re five dollars short.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “For these you want ten bucks? They’re junk. I’m only buying them for my daughter because she likes Archie.”
“They’re fifty cents apiece.”
“Nu? You make me a deal.”
“Can’t do that. If I write down twenty, he’ll expect to find ten bucks paid.”
“That’s robbery. A ganef you work for. Look, does he know how many comic books he’s got back there? I mean, the exact number?”
Jack shrugged. He’d gone through them issue by issue himself and hadn’t the faintest. “I doubt it.”
“Good. Then we can do a little business here. We’re both men of the world, right?”
Jack stared at him, wondering where this was going. “I’ve been as far as Philadelphia a few times. Does that qualify?”
“Not by a long shot, but we’ll say it does. Such a deal I’ll make you. This guy probably underpays you, right?”
“I get enough for what I do.”
The man gave him an intent look. “If you do, you’re the first person I’ve ever met who admits it. So here’s the deal: I give you seven dollars, you write down ten comics—”
“I’m not allowed—”
“Hear me out. You write down ten comics, you put five dollars in the till, and keep two for yourself.”
Jack shook his head. “Can’t do that.”
The man’s voice rose half an octave. “Why not? I get a bargain, you get a couple of extra bucks in your pocket. It’s a win-win situation.”
“You forgot the owner. He loses.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Not even he loses. He probably paid pennies for these. I’ll bet he doesn’t have more than a dollar invested in this whole stack. So five bucks leaves him with a profit too. That makes it a win-win-win situation!”
Jack shook his head again. He’d had enough of this guy.
“You’d better put them back. We’re closing.”
“You’re either very stubborn or shortsighted. He’ll never know.”
Jack thought about looking Mr. Rosen in the eye after being part of a cheesy scam like this. He couldn’t think of any amount of money that would make it right to cheat someone who trusted him.
“But I will.”
The man stared at him long and hard, then broke into a smile that changed his whole face.
“What a kid you are.” His wheedling tone had vanished. “You’re how old?”
“Fourteen—fifteen in January.”
Still smiling, he shook his head. “Fourteen, and already a mensch. My uncle Jake left his store in good hands.”
“Uncle? Mister Rosen’s your uncle?”
“Distant. My mother’s side. Thought I’d catch him here on my way to Baltimore. How is he?”
Jack’s head was spinning. He pointed to the stack of comics. “You mean you weren’t serious? You were testing me?”
“Such a look on your face. You think that’s not fair? I shouldn’t test you? Why not? How else am I supposed to know the mettle of the man watching over my beloved uncle’s enterprise? Life is a test, boychick. Every day, a test of what’s here”—he tapped the side of his head—“and here”—he tapped his chest. “You passed