give me a call and let me know. You know, in exchange for saving his life earlier.”
I figured if he really did feel like he owed me, he’d pick up the phone. Of course, if they found a piece of Clara, I’d be reading about it in the papers. Not even Strickling could keep that out of the headlines.
I pushed my way back out through the alley. There was still a big crowd wanting to see the slain beast, and their ranks were swelled by the arrival of photographers and reporters. I was just about to head back to my car and finally check in with Red when I saw someone lingering at the edge of the throng. It was the tall guy from the studio trying to peer over their heads. He was still clutching the packet close to his chest. I didn’t take my eyes off him. I wasn’t planning on losing him again.
Maybe the panther had already coughed up a gem for me.
19
McGill’s bookstore was not the kind of establishment you’d expect a meat head to frequent, so when the tall guy walked in there I knew something odd must be going on. I left it a couple minutes after the door had closed behind him and stepped inside.
The bell above the door rang and the man behind the counter came to greet me.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure, just looking.”
“No, I mean with all the action outside.” He was in his mid-twenties, with slicked back hair and wire-rimmed spectacles that complimented his tweeds. He was trying just a little too hard to look bookish.
“Yeah, I saw the crowd—what’s going on out there?”
“They got the panther, at least that’s what a couple customers have said.”
“Jeez, that’s a relief. The newspaper owners will be disappointed though. It must have sold them a few extra copies, a story like that.”
“You heard the latest?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Apparently there’s another cat out there. A tiger this time.”
“What happened? They break out of the zoo?”
“Maybe. Or maybe Hearst is releasing them to get more people buying the Times.” He headed back toward the counter. “Let me know if you’re looking for something special.”
It wasn’t a big store, but it was divided by ten feet high shelving units that turned the place into a thieves’ playground: the tall guy I’d followed in could have been anywhere. I stood in front of the fiction stand and listened hard. I could hear the counter guy flicking through his magazine, I could hear the dying hubbub from the street, but that was it. I seemed to be the only customer in the store. No one dragged a book from a shelf. No one flicked through pages, or shuffled between shelves. Which begged the question: where had Mr Tall disappeared to? I walked slowly through the maze of book stacks, but I didn’t really expect to find him. He didn’t really look like a bookworm.
A door had opened with a noisy creak and the sounds of a back office—typewriters, desk fans and gossip—drifted into the store. The door slammed shut again.
“See you then, Joel.” It was the tweed-suited bookseller’s voice.
“Seeya, Nathan.” I heard heavy footsteps heading toward the front door, the ding of the bell followed by a crescendo of traffic noise. Then the dull clunk of the door closing again. I retraced my steps back toward the door, but when I looked out of the large plate glass window, I couldn’t see who had just left.
I picked up a random book from a shelf and leafed through it, sending whorls of dust into the air: this was a bookstore where no one picked a book off a shelf from one month to the next. I wasn’t all that surprised: I’d had a pretty good idea of the kind of store it really was the moment I’d seen the tall guy walk in. It was time to put my theory to the test. I approached the counter.
“Hi there,” I said.
“Need some help?”
“I’ve gotta say, I haven’t really found what I’m looking for.”
“Oh yeah? Well what kind of mood are you in?”
I paused and looked at Nathan’s face very carefully.
I figured if he really did feel like he owed me, he’d pick up the phone. Of course, if they found a piece of Clara, I’d be reading about it in the papers. Not even Strickling could keep that out of the headlines.
I pushed my way back out through the alley. There was still a big crowd wanting to see the slain beast, and their ranks were swelled by the arrival of photographers and reporters. I was just about to head back to my car and finally check in with Red when I saw someone lingering at the edge of the throng. It was the tall guy from the studio trying to peer over their heads. He was still clutching the packet close to his chest. I didn’t take my eyes off him. I wasn’t planning on losing him again.
Maybe the panther had already coughed up a gem for me.
19
McGill’s bookstore was not the kind of establishment you’d expect a meat head to frequent, so when the tall guy walked in there I knew something odd must be going on. I left it a couple minutes after the door had closed behind him and stepped inside.
The bell above the door rang and the man behind the counter came to greet me.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure, just looking.”
“No, I mean with all the action outside.” He was in his mid-twenties, with slicked back hair and wire-rimmed spectacles that complimented his tweeds. He was trying just a little too hard to look bookish.
“Yeah, I saw the crowd—what’s going on out there?”
“They got the panther, at least that’s what a couple customers have said.”
“Jeez, that’s a relief. The newspaper owners will be disappointed though. It must have sold them a few extra copies, a story like that.”
“You heard the latest?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Apparently there’s another cat out there. A tiger this time.”
“What happened? They break out of the zoo?”
“Maybe. Or maybe Hearst is releasing them to get more people buying the Times.” He headed back toward the counter. “Let me know if you’re looking for something special.”
It wasn’t a big store, but it was divided by ten feet high shelving units that turned the place into a thieves’ playground: the tall guy I’d followed in could have been anywhere. I stood in front of the fiction stand and listened hard. I could hear the counter guy flicking through his magazine, I could hear the dying hubbub from the street, but that was it. I seemed to be the only customer in the store. No one dragged a book from a shelf. No one flicked through pages, or shuffled between shelves. Which begged the question: where had Mr Tall disappeared to? I walked slowly through the maze of book stacks, but I didn’t really expect to find him. He didn’t really look like a bookworm.
A door had opened with a noisy creak and the sounds of a back office—typewriters, desk fans and gossip—drifted into the store. The door slammed shut again.
“See you then, Joel.” It was the tweed-suited bookseller’s voice.
“Seeya, Nathan.” I heard heavy footsteps heading toward the front door, the ding of the bell followed by a crescendo of traffic noise. Then the dull clunk of the door closing again. I retraced my steps back toward the door, but when I looked out of the large plate glass window, I couldn’t see who had just left.
I picked up a random book from a shelf and leafed through it, sending whorls of dust into the air: this was a bookstore where no one picked a book off a shelf from one month to the next. I wasn’t all that surprised: I’d had a pretty good idea of the kind of store it really was the moment I’d seen the tall guy walk in. It was time to put my theory to the test. I approached the counter.
“Hi there,” I said.
“Need some help?”
“I’ve gotta say, I haven’t really found what I’m looking for.”
“Oh yeah? Well what kind of mood are you in?”
I paused and looked at Nathan’s face very carefully.
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