بخش 03 - فصل 23

23

At a few minutes past three – around the time Pete is getting into Hodges’s Prius – a customer does come into the bookshop. He’s a pudgy fellow whose thick glasses and gray-flecked goatee do not disguise his resemblance to Elmer Fudd.

‘Can I help you?’ Morris asks, although what first occurs to him is Ehhh, what’s up, Doc?

‘I don’t know,’ Elmer says dubiously. ‘Where is Drew?’

‘There was sort of a family emergency in Michigan.’ Morris knows Andy came from Michigan, so that’s okay, but he’ll have to be cagey about the family angle; if Andy ever talked about relatives, Morris has forgotten. ‘I’m an old friend. He asked if I’d mind the store this afternoon.’

Elmer considers this. Morris’s left hand, meanwhile, creeps around to the small of his back and touches the reassuring shape of the little automatic. He doesn’t want to shoot this guy, doesn’t want to risk the noise, but he will if he has to. There’s plenty of room for Elmer back there in Andy’s private office.

‘He was holding a book for me, on which I have made a deposit. A first edition of They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? It’s by—’

‘Horace McCoy,’ Morris finishes for him. The books on the shelf to the left of the desk – the ones the security DVDs were hiding behind – had slips sticking out of them, and since entering the bookstore today, Morris has examined them all. They’re customer orders, and the McCoy is among them. ‘Fine copy, signed. Flat signature, no dedication. Some foxing on the spine.’

Elmer smiles. ‘That’s the one.’

Morris takes it down from the shelf, sneaking a glance at his watch as he does. 3:13. Northfield High classes end at three, which means the boy should be here by three thirty at the latest.

He pulls the slip and sees Irving Yankovic, $750. He hands the book to Elmer with a smile. ‘I remember this one especially. Andy – I guess he prefers Drew these days – told me he’s only going to charge you five hundred. He got a better deal on it than he expected, and wanted to pass the savings along.’

Any suspicion Elmer might have felt at finding a stranger in Drew’s customary spot evaporates at the prospect of saving two hundred and fifty dollars. He takes out his checkbook. ‘So … with the deposit, that comes to …’

Morris waves a magnanimous hand. ‘He neglected to tell me what the deposit was. Just deduct it. I’m sure he trusts you.’

‘After all these years, he certainly ought to.’ Elmer bends over the counter and begins writing the check. He does this with excruciating slowness. Morris checks the clock. 3:16. ‘Have you read They Shoot Horses?’

‘No,’ Morris says. ‘I missed that one.’

What will he do if the kid comes in while this pretentious goateed asshole is still dithering over his checkbook? He won’t be able to tell Saubers that Andy’s in back, not after he’s told Elmer Fudd he’s in Michigan. Sweat begins to trickle out of his hairline and down his cheeks. He can feel it. He used to sweat like that in prison, while he was waiting to be raped.

‘Marvelous book,’ Elmer says, pausing with his pen poised over the half-written check. ‘Marvelous noir, and a piece of social commentary to rival The Grapes of Wrath.’ He pauses, thinking instead of writing, and now it’s 3:18. ‘Well … perhaps not Grapes, that might be going too far, but it certainly rivals In Dubious Battle, which is more of a socialist tract than a novel, don’t you agree?’

Morris says he does. His hands feel numb. If he has to pull out the gun, he’s apt to drop it. Or shoot himself straight down the crack of his ass. This makes him yawp a sudden laugh, a startling sound in this narrow, book-lined space.

Elmer looks up, frowning. ‘Something funny? About Steinbeck, perhaps?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Morris says. ‘It’s … I have a medical condition.’ He runs a hand down one damp cheek. ‘It makes me sweat, and then I start laughing.’ The look on Elmer Fudd’s face makes him laugh again. He wonders if Andy and Elmer ever had sex, and the thought of that bouncing, slapping flesh makes him laugh some more. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Yankovic. It’s not you. And by the way … are you related to the noted popular-music humorist Weird Al Yankovic?’

‘No, not at all.’ Yankovic scribbles his signature in a hurry, rips the check loose from his checkbook, and passes it to Morris, who is grinning and thinking that this is a scene John Rothstein could have written. During the exchange, Yankovic takes care that their fingers should not touch.

‘Sorry about the laughing,’ Morris says, laughing harder. He’s remembering that they used to call the noted popular-musical humorist Weird Al Yank-My-Dick. ‘I really can’t control it.’ The clock now reads 3:21, and even that is funny.

‘I understand.’ Elmer is backing away with the book clutched to his chest. ‘Thank you.’

He hurries toward the door. Morris calls after him, ‘Make sure you tell Andy I gave you the discount. When you see him.’

This makes Morris laugh harder than ever, because that’s a good one. When you see him! Get it?

When the fit finally passes, it’s 3:25, and for the first time it occurs to Morris that maybe he hurried Mr Irving ‘Elmer Fudd’ Yankovic out for no reason at all. Maybe the boy has changed his mind. Maybe he’s not coming, and there’s nothing funny about that.

Well, Morris thinks, if he doesn’t show up here, I’ll just have to pay a house call. Then the joke will be on him. Won’t it?