by LeFey
"Why are we here again?" Mac asked as he sprawled on the jump seat opposite the
Director and Vic. His long legs were arched uncomfortably as he had tried to
avoid bumping either of them while the car turned the corner off the small
town's one main street, aptly named Main Street.
The Director rolled her eyes. "This is the last time I take children on a
trip." She gave an exasperated sigh, but then answered. "Levine Katton, rogue
CIA scientist, has created the perfect terrorist weapon."
"Oh yeah, yeah ... right." Mac nodded an acknowledgement. "That Holy hand
grenade thing."
"Nuclear hand grenade," the Director corrected, grinding her teeth.
Vic leaned forward and patted Mac on the knee. He squeezed his eyes nearly shut
as he whispered, "Don't talk."
Mac moved his leg away and grumbled, "Sure, like you remember any of this from
that crack of dawn briefing."
"I'll refresh your moth eaten memory," the Director continued as she gently
pushed Vic back into his seat. "Levine Katton absconded with his plans for a
very effective nuclear hand grenade. He intended to sell this dainty disaster
to the highest bidder. He went underground here because the town is small,
bordered by a vast, remote rural area, and has a growing population due to the
local medium turned millionaire who peddles the teachings of an eons old warrior
prophet... for a profit of course."
"So, a new face in town wouldn't draw any attention," Vic summarized and the
Director answered with a confirming nod.
"What was the name of this berg, again?" Mac asked as he drew his small
streamlined sunglasses from his suit jacket pocket and perched them on the end
of his nose. It was all for effect, or for a chance to close his eyes behind
them later when he lost interest, as the day was overcast and threatening more
autumn rain.
"S - H - E - L - M," the Director enunciated each letter, aggravation raising
her voice.
"Shelm? What the hell kind of a name is that?" Mac shot back, pushing the
glasses up to cover his eyes.
"Nesquim Indian," Vic said quickly. "The story is that it's he word the native
people called the shimmer of heat that rose off the prairie. It was in the case
book," Vic offered when both the Director and Mac looked at him in amazement.
"I read it on the plane on the way down here. Didn't anybody else?"
The Director mentally shook herself and pointed a finger at Mac. "You could
learn from Victor."
"Yeah." Mac rocked back in his seat grinning. "How to be a nerd."
Vic launched a wadded up paper napkin left over from the fast food breakfast
purchased near Boeing Field where the Agency jet had landed.
Mac batted it away, and then came back with a playful swing that Vic was ready
to fend off.
"Cease!" The Director's voice rang through the car, freezing the two men. She
straightened her mid-calf length black skirt over the tops of the leather boots
that hugged her legs, and then took a deep breath as she stared at Mac. "When
we get back, someone is going to get the Ritalin he's always needed."
"Busted, man," Mac said and pointed at Vic, then sputtered out a laugh at the
prospect of what he thought would happen to Vic.
Vic shook his head.
"As I was saying," the Director continued. "Katton tried to hideout here, but
some very diligent Agency operatives, unlike the one's I'm currently with," she
rolled her eyes, "found him. He was persuaded," she looked away leaving the
method unstated, "to tell us where he had hidden the only set of plans. He kept
them in a book. Unfortunately, Dr. Katton was not a careful man, but
philanthropic."
"I thought this place was for Masons," Mac said.
Vic leaned forward again, and patted Mac on the cheek this time. "It's a good
thing you're pretty."
Mac pushed his hand away and frowned, "Not in front of..."
"Neither of you are going to be pretty much longer if you don't pay attention,"
the Director snapped. "Katton put the only set of plans on a micro dot, and
placed it inside a book, a copy of On the Beach."
"Is the guy a surfer?" Mac asked with a shrug.
Vic raised his hand to stop the Director. "Trust me. It's really not worth it.
Go on."
The Director gave a tight, angry jerk of her head and continued. "Our people
searched the, ah, double-wide," the word dripped with distaste, "he was living
in and the book was not there. After more persuasion Katton remembered that he
had donated several boxes of books to the local library sale. As I said he
wasn't a careful man, but he's certain that the book went to the sale." She
motioned towards the large white plastic banners tied to rebar stakes that
adorned either side of the small yard in front of the building. A practiced
hand had lettered the white plastic to read Friends of the Shelm Library Book
Sale, 9am to 4 pm.
"So we got up," Mac looked at his watch, "yesterday, crossed the continent,
through two countries and five time zones..."
"Four," Vic corrected.
Mac frowned at the interruption. "Four time zones so we can go to a lame book
sale?"
"And find the plans," Vic added.
It was the Director's turn to pat Mac's cheek. "And save the world from
terrorism." She said the words like she was praising a pet dog.
Mac moved out of her touch and she settled back in her seat. He lowered his
dark glasses, and looked through the black tinted windows of the limo towards
the building where several people queued up along the concrete entryway waiting
for the sale to start.
"There's a line." Mac stated the obvious. "I don't do lines. Owe!" He jerked
his head back as the Director dug the lacquered nails of one hand into his knee.
"You do whatever I tell you to do." Mac jerked his leg aside and the Director
leaned away. "You get access to those books before anyone else, and find the
plans." The voice was the familiar demanding tone again.
Mac raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! We go book shopping." He
rubbed his knee where the nails had bitten into the skin. "Maybe later we can
visit a card shop and spend the afternoon at Starbucks?" Anger continued to
build in Mac and he challenged, "Why are we doing this? Why don't the
Feds or some less than shadowy government agency just shut the place down and
confiscate the books?" Mac sank back into the plush upholstery of his seat, a
sulk turning down the corners of his ample lips.
The Director straightened. "There's no need to create a panic. The existence
of a devise like this with such potential for terrorist use isn't something the
public needs to know about." She paused and gave them both a long considered
look. "We are also here because one of our agents lost track of Katton
in the first place."
"Who?" Vic asked
The Director waved off the question. "You didn't know him, and ... well... now
he's... no longer employed by us."
The two men exchanged a quick, wary look.
"I still don't understand why you came with us?" Vic asked.
The Director hesitated for a moment. "This is our agency's mess and I'm going
to clean it up." Then a small, nearly triumphant smile moved her lips.
"Besides, when you find the plans I am going to personally deliver them to the
U.S. Secretary of State." The Director steepled her fingers in front of her
glossy red lips. "I've always found that there's something about that Colin
Powell, in or out of uniform." She let the innuendo fall between them, and
both men shifted uncomfortably.
Vic sent a desperate glance towards Mac whose eyes widened over the gold rims of
his dark glasses. "I'm out 'a here," Vic said as he bailed out one side of the
limousine while Mac fled through the other.
"She gets weirder all the time," Mac said as they walked the few feet from the
car to the short line of people waiting for the sale to start.
Vic turned up the collar of his red and black plaid jacket and shivered from
more than just the cold. "She defines weird."
"The end of the line is back there," they were told politely as they neared the
battered brown door at the building's entrance.
Mac flashed the generic badge he always carried. "Fire Marshall, folks. Not
here to buy just to inspect."
"My Dad's the fire chief here...," said a tall, lanky teenager with braces.
Vic saw with a start that the kid would probably grow up to look very much like
Mac. Lucky kid he thought.
"Were not local," Mac interrupted his younger self. "Were Provincial..."
"State," Vic whispered near his ear.
"State Inspectors. We don't want to keep you people waiting so we'll just
inspect and be on our way." Mac had his hand on the cheap, round gold-tone
doorknob. "A safe building is an inspected building." He smiled at the group
and opened the door. "An inspected building is..." Vic pushed him through the
door and closed it behind them.
The interior of the building showed the same wear as the outside, from the
scuffed hardwood floors to the patched and many times painted walls. Dim light
from mid-century florescent fixtures gave the place a feeling of being abandoned
in some other era. The anti-room had a tiny, ancient false fireplace on one
wall, and an old but cheap upright piano on the other. Either side of the
fireplace was lined with mission style furniture marred by the addition of
1960's fashion orange vinyl seats. Large folding tables bordered the room and
were covered in books. Sets of encyclopedias with hand written price signs,
$5.00 a set, were nestled under the book-laden tables. Cardboard boxes
stood by the door piled six high.
Ahead, a double doorway lead into a larger room filled with more long tables
lined three-deep in books placed side by side with the spines showing. Open
boxes spilling over with more books were tucked into every empty space under the
many tables. Beyond this an archaic kitchen, with glass cabinetry trimmed in
thick white paint, terminated the building.
A dark-haired woman looked up as Vic and Mac walked in. She was counting money
over a gray metal cash box that sat on the table in front of her. As she stared
at them Vic thought that her serious face could possibly rival the Director's
for its intensity. A nametag decorated with cartoon fall leaves identified her
as Karen.
"We're not open yet," the words came from an older woman with short white hair,
and bright eyes who smiled as she walked towards them.
"Shoot, it's almost time," a male voice challenged, and made Vic turn to look
behind him.
"No Ruben," both women protested, as well as another voice that came from the
big room.
A middle aged man stepped out from behind the pile of books by the door, hand
dolly preceding him. He pushed back the baseball cap that was precariously
perched over his thinning brown hair, and leaned on the dolly. "It's quarter
to, and we got a line out there," he drawled with a faint rural accent. "We
might as well let them in."
"No," everyone including Vic and Mac said at once.
A short woman with long copper penny red hair appeared in the doorway, a stack
of books resting in her arms. "The article in the paper says we open at nine."
She continued in motion, placing the books in her arms on different tables in
some preordained order that only she seemed to know.
"Candy is right." The older woman, whose nametag read Sarah, agreed. "It
wouldn't be fair to start early." She nodded her head as if the conversation
was finished.
"We decided in the prep meeting," Karen stated with a tone of having had this
conversation many times, "that we would only open at nine."
"Fine," Ruben said and pushed his thick rimmed glasses up his nose, then raised
his hands in surrender. "I'm just the gopher." He wheeled the hand dolly
around and slipped it under a stack of boxes.
Suddenly everyone was talking at once, trying to provide proof of how important
it was to keep to a schedule, while Ruben now argued that it didn't really
matter to him if they opened early. Vic had the feeling of being caught in a
whirlwind. Mac, however, seemed right at home. His most charming smile
appeared. His voice, while not louder than the others, cut miraculously through
the many conversations.
"Excuse me." They all turned to look at him. "We'll only be a minute. We
donated a book that we need back. If you'll just give it to us well get out of
your hair."
A bemused laugh rumbled through the women and Ruben. Karen smiled, and like the
Director, it wasn't comforting. "We've had this happen before," she said. "You
have to understand that these books come from many sources, and are donated at a
lot of different location. We can't just say oh yeah, here's your book back."
Sarah nodded, and then added, "You're certainly welcome to look for your book.
When we open."
"Maybe if we told you the name," Vic asked, "you might remember seeing it?"
"You can try," Sarah told him in a tone that said it would do little good.
"It's On the Beach by Neville Shute."
"How do you know who wrote it?" Mac popped off.
"I read. Okay?" Vic waved a hand for Mac to be quiet.
"Candy?" Karen called. The copper haired woman popped up from beside a table
in the big room holding another armload of books. "Have you seen a copy of
On the Beach?"
"No, but there is a paperback of Most Secret by Shute."
"We've got a video of Beach Blanket Bingo," Ruben snagged the
videocassette off the table beside him, and offered it to Vic. Despite the
fact that Vic raised his hands to fend off the movie the man stepped closer.
"I'll tell you what I'll do."
Vic took a step back. He felt like he was an Eskimo that was about to be sold a
refrigerator.
Ruben closed the space again, and straightened his permanently crooked glasses.
"See those boxes of books over there?" He pointed at the stacks by the door.
"If you don't find your book I'll sell you those boxes for three dollars a box,
two for five dollars, and I'll take 'em to your car."
He moved again, but Vic's retreat was stopped as he stepped against Mac. He
glared at Mac for a split second, and then smiled back at the man waiting for an
answer. "No thanks we're just interested in the one book."
"Ruben!" Karen stepped towards them, her hands held out in a gesture of
helpless frustration. "We're not open yet."
From the look on her face Vic was certain that this guy irritated her the way
Mac did the Director. It was like a confirmation when Mac's arm snaked around
Vic's side, and his hand extended to Ruben. He was smiling broadly. "You're
quite the salesman," Mac said with admiration ringing in his tone.
Ruben laughed, and then took Mac's hand in a crushing handshake. "I'm just the
gopher," he said as their hands parted. An embarrassed smile remained on his
face at the unexpected compliment.
Vic cleared his throat as he gently forced Mac back a few steps. "Maybe we
could just have a look?" Vic turned towards the room where the majority of
books were staged.
"Yeah," Mac agreed just a step behind him. "Maybe we could take a quick look in
S or B or O. Jeeze!" He stopped in his tracks, and bent over a cardboard box
propped against a table leg. He snagged a handful of comic books, and flipped
quickly through the stack checking the glossy covers. "I used to have a ton of
these when I was a kid." He showed the vividly colored graphics on the front to
Vic when he turned back to face him. "Look, UltraWarrior. These must be
worth a fortune."
Ruben stepped next to Mac. "You can have those if you want. They're in the
free box."
"Yeah, worth a fortune," Vic groused. He pulled Mac towards him by the lapel of
his charcoal gray suit jacket. "Will you focus, please?" he said with little of
the frustration he felt.
Mac swung his head around one more time to catch Karen's eye. "Can I really
have these?"
Karen looked at Ruben. "Sure," she told Mac in a resigned tone. "Why not?"
She shrugged, and then let out a weary sigh.
When they turned Sarah was blocking their path.
"If we can just see where the Neville Shute books are..." Vic started.
"The books aren't set out that way," she explained. "We have them by genre."
"What's that?" Mac grinned. "Like the Dew point decimal system?"
Vic looked around self-consciously. Karen was trying not to smile. "He's so
pretty," she said to no one in particular. Mac answered the comment with an
appreciative wink that made the woman cover her mouth with an open hand to hide
the laugh that she could barely contain.
Sarah smiled and patted Mac on the arm. "You're very funny."
"It's the type of book," Vic grumbled. Then he looked into the room filled with
books, really looked at it for the first time, and realized what they were up
against. They stood on the shore of a sea, a veritable ocean of books. The
only landmarks to guide them were colorful signs clipped atop wooden dowels that
designated whole rows of tables as fiction, non-fiction or children's.
"So it's a pretty safe bet that it's on one of those two rows of fiction
tables?" Vic asked.
"Unless the kids put it in the wrong place," Candy told them. She was still
busily pulling select books from one table and putting them in other places.
"We have a middle school leadership class that helps us set up each sale," Sarah
explained. "Sometimes, they don't really understand what the titles mean." She
laughed again as she had at Mac.
"The best one was when they had The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty in the
children's books," Karen added.
"Sleeping Beauty?" Mac wrinkled his brow. "That is a kid's book."
"That's what they thought," Karen confirmed. Then the corners of her mouth
twitched. "I guess that's what you think too."
Vic turned and took Mac's arm. "I told you, don't talk," he hissed as he led
him towards the door.
"What about them boxes," Ruben asked as they walked away. "I'll make you a
deal."
"We'll be right back," Vic threw over his shoulder as he opened the door, and
pushed Mac ahead of him.
"What are you doing?" Mac rolled his arm out of Vic's grasp.
"We need to talk to the Director." They were back at the limo in a few steps.
Vic opened the car door.
The Director sat as she had when they left. Only now there was a champagne
flute in her hand, and an ice bucket at her feet. Dobrinsky sat beside her,
champagne bottle in hand, white linen towel over the cork ready to pop it.
Vic stepped into the car, taking the seat across from the Director. He pulled
down the seat next to him. Mac closed the door as he sat beside Vic.
The Director nearly smiled. "You found the book already. Good."
"Not exactly," Vic told her, and she put her hand over Dobrinsky's before he
could uncork the bottle.
"I got some really cool comics though," Mac interrupted. "They just gave them
to me."
"Those look valuable," Dobrinsky traced a finger over the title.
Mac nudged Vic. "I told you."
"Yeah, Sport," he smiled at Mac. "What's the price of recycling paper now, two
or three cents a ton?"
The Director raised her hand, and the car fell silent.
"No book?" she asked.
Vic shook his head.
"Then why are you here?" It wasn't a friendly inquiry.
"They have thousands of books in there in no particular order." Vic shrugged at
the hopelessness of it all. "People are already lined up. There's a guy in
there that's ready to sell boxes of books that haven't even been opened. If
that sale starts there's no guarantee that we'll ever find our little needle in
that big freaking haystack."
The Director straightened. "Victor you have forgotten the primary rule of every
operation. I never lose." She waved her hand. "Everyone out of the car. One
more thing." She stopped them as their hands settled on the door handles. "If
I find that book first you're going to regret it."
"Oh, unlike now, huh?" Mac asked as he opened the limousine door.
The negotiations didn't take long, but longer than Vic had anticipated. There
was an eerie moment when the Director and Sarah faced off, each smiling, neither
of them meaning it, and neither one willing to back down. Karen and Sarah were
suspicious of the offer the Director made, and the cash she pulled out of her
purse like a magician drawing scarves out of a hat. Crisp thousand dollar bills
were counted out. Then everything stopped while the money was checked at a
local bank for authenticity and deposited at the same time. The final cost was
six thousand dollars and disposal of all the books. Dobrinsky was sent off to
arrange for manpower and trucks to take the contents of the sale to several
charities. Mac did the dirty work of notifying the people waiting outside that
the sale had been canceled, while Ruben took down the signs. A makeshift sign
on the door wasn't enough to keep people from knocking, and trying to gain
access to the annual sale. After the first few, Ruben took up the gauntlet of
fending off would-be customers. Vic and Mac had other things to do.
The two men sat on the floor surrounded by boxes of books. Everyone, including
the Director and Dobrinsky had already checked all the books lining the tables
and the one they sought hadn't been found. Now, Vic and Mac rifled through
unopened boxes still on the hunt. Ruben was gone, off to empty two storage
units the group had, and bring back even more boxes of books that they hadn't
had room for at this sale
Vic had shed his coat over two hours ago, and was clad in denim shirt and jeans.
Mac's charcoal gray suit coat was draped over the back of a chair, and he had
rolled up the sleeves of his royal blue silk dress shirt. The two of them sat
cross-legged facing each other as Vic opened yet another box. He pulled out a
pristine hard-copy edition of The Shipping News.
"Did you see the prices they're charging for these books? This is just fifty
cents."
"But that's American money." Mac countered, not looking up.
"Christ, I paid over thirty dollars for this when it first came out."
"I waited for the movie," Mac gave him a self-satisfied grin.
"And you're proud of that?"
Mac waved a hand towards the two boxes that Vic had gathered while they searched
for the book. "I don't know why you're keeping all those? You're apartment is
full of books already."
"And I've read them all," Vic answered, as if the statement had been an
accusation.
Mac rocked back and widened his eyes. "I don't know where you find the time.
Oh wait! Yes I do. You don't have a life."
"I have a life," Vic said and tossed the book back in the box with a thump.
"One that you're not interested in unless your dick is involved."
Mac raised his hands. "Sweetie, chill out. What did I do, leave you alone with
the kids too much, not say you look pretty often enough, never bring home
roses?"
"Mac!"
"I'm just asking."
"You're just being a pain in the ass. Will you stop being so... so...
Mac for awhile? I want to get the hell out of this place sometime this
century." Vic put a copy of Hunting with Hemmingway in the box he was
keeping, and then looked at Mac. "Is that okay with you?"
"Like I don't want to get out of here? My suit needs cleaned because of this
dusty damn floor, my manicure is trashed from pulling books out of boxes. The
way I figure it the Director owes us. You feel that way too don't you?" he
asked when Vic didn't respond.
"Mac, please," Vic said in a weary voice, "just get back to work."
"I saw a nice motel when we drove into town." He shrugged. "Well as nice can
be expected in a berg like this."
Vic didn't say anything, but pulled another box of books between them.
"See the thing is..." Mac leaned close.
"Oh god, now there's a thing."
"The way I figure it the Director is going to want to blow this place the minute
she gets her hands on that book. She'll be anxious to get on with the Colin
Powell thing."
The two men looked at each other for a beat and then shivered. "Somebody really
should warn him," Mac said.
"Come on," Vic protested. "The man is a decorated military general. He was
head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He led armies in war, and now he's the US
Secretary of State." He blinked. "You're right someone needs to warn him about
her."
"You know anyone?"
Vic thought for a moment, but then shook his head. "Nah."
"So here's the thing," Mac continued as if they had never been discussing the
Director and the Secretary of State. "She'll probably take the limo and Doby,
then strand us here. That means we could get a suite with a fireplace..."
"The motel didn't look that nice," Vic interrupted.
"Okay, okay a nice room. Jeeze, work with me here. Will you accept a nice
room?"
Vic shrugged, but then nodded.
"We get a nice room, champagne of course, and then the two of us find ourselves
in some compromising positions."
Vic pursed his lips before he let a heavy sigh escape. "More than likely she'll
keep us here until midnight, and then make us catch a red-eye back."
"Okay I see where you're going. This could be good too. You and me in two
first class seats, free champagne, a couple of blankets. We pretend we're
asleep, and we're just a grope away from joining the mile high club."
Vic squeezed his eyes shut for a second as heat rushed up his face. "Mac, I
really need you to concentrate on what we're doing. I've about reached my limit
here."
Mac gave a serious look as if he understood, and nodded his agreement. He
pulled a book out of the box that sat between them.
"What was the name of that book again?"
"On the Beach!" Vic snapped. "I thought you were going to write it on
your hand so you wouldn't forget, again?"
"I was going to," Mac acknowledged.
"And you didn't because?"
Mac shrugged. "I don't have a pen."
"No pen?"
A flash of disbelief shot across Mac's face. "You don't think I'd actually
carry a pen and take a chance on it leaking in these clothes do you?"
"Everyone carries a pen!" Vic tossed a copy of The Lost Adventures of
Sherlock Holmes in a box he was keeping for himself. "They make things so
nothing happens if they leak."
"Yeah right!" Mac snorted out a laugh, and shook his head. "I'm sure that I'm
going to wear a Hugo Boss suit, and a Halston shirt with a plastic pocket
protector. I'll leave that fashion statement for you geek boy." He pushed
aside the box they'd finished, and placed another between them.
Vic grabbed Mac's hand, and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. "On," he
began to write across Mac's palm, "the Beach, you fucking..."
"That tickles." Mac squirmed out of his grasp, but snagged Vic's hand bringing
it to his lips. He playfully bit into the fleshy mound beneath Vic's thumb
before he could be stopped.
"Don't." Vic jerked his hand away and then rubbed his palm across his shirt.
"You tease me..." Mac started.
"I wasn't teasing you," Vic growled. "I was trying to get you to remember the
name of the damn book we're looking for, get your mind back on the job."
"What kind of job?" Mac grinned. "Hand job, blow job..."
"Great! Now you're bored." He picked up a lushly photographed coffee table
book about Vancouver BC, and put it directly into his book.
"I don't have to be bored. There's an upstairs to this place. I noticed the
stairs by the door. We hop a few boxes of books, and go... exploring." The
word carried more than just the chance to discover what lay on the next floor.
Vic shoved another box in front of them. "No thanks. I'd like to leave this
assignment with all my body parts in tack."
"I'll be gentle," Mac said with a teasing smile.
"And that is not going to happen if the Director catches us anywhere but here."
"Nobody's going to miss us for a few minutes."
"A few minutes?" Vic straightened the books in the box so the spines could be
read at a glance. "That sure sounds promising."
"Since when are you the blushing maiden who needs foreplay to get off?" Mac
griped. Vic waved a hand at him to be quiet, but he didn't stop. "I remember a
certain bang against the wall in an alley after our stake out last week. That
didn't last long, but you didn't complain."
"You have absolutely no sense of propriety." Vic shook the book he still had in
his hand at Mac.
"Propriety?" Mac snickered. "Jeeze, Vic don't get your petty coats in a knot."
"We don't have to advertise that we're together. We don't know how these people
will react. This is a small town, and small town people usually have small
minds."
"Hey pal, I'm not doing anything you didn't start. After all, you're the one
that said I was pretty in front of the Director."
"That was a shot."
A look of confused hurt crossed Mac's face. "Thanks a lot."
"Well, you called me a nerd."
"You are a nerd."
"Either of you guys want these books?" Candy peered down from across the table
next to them. She held out a copy of Tales of the City, and a biography
of Christopher Isherwood.
"What makes you think we'd want those books?" Vic asked defensively.
Candy didn't seem phased by his tone. "You're a couple aren't you?" she asked
matter-of-factly.
"One of us thinks so." A sarcastic smile spread across Mac's face as he
looked at Vic.
Candy motioned towards the two boxes that Vic had set aside. "You might as well
take as many as you want. You're friend bought them all."
"She's not our friend," they said almost in unison. "We work for her," Vic
added with an embarrassed dip of his head.
Candy held out the books once more.
"Thanks, but I've already read that." Vic pointed hesitantly at the Armistad
Maupin book.
Candy nodded. "It's a classic."
Again, her tone gave Vic the uncomfortable feeling that she was making too many
assumptions about him.
She showed them one more book and Mac snatched it from her hand. "Oh,
Gladiator School?" He rolled his thumb over the edge of the book
fanning the pages out. A lascivious smile moved his lips. "Now, this should
prove to be a hard read." He shot a mischievous glance at Vic.
"He doesn't need this," Vic said as he plucked the book out of Mac's hands, and
gave it back to Candy. "It doesn't have any pictures."
"Candy." Karen's voice called from the kitchen. "Will you come here for a
minute?"
"I'll leave them out in case you change your mind. And if you want pictures, I
think I saw a Mapplethorpe book in the front." Candy put the books on top of
the many that lined the table, and turned away.
Mac picked up the Gladiator book, and opened it again. "Want me to read to
you?"
"Stop it!" Vic made a grab for the book, but Mac pulled it out of reach.
"You're really acting like a jerk now."
"What's that?" Mac leaned closer as if he couldn't hear Vic. "You want me to
jerk you now?"
"You're a real comedian." Vic produced a false smile. "I want you to get back
to work so we can eventually get out of here."
"This is wild!" Mac paged through the book. "Someone has used a highlighter on
all the hot parts." He looked up at Vic, and Mac might as well have had a light
bulb go off over his head. "This is a great idea. You highlight the good
stuff, and then you don't have to read all the boring parts."
"You still have to read the boring parts in order to find the hot parts." Vic
pulled the book out of Mac's hands, and tossed it in the box he was keeping. He
opened the next box of books. "Now, can we get back to what we were doing?"
Mac started to pick out a book closest to him. "I never thought I'd say this
about you Vic." He choked out a laugh as if he couldn't keep a straight face.
"Actually, I've said this about you from the day we met. You're no fun."
Vic used a slim book he'd just picked up to emphasize his words. "Mac if you
don't settle down and..."
"Versace!" Mac grabbed the book out of Vic's hand and began to look through it.
"Man this is so cool." He studied each glossy color plate before he turned to
the next page. "That Versace was a genius."
"Mac!" Vic's tone took on an irritated whine. "You have got to focus or
we are never going to get out of here."
"Focus on this, buddy." He spread the book out flat over the box of books. A
two-page black and white photo of five beautiful models was revealed. They were
all clad in skintight gleaming evening gowns, hair blowing in the breeze. Each
woman was draped over, or standing on the buff naked bodies of five men. The
male models were bent at the waist, sitting, laying on the floor, squatting and
curled in a fetal position. They formed a lopsided V, with the one lying on the
floor at the center showing only his back, the broad muscles sporting an
elaborate circular henna tattoo between his shoulder blades. The man next to
him was squatting, his back to the camera, his powerful legs were spread wide
and receptive. The whole scene had the feeling of an erotic, classical, marble
frieze come to life.
Vic's stared at the picture despite himself. Then through sheer force of will
he closed the book in Mac's hands. "Not now." He tossed the book back into the
box.
Mac fished it out immediately. "I want this."
"Then get an empty box."
"I only want this one. You put it in your box."
"What am I going to say when the Director asks why I want a book on some fashion
designer? Go get your own box."
"Hey, very good. You know who was. Maybe there's hope for a fashion impaired
guy like you after all." Mac wedged the book very deliberately between some
others in one of the boxes that Vic was saving.
"Didn't I ask you not to do that?"
"No. Actually you told me. We really need to work on your social
skills so you can learn the difference. What's the deal, anyway?" Mac
challenged. "You on the rag or something?"
Vic threw a thick paperback, and hit Mac in the chest. "Stop comparing me to a
woman!"
"Stop acting like one!"
Mac prepared to throw the book back at him, but Vic wrestled it from his hands.
He sat silently for a moment his eyes closed, and his knuckles white as he
clutched the book against his chest. He struggled to gain control of his anger
fueled breathing. After a moment he took a deep breath, and opened his eyes as
he tossed the book aside. "Look, I'm just as," he glanced quickly around,
"bored as you are. That's why I want to get this over with as soon as
we can." Vic waited for a response, but Mac was looking down. "Can't you pay
attention for one fucking second?"
"Oh I am, Babe," Mac said without looking up. "I can see now that you are
majorly bored. How the hell did I miss that?" His hands slid up Vic's
crossed legs.
Vic captured the roaming hands mid-thigh. "If you don't stop now I'm going to
hurt you." Vic was nose to nose with Mac. The caress of the other man's breath
was soft against his lips.
"You're only hurting yourself, man." Mac's eyes were hard and focused. His
words came in that staccato patter that could wear down anyone. "Think about
it. How long do you think it will be before we can get out of here, and do
something about your," he glanced down at Vic's crotch, "problem?" "Two, maybe
three hours? That's if everything goes perfectly, and we find the book in the
first fifty or so boxes we have to go through. What if we don't find it and our
old buddy Ruben remembers that there's another storage unit or two filled to the
rafters? Let's add two more hours. We're up to four or five hours now. Then
we're still empty-handed. That means, yes my thoroughly randy friend, we start
over. You've been sporting wood for about six hours at that point. Want to go
for eight? Want to go insane?"
Vic closed his hands on Mac's hard enough to make him wince. "If we get caught
you are so dead!"
An eager grin spread across Mac's face. "Would I ever get us caught?" He
pressed a quick kiss on Vic's lips before he could respond, and stood up pulling
Vic after him.
The women were in the small shabby kitchen at the rear of the building. They
gathered around the homely island counter that was covered with the same dingy
cream linoleum flecked with dabs of red and blue that graced the floor. A
plastic tub filled with ice and champagne bottles rested on the small space
between the deep, scratched porcelain sink and the old avocado colored range.
Just because the kitchen was grubby didn't mean the appetites in Shelm were.
The people who came to this town seeking spiritual enlightenment did so with a
silver palate. As a result, the local grocery stores had an ample supply of
gourmet items. Before Dobrinsky had gone off to arrange transportation he'd
shopped for an afternoon feast. Spread out on the old countertop was smoked
salmon, cold cuts, pate, a selection of cheeses, pickled vegetables, salty black
and green olives, vine ripened tomatoes, a baguette and several types of
crackers. Each woman was busily munching away from an individual paper plate
filled with her favorites.
"Don't you think we should tell them you found the book?" Karen asked.
"I will," the Director replied, and held up a bottle of champagne. "More?"
Candy offered her glass, and the Director refilled it.
"I'm going to take those fellows a plate of food," Sarah said, and picked up an
empty paper plate.
The Director waved a hand to stop her. "Victor doesn't like this sort of food.
He's a very picky eater. And Mac doesn't do well with champagne." The Director
dropped a fresh strawberry in Sarah's glass. "You know twelve steps and all. I
don't like to bring it up. The poor dear is sensitive, and he's trying so
hard." She ended the words in a confidential whisper.
"Oh I see." That seemed to satisfy Sarah who put the slice of salmon she had
picked up onto her own plate.
"So, you do this whole big sale all by yourselves?" the Director asked.
"We hire two boys from the alternative high school to help Ruben with the
loading and unloading of the books," Sarah answered.
"I have two boys who help me with the heavy work as well," The Director mused.
"But your boys are much better than ours," Karen said with a sly smile.
"You think so?"
"Oh yes." Karen drew out the words.
Candy laughed. "Have to agree."
The Director took a step towards the door that lead into the main room. She
motioned Karen to join her. Victor was almost through the archway and into the
front room when she called.
"Victor."
He came up short and spun around. He pointed nervously behind him. "We were
just." He glanced around. Mac had kept walking, and was nearly to the stairs
where he couldn't be seen. "We... ah... we're going to check the boxes by the
door."
"Victor, what is that red book? The one in the box behind you."
Victor turned around, and bent over.
There was a clink of crystal glasses. An approving purr colored Karen's tone
as she said "Thank you."
Vic straightened, and held up the book. "It's Writing the Erotic Novel."
"That's not what we're looking for," the Director told him. "Go on Victor,
continue."
Vic gave her a you're crazy smile, and tossed the book onto an open box.
He glanced around for Mac who was opening boxes by the door. He chanced one
more wary look at the Director, and then turned to join him.
"Your boys are definitely better," Candy said as they all moved back towards the
food platters.
Dobrinsky opened the creaking back door, and walked in. "Hello, Ladies."
After everyone returned his greeting the Director asked, "Did all go well?"
"Excellent," he answered as he filled a plate with salmon, salami, slices of
dill havarti and a handful of crackers. "One truck is about a half hour out.
The other one stopped when we saw Ruben loading his pickup. We're handling
that for him."
"We'll leave when the truck arrives. Put Vic and Mac in-charge of the
operation. They can stay in town, and catch a commercial flight home when all
they're finished. Did you arrange a vehicle for the boys?"
"Yeah." Dobrinsky snickered, and then took a sip of champagne. "An electric
blue Geo Metro."
The director raised her glass in a toast. "Perfect."
There was a sudden scrabbling sound from overhead and everyone looked at the
ceiling.
"Mice?" Karen asked, wrinkling her nose as she listened.
"Bigger," Dobrinsky said around a mouthful of baguette and Brie. "I'm thinking
rats."
"We once had a raccoon get in our attic," Candy offered still looking at the
ceiling, as was everyone else.
"Not to worry," the Director said while she lifted the bottle nearest her out of
its ice bath. "It's just Moose and Squirrelly. More champagne?"
Everyone offered his or her glass.
The End
he sleek, black Mercedes limousine eased into the
one remaining parking space next to the old, wood frame building. The land
yacht stuck out a foot onto the blacktop of the side street as it parked on the
short graveled strip that bordered the grass side yard. The legend on the front
of the building read Shelm Masonic Hall. The square two-story
structure's only adornment was four thick wooden columns that stretched from
yard to roof. Despite the classical element, the hall with its cheap roof and
peeling white shiplap siding did not presume to be called a Masonic
Temple.
