“So you’re a wise guy.” His eyes narrowed. “Haven’t I seen you before?” He looked at Koko, searching for help.
“This is Ma Barker,” I said. “Ma, this is Dean Treadwell.”
“Hi, Dean,” Koko said with a perfect edge of joyous malice. That was too good to have been intentional, but I winked at her.
Dean patted his shirt pocket for a smoke, then seemed to remember he was in a hospital. “You talk like crazy people,” he said.
“I am a little crazy, Dean. I really get crazy when things don’t go my way. Right now, for instance, I’d like you to go quietly downstairs with us. When my friend comes down, we can all walk quietly up the street till we find a nice, quiet coffee shop. Then we can sit down and have us a quiet talk. I like things quiet. You got any problem with any of that?”
“I don’t guess so,” he said. “I don’t know what the hell you want with me.”
“That’s what we’ll find out, Dean,” I said, and we all went downstairs and waited quietly.
Erin came down almost on our heels. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Dean, he owns that bookstore in Baltimore. Dean, this is Lizzie Borden.”
“Lizzie Borden my ass. Who the hell do you think you’re fooling?”
“Nobody, but let’s leave it at that. And watch your language, there are ladies here.”
“I know who you are. I don’t know these two but I know you. I’ve been trying to remember your voice and it just came to me.”
“Come on, let’s walk up the street.”
He started to balk. I stepped on his foot and frosted him with a look. He said, “I don’t have to go anywhere with you,” but I pinched his arm hard enough to hurt and he went. We found a drugstore on Rutledge Avenue and I ordered coffees except for Koko, who had some awful-looking carrot juice concoction.
“It’s good your memory’s working, Dean,” I said. “I need to ask you some things.”
Again we had to go through a certain dance but I expected that. The conversation went like this.
“Tell me about Archer.”
“Archer who?”
“You know Archer who.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“He’s the schmuck you were going to see in the hospital, so knock off the stupid routine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How are your kidneys, Dean?”
“What does that mean?”
“You look like a guy who needs to go to the bathroom. C’mon, I’ll go with you.”
“If you think I’m going in any back room with you, you’re nuts.”
“Then tell me about Archer, and remember I haven’t got all day.”
“Archer’s a customer.”
“I see. Do you always travel all around the country with your customers?”
“If they pay my freight I do.”
“So Archer’s paying you. What’s he paying you for?”
“You’re a bookseller, you know I can’t answer that. That violates all kinds of ethics.”
“Dean’s going ethical on us,” I said to the ladies.
“Would you answer that question?” Dean said.
“No, but I might kick your ass right here in this drugstore if you don’t.”
Erin cleared her throat loudly. I looked in her eyes and said, “Why don’t you ladies meet me back at the hotel. Take the car, I’ll walk.”
Koko said, “Did you ever get one of them two-by-fours, Lizzie?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean said.
I said, “It means that unless you give us some information, you could be in real trouble. Liz can tell you about it.”
I threw it to her without warning and instantly she began shooting from the hip, part bluff, making it up as she went along. “You’ve been conspiring with a book thief, Dean. We’re not talking about nickels and dimes, this is a work of major historical importance, worth at least way up in five figures. You know what it is. This can bring you serious grief in Maryland, Colorado, or South Carolina. It’s known as grand theft pretty much everywhere, but it does have a bright side: they’ll come feed you three times a day and you won’t have to worry about making a living for a long time.”
“I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about.”
She made a “too bad” motion with her eyes. “Then I guess we’ve got nothing more to say to each other.”
He fished for his cigarettes but I pointed to a no smoking sign just above his head. “That stuff’ll kill you, Dean. Stinks up your books too. I had a guy bring in Hemingway’s signed limited one time and I couldn’t even buy it. He was a chain-smoker and you could smell his book clear across the room.”
“Yeah, yeah, spare me the fucking lecture. And you.” He nodded at Erin. “Why don’t you try saying what you’ve got to say in plain English?”
“Your friend Archer has a hot book. We have good reason to believe you’re mixed up in it. Is that plain enough for you?”
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“With what? I thought you didn’t know what we were talking about.”
“I had nothing to do with any theft that either did occur or might have occurred.”
“I’ve had enough of this bird,” I said. “Let’s stick a fork in him.”
“Just calm down,” Erin said. “Give the man a chance. If I can’t persuade him to be reasonable, we’ll see him in court.”
“What court?” Dean said.
“That’s a question of jurisdiction, isn’t it? Depends on where a theft occurred and where the hot goods are disposed. Doesn’t matter to me, I’ll go after you wherever I can.”
“Let’s get one thing straight. I never did anything illegal.”
“You don’t get anything straight just by saying it. You can tell it to a judge, but I doubt if your word will meet any rules of evidence. No offense, Dean, I know you mean well.”
They all sat quietly. I commented on the rain, the heat, the touristy things: the houses along Rainbow Row, the fact that we had missed Charleston’s fabled azaleas at the peak of their glory. Erin finished her coffee and Koko drank her carrot stuff.
“We’re leaving,” Erin said. “This was your chance and it’s slipping away.”
“I’m not worried,” Dean said. “Archer says the book is his.”
“Archer lies.”
“Well, I believe him. I was never told anything about any theft.”
“That could be a mitigating factor. If you cooperate.”
“Cooperate in what? You’re no goddamn prosecutor; who the hell are you?”
“This is who I am. I represent the injured party. My recommendation in any proceeding will carry some weight, maybe a lot. Are you going to help us or not?”
“Depends on what you want.”
She took out a notebook and a ballpoint pen. “Answer my questions. Then read what I’ve written and sign it; we’ll get a copy made and you get to keep that.”
He didn’t like it. He shook his head and sat coughing.
“Dean?”
“I’ll tell you right now, you won’t like what I’ve got to say. I’ve got nothing that puts Archer in any kind of bad light.”
“Just tell the truth. That’s all I want.”
“Yeah, right. You’re like everybody else. You can’t get along with him so you want to sandbag him.”
A moment later he said, “You’ve got to understand something. Archer’s special. He’s not like you and me. There’s no use talking if you don’t understand that.”
“I do understand it,” Erin said. “I’ve read his books.”
He looked at her for most of a minute. Then he began to talk.
Long before he had moved to South Carolina, Hal Archer had discovered Treadwell’s. As a teenager in the late forties, he had spent time at his parents’ summer home in Baltimore and had bought books from Dean’s father.
Carl and Dean were kids then, working in the store, stocking the shelves, moving stuff, whatever needed doing. One day Archer said something to Dean and that’s how it started. They were about the same age, and whenever he came in they’d pass the time of day. Sometimes Archer would sit on one of the chairs upstairs and tell young Dean Treadwell what a great writer he was going to be.