He strolled past the real truth about Vince Foster, the real truth about the Oklahoma City bombing, all written by "foremost experts," many calling themselves "doctor." Doctor of what? Jim always wanted to know.
Next came a whole array of exposes on the CIA, ranging from a hardcover by Bob Woodward, to pamphlets by the ever-popular Anonymous.
In the services section he passed a guy offering to take pictures of your aura for $20, a woman reading palms for $10 ("Quick! Fast! FUN!"), "Divine Astro-Tarot Readings" for an undisclosed price, then a travel service offering tours to "Places of Power" (Stonehenge and Macchu Picchu, and various Mayan temples).
"Oh, Christ," he muttered as he saw the UFO section. It was biggest of them all, easily claiming the most tables in the room.
God, I can't take this shit, he thought, readying to turn around.
But then he spotted Shelby in the thick of it.
He'd have to go in there.
Jim fought a wave of futility. Sometimes it seemed as if his whole life was a lost cause. He kept fighting to get the truth out, but every time he thought he was making headway, he found himself batted back to square one.
He's begun reading about UFOs in his early twenties. He'd become obsessed with them, and the more he'd read, the more he'd become convinced that a massive cover-up was blocking the truth from the world. He'd committed himself to uncovering that truth.
His commitment had cost him his job with the telephone companysomething he was sure had been arranged as a warning, although he could never prove it. But he hadn't let that silence him. His wife left him, but he hadn't let that stop him either. He went into business with his brother, and their hardware store was doing well, although Tom was getting annoyed with all the time he was spending away from the business. Tom didn't understand that this was his life, not hardware.
Maybe if he could finish that book and make it a bestseller, he could leave the store and be on his own, devote every waking hour to making people see. This was when he felt most alive: when he was with fellow believers or preaching to the unconverted. This was what he lived for.
But even this had its dark sidepeople taking the truth, warping it to commercial ends, and making a quick buck on it. That was what the bastards in here were up to. And Jim hated them for it.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he forced himself forward past racks of glossy photos of crop circles, many of which looked to be more the result of Adobe Photoshop than alien space craft.
Then came rows of videos about UFOs and close encounters ("Actual footage!!!") and videos of recent Ecuadoran sightings, all narrated by the ubiquitous "foremost experts." Books about UFOs and close encounters ("True accounts!!!) followed.
Lost amid the bright covers and hokey posters were serious pamphlets and broadsides that told the plain unvarnished truth, but nobody was pushing those. The fast-buck artists and second-handers and recyclers had moved in and were making a killing while the real truth languished unnoticed, unread.
He found Shelby amid the flying saucer refrigerator magnets, green alien glo-pops, action figures of Men In Black and gray aliens, and miniature flying saucers of all shapes and sizes, labeled as either "scouts" or "motherships."
"See?" Zaleski said through clenched teeth as he came up behind Shelby.
He hadn't meant to speak but this shit never failed to put him over the edge. Every time he stepped into one of these places he felt like doing a Jesus-and-the-moneychangers number.
Shelby turned. "Oh, hey, Jim. I thought you were going to the"
"See what I was talking about?" Jim said, hearing his voice rise. "This is what I meant by trivialization. These creeps are selling the human race down the river with this cutesy shit. Anything to make a lousy fucking buck. Lemme outta here before I strangle one of these assholes!"
To hell with Shelby. Who cared who he was. The worst enemies of the truth were right here in this room!
Without saying anything more, he pushed his way through the crowd and found the door.
5
Definitely a loose cannon, Jack thought, watching Zaleski go. Ready to blow somebody away at the slightest provocationif he hasn't already.
Jack hung around a little longer, checking out the goodies. He found a wristwatch in the shape of a gray alien's head, with flying saucers on the hour and minute hands. He bought it for Vicky. She was going to love it.
He sighed as he stuffed the watch in his pocket, fighting the feeling of futility that was slowly enveloping him. At least he'd come out of the morning with something. He sure as hell hadn't got any closer to finding Melanie Ehler.
Jack had been giving some thought to this gig while browsing the exhibit area. The nightmare last night, the weird crate in his bathroom ... something very wrong here ... and a damn certain feeling that things were going to become much more wrong before the conference was over. His gut urged him to cut and run now.
At least the tension he'd sensed coiling in the hotel all yesterday seemed to have eased this morning, as if a pent-up charge had been released.
He spotted Lew in the common area outside the exhibit room, and ducked toward the escalator, hoping to get away without being seen. He was itching to get over to Gia's.
But no such luck.
"Jack!" Lew called, hurrying toward him. "Have you found any leads?" he asked when he reached him.
Jack shook his head. "Nothing useful. Look," he said slowly, not sure exactly how to phrase this, "I don't know if I'm the right guy for this job."
Lew stared at him with a stricken look. "You can't be serious."
Yeah, he could be ... pretty much.
"I'll give you the money back, Lew."
"I don't care about the money. It's Mel I want!" His face screwed up. He looked like he was about to cry.
"Easy, Lew."
"Don't say that when you don't know what she means to me. I was nothing before I met her."
"I thought you said you owned that plant over in"
"Yeah, sure, I owned it, but I was letting it go to hell. I thought it was too much for me, that I wasn't up to running a business by myself. I was trying to sell it when I met her. She turned me around. She told me I could do it. She said I was perfectly capable of handling it, and she helped me. She showed me how. And you know what? She was right. I damn well could do it. I just never believed it. With this gimpy leg, I was never able to keep up with the other kids while I was growing upcouldn't run worth a damn, couldn't climb worth a damnand that's how I began to think of myself: not worth a damn."
"Yeah, but" Jack said, trying to sneak a word in. He didn't need to hear Lew's life story.
"But Mel changed all that. In my whole life I've never felt so good about myself. And it's all because of Mel. That's why you've got to find her, Jack. Without her, life means nothing to me. And you're the only one. 'Only Repairman Jack can find me. Only he will understand.' Remember?"
"Yeah," Jack said glumly, feeling trapped. "I remember."
"So please, I'm begging you"
"All right. I'll keep plugging, but"
"Oh, thank you! Thank you!"
Lew tried to wrap him in a bear hug but Jack dodged clear.
"Hey, hey. None of that. We haven't even known each other two days. But I've got to tell you, it's not looking great."
"You're the one," Lew said with a burst of confidence. "Mel said you're the one and Melanie's never wrong."
"Let's hope so," Jack said.
6
Roma stood with a group of SESOUP members, trying to appear interested in their vacuous blather as he kept an eye on the stranger. The man who called himself Jack Shelby was in animated conversation with Lew Ehler at the far end of the common area. He wished he knew the connection between those two.