“Amanda. I came in here to apologize for snapping at you yesterday. And for—everything.”
Doom was slumped over the one functioning desk in the middle of the room, her hands on the keyboard and her red-rimmed eyes locked on the monitor, refusing to look Serenity in the eye. “No need, Mistress Hammer. I am your slave. I get it.”
“Oh, for crying out loud. Dealing with you is like dealing with a teenager. You’re nobody’s slave. It’s just a job, not a mission from God. If libraries are folding all over the country, you can still have a good job and a good life doing stuff like this. Keeping up the city’s software is important. The city bills all the utilities and cable TV and internet services through this system.”
Doom said, “And a hundred million other little funds and accounts, taxes, and who knows what. There’s too much here for anybody to pay attention to most of it. Most of what they’ve got me doing isn’t even software development, just low-level accounting crap. None of this is worth even one of those books out there.”
“C’mon.”
Doom stabbed the screen. “Look at what I’m working on right now: a fraction of a cent. You’ve taken me away from Jane Austen and put me to work justifying pennies. Less than pennies. See, this person owes the city one hundred seventy-five dollars and thirty-four cents for their electricity last month. Actually, they owe 34.12 cents. So, the city bills them for thirty-five cents, and passes thirty-four cents on to the electric company. At the end of the day, those pennies get swept into a fund called ‘Residuals’ and that account has to have a justification written at the end of the month explaining where the money came from, since it really isn’t owed to the city and it comes from no specific source.
“It doesn’t matter what you write for the justification, because nobody ever cares enough to look at it or look at this account at all. So, instead of protecting books that people want to read, I’m fabricating paragraphs that no one will ever read.”
Serenity waved her finger at Doom. “Young lady, you don’t realize how lucky you are to have a job and a skill. Even after the library’s gone—”
She looked at the screen and stopped with her mouth open and her finger hanging in midair. Then she dragged a child’s chair over and sat next to Doom. She looked at Doom, looked back at the screen, then looked back at Doom. “That’s it. Our power is books. They don’t control the books. We do. We rule the books. Even these books.”
“Ha. Ha,” said Doom. “You’ve said that a million times. It was inspiring when you promised me Shakespeare and the Bronte sisters, but now you just give me the city’s accounting books. Very funny.”
“No. Really. Our power is books.”
Serenity drummed Mockingbird against Doom’s desk while she studied the figures and tried to get a thought out of her head.
The AC bill had five figures next to it. The Residuals fund had five figures next to it. High five figures.
And nobody cared.
Doom tried to say something but Serenity cut her off and shoved her aside. “Get your ass out there and open all the inner office doors that you can. Except for this one. Get as much AC out of the offices and into the public areas. Give me every minute you can. I’ll take over here.”
“I don’t know how much good just opening doors is going to do,” Doom said. “And really, Ms. Hammer, you don’t know how to do this stuff here.”
“Out. Now. Give me every minute you can. And lock this door behind you.”
Doom went “mpft” and stomped out of the room.
Serenity heard the door slam and click at her back. She logged Doom out, then logged in as herself. A few taps, and the Residuals fund was on the left side of the screen, the Library Special Projects fund on the right. There was a line of action buttons in the middle. One read, one-time transfer.
No one would ever know.
She looked at the box next to the actions that read authorization. Telling herself it was just curiosity, she tapped the pull-down and looked at the list: City Council President, City Financial Director, Mayor. Not Librarian.
Good. Can’t do this. Even if I wanted to.
More curiosity. She selected “Mayor.” A box popped up with password beside it. She thought of the mayor, giggled, and entered “Password.”
The authorization box disappeared, replaced by a single word, authorized.
Serenity sat back and looked down at the book in her hand. Atticus Finch’s stern face stared out at her. She imagined his finger coming out of the cover to shake at her.
“You always fought fair, Atticus Finch,” she said. “Fought by the nice book.”
She looked again at the numbers on the screen.
“You fought fair, and you were always honest and righteous. You won respect. And Tom Robinson—the man who trusted you with his life—died in prison while you played fair, you son of a bitch.”
The book flew out of her hand and slammed against the wall.
She pushed the button.
sixteen
thirty seconds over maddington
“THIRTY SECONDS,” said Serenity. “If I can have you a check in thirty seconds, when can you have us up and running?”
The HVAC guy looked up. “Lunch time. Maybe sooner, if we can get the parts out here fast. We’ll do the compressor as soon as it gets here and do the maintenance work tonight when its cooler.”
“Get that compressor moving. I want to see it in the parking lot before I hear another complaint.”
He saluted.
Joy was slowly checking out a stack of books to a woman with five kids, all of them sweating and the kids were whining. Serenity scooped up the books and dumped them on the woman.
“Book freedom day,” she said. She looked at the line of nice people waiting politely to check out books. “Don’t take the time to check things out in this heat. Take what you need, bring them back when you’re done. This is your library, and we trust you.”
She snatched Joy up by one elbow and dragged her, complaining, to the front door. “Find something to prop these doors open. It’s hotter in here than it is outside. Greet people as they’re coming in. Explain the situation to them, tell them to get what they need and get out without taking the time to check out.”
“You can’t just—”
“We can and we are. We’re not closing these doors, and we’re doing everything to stop complaints. Now go. I’ve got a check to cut.”
She sprinted to her office. Cool air poured out when she opened the door. She grabbed a stack of brochures and used them to prop the door open, then went to her computer and opened up the accounting program and sent a check to her printer. While it was printing, she picked up the phone.
“Janice?” she said. “Give me a price now, and I mean right now. Everything we owe you, plus enough to cover the next year.”
“Well, I can talk to the boss and see if we can get you a discount for—”
“Too slow. Give me full price right now.”
She gave her a number.
“Good. Get down to the library in the next fifteen minutes, pick up this check, and take it straight to the bank.”
“Serenity, is this check hot?”
“Everything down here is hot as hell today, and I mean everything. You want your money?”
“I’m walking out to my car.”
Serenity sent the second check to the printer. When she looked at the balance, it was almost gone. Good. If they caught her, there would be less for them to take back. She grabbed the checks and ran out. The HVAC man was standing in the doorway, smiling.
“Truck’s pulling into the lot now. I told them to hustle.”
“Thanks.” She handed him the check. “When the driver has unloaded the compressor, tell him to take this back to the office, and deposit it today.”
He looked at her but took the check. “Sure.”
Serenity next caught Joy and handed her the other check. “Janice is going to be here any minute. Don’t let her even get out of her car. Give her this and get her on her way. I don’t have time to talk to her right now.”
She marched through the main room and ignored the chaos as the nice people of Maddington fought over books that had always been free anyway as if they were designer dresses at a penny-a-dress sale. Serenity patted a little girl who was running with a stack of Seuss books as tall as her head.
“Read them all, dear,” she said.
Serenity then had to separate the garden club president and the Baptist minister’s wife who were fighting over a DVD of The Untouchables.
“Dears, this is too violent for either of you. You want, hmm…” She rummaged through a pile of books now on the floor and came up with one of Debra Webb’s steamiest romances and handed it to the garden club president, “this.” She dove into the pile again. “And you, dearie, you really need this.” She handed the Baptist minister’s wife a copy of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. “Now go on out.”
She found Doom throwing doors open. “When you finish with that, find every volunteer you can. Get them to stand by the front door. They can take everybody who comes in by the hand, help them find what they need and get them back out quickly.”
“Ms. Hammer, people are going crazy. This is crazier than Christmas Eve at Belk’s Department Store.”
“Great, isn’t it? And we really aren’t doing anything we haven’t always done. Books have always been free. But by reminding them that it’s their library, and their books, we’ve turned our polite customers into an enthusiastic mob.”
She looked at the chaos of people fighting over books. Then she put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. Heads popped up and froze, like groundhogs caught in the crosshairs.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is what our library is going to be from now on. Welcome to the MAD.”