Serenity closed her eyes. “Not happening this year. Same words that we heard last year. While the last mayor found the money two years ago to clear the land next door and pour the slab for the expansion, current conditions—that’s their phrase—do not permit us to complete the project at this time.”
Doom slapped the blueprints. “No tutoring area for kids and teachers?”
“No.”
Doom slapped them harder. “No incubator for writers and entrepreneurs, small creators who can use the library to form the creative core of the city?”
“No.”
Joy mumbled. “Not even the coffee shop?”
Serenity opened her eyes but couldn’t look at either Joy or Doom. “Maybe next year. You know how it goes. Every year, I go back and beg the council. Sometimes I get some money; sometimes not. It’s the way the game’s played.”
Doom uttered an un-library-like expletive and dropped herself back into her chair. “Screw the game. We’re not giving up books. Cut my salary.”
“Not mine,” said Joy. “Got a spot on my stomach just itching for skin art of the Last Supper with the masters of rock and roll as disciples.”
“I’m not cutting anybody’s salary. You two are all we’ve got. It’s my job to get my ass out there and beg for a little more. Enough to keep us alive.”
Doom had her arms folded. “I will not give up. You said we were going to build something new, starting right here in Maddington. A place where, when people had questions, they got answers. When people needed help, they got help. A city of books; a city built on knowledge and its power. You said that. Was that just talk?”
Serenity looked at the ceiling. “Yes, it was.”
four
jiminy damn cricket
THE WOMEN LEFT. Serenity reached over to the table and picked up a blue mug with the words she blinded me with library science on it. Then she took out the Myers’s for reinforcement. Halfway through pouring, she looked up and saw Joy slouching at the door, pulling her long-sleeved shirt on.
“That’s not coffee,” Joy said.
Serenity took a long sip and the smooth, sweet burn took her away to a Florida Panhandle beach with white sands and gentle waves.
“Ain’t rat pee either,” she said.
“Good point.”
Joy was studying her arm. “You need something, Joy?”
“No. But you do.” Joy looked up from her arm. “Here’s the thing. If you keep eating shit, all they’ll do is let you—and the library and the city—eat more shit. That’s the game they’ve got you playing.”
“Who’s they?”
“The rulers of the world, particularly here in sweet little Maddington. The big dogs and the big crooks and the big corporations that run this city like their own personal trough.”
“Joy.”
“Really, did you not see The Matrix? Whole movie was based on the idea that everything we think we see is just an illusion created by the evil real world to keep us asleep and happy, while the masters rip off the world and take what they want and leave us with crumbs. Everybody liked that movie because, deep down, they knew it was the model for their own little city.”
“I think some of your tattoo ink went to your brain.”
“Can’t you hear the masters laughing behind your back while you’re begging for scraps?” Joy asked. “Then they take all the good stuff for themselves and dare the world to stop them. Don’t you know how to read those polite rejection letters they send you?”
“Of course I know how to read,” said Serenity.
“No, you know how to read nice things, like an RSVP to a tea party. The real world ain’t no tea party—particularly here in Maddington. You need something to translate nice-speak to real-speak before you read anything else from the masters of the dirty world. Here. Pick up any of the polite letters you’ve got explaining why rich and powerful people can’t contribute to the library.”
Serenity rummaged through a stack and came up with a letter written on expensive paper. “Here’s a letter from Lois Treland. She’s a very nice lady who wanted to help but couldn’t.”
“Treland?” Joy asked. “The developer who was almost bankrupt until our local congressman told the EPA that the land she wanted to build on wasn’t really wetlands, it was just a temporary vacation spot for ducks who could be happily relocated by hunters?”
“Yeah.”
“So now Treland’s rich. Richer. Okay. I haven’t seen the letter, right?”
Serenity nodded.
“Let’s read it out loud,” Joy said. “Except that, anywhere they say, ‘we care deeply,’ read, ‘we don’t give a shit.’ Anywhere you see, ‘we see the value of your project,’ read, ‘we don’t see how this could possibly give us more hookers or high-quality cocaine.’ And any sentence with the word ‘nice’ in it becomes ‘go to hell.’ Now read.”
Serenity looked down at the paper.
“Out loud, please,” said Joy. “I think you need the education.”
Serenity grumped but read.
“Dear Ms. Hammer.” She raised an eyebrow to Joy to show how polite this was.
“I…” Serenity hesitated, but made the change. “…don’t give a shit about the needs of the city of Maddington. While the Maddington Library is a shining jewel of our community, I… do not see how it can supply us with more hookers or high-quality cocaine. Therefore, I must regretfully decline, but be assured that I sincerely wish that you and the library have a nice day.” Serenity paused and looked evenly at Joy as she corrected the last sentence.
“I sincerely wish that you and the library would go to hell.”
Now Joy raised an eyebrow. “Does that feel about right?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Somedays. In any case, thanks for your input. It’s good for us to have an ex-cop in here. Little different attitude than most librarians.”
Joy laughed. “Yeah, I’m the MAD Jiminy Damn Cricket. And you don’t want to know the translation for ‘thanks for your input.’”
“No, I mean it, Ms. Cricket,” said Serenity. “Thanks. But what difference does it make? They’ve still got everything we need.”
“That’s because they’ve got everything they can steal, and lawyers and political action committees to see that they don’t go to jail. And, they know that nice people like you will be satisfied begging for rat pee.”
“Begging is all I’ve got.”
Just then the phone rang, and Serenity punched the speaker button.
“Maddington Library. Serenity Hammer speaking.”
“Lie-brarian Hammer, I want you in my office in ten minutes.”
“Councilman Bentley.”
“Councilman Doctor Bentley. My office manager said you wanted to waste some of my time. I’ve got time in ten minutes. After that, I’m booked all week.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Hurry up.”
“Yes, sir.” She took a sip of rum and looked over at Joy. “And Councilman?”
“What?”
Serenity purred. “Have a very nice day.”
five
rectal thermometer
COUNCILMAN DOCTOR BENTLEY was a pediatrician popular with every parent in Maddington who wanted someone to be tough on their kids. That left him plenty of time to be a city councilman who was tough on the city and the money-wasting bureaucrats who worked for it.
Serenity had been sitting alone in Doctor Bentley’s waiting room for thirty minutes, reading three-year-old Highlights magazines and an ageless Bible Stories in Pictures. She looked at the receptionist behind her Plexiglas window and smiled. Sharon smiled back, so Serenity stood up and walked over, if only for the change.