The old lady had dragged her card across the scanning thingy again, but nothing was happening. The computer produced a beeping sound every time the card was flashed, but gave no other indication of what could possibly be wrong.
“If I were you I’d simply pull the plug and restart the damn thing,” said the old lady. “That’s what I do when my computer starts acting up again. Usually does the trick.”
“Isn’t it working?” asked the lady behind the old lady.
“Computer is acting up,” said the old lady.
“Can’t you fix it, young man?” asked the woman.
“I’m new,” said Johnny. “I don’t know how it works.”
“Oh,” said the lady with a look of censure that cut through Johnny like a knife. “Where is Marge? Usually she knows what to do.”
“Marge is not here,” said Johnny.
“Well, can’t you call someone?” asked the old lady. “Ask them to come and fix the damn computer?”
“Why is this taking so long?” asked a third lady, impatiently tapping her foot.
“The computer is broken and this man doesn’t know how to fix it,” said the old lady.
Johnny swallowed convulsively. Even prison was better than this. He picked up his phone and stabbed Marge’s number into it. “Mrs. P?” he asked the moment she picked up. “Oh, thank God! The computer doesn’t work, and there’s a long line of people waiting with their books and I don’t know what to do. Help!”
He was having a panic attack. He’d heard about those. You could die from a panic attack.
“Calm down, Johnny,” said Marge, her voice cool, crisp and competent. “We’re going to fix this. Tell me exactly what’s happening. Describe it to me.”
“I’m scanning this old babe’s card and the computer keeps saying beep beep beep.”
“Hey, show some respect, young man!” snapped the old dame.
“Don’t call her an old babe, Johnny,” Marge advised. “She probably won’t like it.”
“But she’s old, and she’s a babe,” Johnny argued.
This seemed to please the old dame, for she smiled a crooked smile. “You think I’m a babe?”
“You look real good for your age, ma’am,” he said truthfully. “You got a great rack.”
This seemed to please the old dame even more, for she simpered at him.
“Did you just tell a client she has a great rack, Johnny?” asked Marge.
“Well, she does,” said Johnny. “She’s got a great pair of—”
“Let’s fix the computer, shall we?” Marge suggested. “Press the enter button.”
He pressed the enter button. And as she fed him her instructions, he was pleased to note that they did the trick, and soon the PC was ready to accept the old lady’s card.
The line of people had grown, and his armpits were drenched, but he was getting there, and with Marge’s assistance he checked out the old babe’s books, and then proceeded to the next customer, and the next, and finally, when he was doing customer number four, Marge said she thought he was ready to fly solo, and so he did.
He found that it was a lot easier than he’d imagined, and by the time he’d processed the entire line of customers, he felt on top of the world.
So when Jerry emerged from the basement, covered in dust and dirt, he cried, “Jerry! I did it! I checked out the books and it worked!”
“Great,” said Jerry acerbically. “Now you can go and drill a hole. I think I hit a patch of concrete and I can’t punch through.”
“But I’m needed here,” he said. “I can’t leave my station.”
“I’ll do the library, you do the hole,” said Jerry, and took up position behind the counter, looking like a curmudgeonly leprechaun who’d just crawled out of a chimney.
“It’s not so easy,” said Johnny. “You have to handle this computer with care and affection.”
“Go and drill that hole already,” Jerry growled, and grabbed a card from the next customer and dragged it past the scanner.
The old lady stared at him, her eyes wide and fearful, then said, “Maybe I’ll come back another time,” and tried to take back her card.
But Jerry wasn’t having any of that nonsense, and hung onto her card tightly. After a short tug of war, which Jerry won, he grabbed her first book.
“Fifty Shades of Grey. What’s that all about?”
Johnny, shaking his head, walked off in the direction of the basement stairs.
He had made a startling discovery. He liked working at the library. And for the first time in his life a flicker of doubt entered his mind, such as it was.
Had he chosen the right profession when turning to a life of crime?
Chapter 13
“I’m not sure it was such a good idea to leave Johnny and Jerry in charge of the library,” said Marge after she hung up.
“How hard can it be, Mom?” said Odelia. “And besides, there’s nothing to steal, right?”
“Just books,” said Marge. “Why? Do you think those boys aren’t fully rehabilitated yet?”
“They’re career criminals, and it’s probably hard for career criminals to change careers, just because a judge told them to. But I think you’re safe. Even if they decided to steal a bunch of books, what are they going to do with them?”
Her daughter’s words didn’t do much to reassure Marge she’d made the right decision, but then again, what other choice did she have? She didn’t want to close up the library, and Marcie, who usually took care of the library when Marge was indisposed or otherwise engaged, had intimated she had stuff to do and couldn’t get away right then.
She and Odelia had walked the length of the path that led from the main house to the gamekeeper’s cottage and had arrived there to find the front door ajar.
It was a small cottage, as cottages go, and she wondered how anyone could live there.
Once they set foot inside, she saw that it consisted of the one space, with a small sleeping loft where a mattress had been placed and where presumably Fabio and Grace had conducted their torrid and sordid affair, as her husband had indicated.
Painted canvasses littered the main space, and on an easel in front of the window a large canvas had been placed with a work in progress. It depicted Grace, and Marge studied it for a moment. “She’s pretty,” said Odelia, joining her.
“Yes, Grace was always pretty. Prettiest girl in school, which is probably why Jock fell for her. She was also rumored to be easy, which was another reason she was so popular.”
“Ugh, high school gossip is the worst,” said Odelia with a shiver.
“Yeah, high school isn’t always the best time of your life, as everyone keeps insisting.”
“More like the worst time,” said Odelia.
Marge looked up in surprise. “Why? I thought you had a great time in high school?”
“Yeah, well, I had some issues of my own, Mom.”
This was the first she’d heard of this. “Issues? What issues?”
“You know, the usual. Boyfriend stuff, and jealous girlfriend stuff.”
“Boyfriend stuff? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend in high school.”
“Well, I had, and he was great, until I discovered he didn’t mind spreading around some of that greatness to other girls he assured were also his girlfriends, and then when I confronted him he asked me to go exclusive, which was great. Until I discovered he’d fooled me again, as he’d made that same promise to half a dozen other girls.”
“Nice. Who was this boy?”
“Oh, you don’t know him.”
“Try me.”
“Um, Larry Farnsworth?”
“Jock’s son? No way!”
“Yes, way,” said Odelia, looking a little shamefaced.
In spite of herself Marge had to laugh, earning her a prod in the ribs from her daughter. “It’s not funny, Mom! It was all very humiliating and very terrible.”
“Of course it was. Like father, like son, huh?”
“Looks like it.” Odelia smiled. “At least we all became good friends after we dumped Larry’s ass.”