Play with Fire

chapter Twenty-Nine

IN WARMER WEATHER, Harvard Square was a bustling place, full of strolling students, food vendors, street musicians, petition tables, and the best-educated panhandlers in North America. But in March, with the wind blowing off the Charles River at twenty miles an hour with gusts up to thirty-five, there were still plenty of people about, but they were all bundled up and walking rapidly, hoping to get home, get to class, get to work, get laid, get anywhere that’s out of the damn wind.

Adelson’s Rare Books and Antiquities was located a few doors down from the intersection of Mt. Auburn and Kennedy streets. As a building it was long, rather than wide, with a storefront that measured twenty-two feet across. Adelson’s looked out on the Square through two small display windows, each of which featured a carefully lit display of books that, together, cost more than most mid-size cars.

The taxi dropped Morris and Chastain off in front of the store at about four thirty p.m., and they had to step carefully over a snow-covered curb to reach the red brick sidewalk. They did not linger over the window displays and instead walked rapidly to the heavy, wooden front door and slipped inside.

Neither of them had paid any attention to the coffee shop across the street, or to the man sitting at a window table who had gone through two sandwiches and six coffee refills waiting for their arrival. He was a large man with wide shoulders, a big jaw, and eyebrows so long and thick that they seemed to meet in the middle of his forehead. As Morris and Chastain went into Adelson’s, the big man stood up, his knees cracking. Dropping a couple of twenties on the table, he headed for the door. He did not walk particularly fast, but everyone in his path moved aside to let him pass. A few moments later, the man was standing at the curb, waiting for a break in the traffic that would let him cross the street without mortal injury.

Inside Adelson’s, the quiet was an almost palpable thing, in sharp contrast with the noisy street outside. But then, the rare book business tends not to attract a rowdy crowd. At this hour on a Thursday, it apparently had attracted no one at all; Morris and Chastain appeared to be the only customers.

Thirty feet or so from the front door there was a large antique desk. Behind it sat a small antique man with thick glasses and thin hair. Morris and Libby stood before the desk, with Morris feeling a bit like a tardy kid who has been sent to the principal’s office.

“Mr. Adelson?” Libby asked. She did not quite whisper.

“No, I’m afraid not,” the old man said. “My name is Schwartz, and I am the chief clerk. May I assist you?”

“We would really like to speak with Mister Adelson,” Morris said. “It’s a very important matter.” He handed the man a business card that read “Morris and Chastain Investigations” with contact information for both New York City and Austin, Texas.

If Mr. Schwartz was impressed, he concealed it very well. “Mister Adelson normally sees people only by appointment,” he said.

“He is in, then,” Libby said. “Excellent. May I?”

She took the card back, wrote on the blank side “Corpus Hermeticum?” and returned it to Mr. Schwartz.

“If you’ll show that to Mister Adelson, I think he’ll give us a few moments of his time,” she said, adding just a tiny bit of magical “push” to the words.

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Schwartz said. “Excuse me a moment.”

He was back within a minute. Seeming slightly surprised, he said, “Mr. Adelson will see you. If you would both follow me.”

He led them to a door that opened onto a corridor. There was a door labeled “Utilities,” another with a sign that said “Receiving,” and a third door that had nothing on it at all. That was the door Mr. Schwartz knocked on. Hearing a voice from within bellow, “Come in!” he opened the door and motioned the visitors through. To the man behind the desk he said, “These are the people I spoke about, Mr. Adelson.”

“Fine, Stanley, thank you.”

Schwartz left, and the man seated behind the large, cluttered desk rose to greet them. In a voice that was too loud for the size of the room, he said, “Hello, I’m David Adelson – but then you’ve probably determined that already.”

“I’m Quincey Morris, Mr. Adelson.” Morris leaned over to shake hands. “And this is Libby Chastain.”

“Yes,” Adelson said with a smile. “I had determined that already. Do sit down.”

The man from the coffee shop came into Adelson’s about then. Closing the big door, he rested his back against it for a moment, looking around the shop with questing eyes. He raised his head slightly, almost as he were sniffing the air.

As he approached Mr. Schwartz’s desk, the old man stared and asked “Can... can I help you sir?”

“Just looking,” the man growled, and kept on walking.

Quincey Morris, meanwhile, had just concluded that David Adelson didn’t look much like a man whose passion was rare books. He belonged on a safari in Africa or someplace, looking strong and manly as he shot something good and true and real. Adelson stood about 6’5”, with a barrel chest that was clearly the source for the booming voice. His styled hair was white, as was the closely-trimmed full beard. He wore an ivory rollneck sweater and a pair of old Levis. The eyeglasses that hung around his neck by a cord were the only concession to the book business that Morris could see.

They hung their coats on a nearby rack, but Libby hung on to her leather purse, which now rested in her lap.

Adelson studied their business card, or pretended to. “So you two are partners. Why kind of things do you investigate, exactly?

“Whatever our clients ask us to, Mr. Adelson,” Libby said.

“They come from all walks of life,” Morris said, “and some of them have problems that are... unusual, if not outright bizarre.”

“I see,” Adelson said, although he clearly didn’t. He turned the card over and looked at what Libby had written on the back. “Corpus Hermeticum,” he read aloud, pronouncing each syllable distinctly. “I assume this is the name of a book.”

“A very old one,” Morris said. “1471, or thereabouts. It’s the Latin translation of a book of occult knowledge. The original was written in Egyptian-Greek, but no copies of that are known to exist.”

As Morris was speaking, Libby Chastain had slipped a hand inside her purse, to grasp a small vial she had put there earlier.

“Occult knowledge,” Adelson said, tapping one corner of the card on his desk. “And you’re interested in having us locate this book for you?”

Morris nodded. “We’ve heard that a copy – or rather, a set, since it’s five volumes – has come onto the market recently.”

Adelson raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Indeed? I confess I’ve never heard of the work, and I like to think I’m pretty well plugged into all the rumors and gossip that are rampant in the profession.”

“This particular set was stolen recently,” Morris said, “from a supposedly secure repository in Montana. An expert, fella name of Robert Sutorius, was hired to break in and get it. He pulled it off, too.”

Adelson kept his face blank, but a pulsing vein suddenly appeared below his left ear.

After trying to stare Morris down without success, Adelson slammed one huge paw down on the desk with a sound like a gunshot. “If you’re implying that I would have anything to do with stolen property,” he said loudly, “you are sadly mistaken, sir. I’m afraid I must ask you both to–”

“Excuse me,” Libby said. She stood up, leaned over Adelson’s immense desk, and blew a small quantity of blue powder into his face.

“What the hell are you doing, woman? Is this–”

Libby sat down again and said the same three words of power that she had uttered in Robert Sutorius’s home. But the effect was very different this time.

Adelson immediately became calm. He sat there, blinking blue powder off his eyelashes, his face expressionless.

Libby had explained earlier that since she had cast the spell, she must be the one to ask the questions, although Morris could prompt her if needed.

“I’m going to ask you some things, Mr. Adelson, and your answers will be complete and utterly truthful. You will want to tell me the truth.

“Yes, of course.” Adelson seemed to slowly come out of his trance. He swiveled his chair to face Libby, crossed his legs, and folded his hands over his midsection. “Ask away.”

“Did you hire Robert Sutorius to steal the Corpus Hermeticum?”

“Yes, I did. I thought he did a marvelous job.”

“Why did you hire him?”

“I had a client who wanted the book. Actually, he was only interested in volume five.”

“Then why did Sutorius steal all of it?”

“He doesn’t read Latin, and thought the volume might possibly have been shelved out of order. So, to be sure he had the right one, he took the whole thing.”

“So he brought you all five volumes?”

“Yes. I increased his fee, since he had gone beyond the call of duty, as it were.” Adelson chuckled at his little joke.

“Could you tell which one was volume five?”

“Oh, certainly. I’m quite proficient at Latin – in this business, you have to be. It only took me a minute to identify the volume that my client wanted.”

“What did you do with the other four volumes?”

“I kept them. Even an incomplete set of a work that old is bound to fetch a good price, one of these days.”

“Where are they now?”

“In the basement – locked up in the vault we keep for ultra-valuable books.”

“What was your client’s name?”

“He called himself Theron Ware. I assumed that was an alias. As long as he wasn’t planning to pay by check, I didn’t give a damn.” Adelson chuckled again. He seemed to be having a great time.

I should try some of that powder myself one of these days, Morris thought. On the other hand, maybe not. I’ve got far too many secrets that need keeping.

“Describe Mister Ware for me, please,” Libby said.

“Tall – not as tall as me, maybe around 6’2”. Very thin. Skinny, even. Thirty-five to forty, I’d say. Had a thin beard like some of the younger men sport now. I think it looks stupid, frankly. He wore sunglasses and a hat when we talked, as if I gave a damn what he looked like.”

“How many times did you two meet?”

“Just twice. The first time was when we made the deal. I told him I wanted half my fee in advance, and he didn’t argue. The second time, he brought the balance of the payment due and picked up the book. I tried to interest him in the other four volumes, for a higher price of course, but he didn’t want them. Said the fifth was the one he needed.”

“Did he use the word ‘needed?’”

“Yes, he did.”

“What did your total fee come to?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand. Fifty of that went to Sutorius, of course.”

Morris glanced at his watch. Libby had said that the spell was good for fifteen to thirty minutes, depending on the individual. They were getting close to fifteen minutes already, so Adelson might lose his desire to cooperate any time now.

He said softly to Libby, “We should get those four books, if we can.”

“Mr. Adelson,” Libby said, “you know that those four volumes in your vault are stolen property.”

“Of course they are – I’m the one who had them stolen.”

“If you’re caught with them, you’d probably go to prison. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know. I worry about that, sometimes.”

“But if you gave the books to us for safekeeping, there’d be nothing for you to worry about, would there?”

This time, Adelson hesitated for a second before responding. “No, there wouldn’t.”

“Would you like to do that? Let us take those books away before you get into trouble?”

A longer pause this time. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Let’s go down to the vault now and get them. Would that be all right with you?”

“Well, I don’t know if–”

“You really want to give us those books, so you can sleep better at night. Isn’t that true?”

This time, Adelson waited so long before replying that Morris was contemplating telling Libby that the game was up, and they should get the hell of there.

“Yes, you’re right,” Adelson said slowly. “I suppose I would feel better, if I did that.”

“Why don’t we go right now, then?”

“Okay.”

Adelson stood, as did Morris and Chastain. When Libby turned his way, Morris gave her a look that said, I’m getting pretty nervous about this.

Libby replied with a shrug and a facial expression that told him, as clearly as if she had spoken, We might as well go all in.

Morris thought about the implications of “all in.” It means you either win big – or you lose everything.