Play with Fire

chapter Thirty

WALKING SLOWLY, AS if in a dream – or just coming out of one – Adelson led them from his office to an unmarked door in the store proper, Morris and Libby in tow. It seemed no new customers had come in since Morris and Libby had been shown to Adelson’s office – with the exception of a large, hairy man near the back of the store who appeared to be absorbed in a large book with gilt binding.

From his post near the opposite wall, Mr. Schwartz observed the procession and asked, “Is everything all right, Mister Adelson?”

Adelson turned and looked at the man as if he had never seen him before. After a hesitation that went on far too long, in Morris’s opinion, he said, “Everything’s fine.”

Unlocking the door, Adelson said, “We, uh, keep a lot of our stock down there, along with our most valuable books. Visitors are only allowed by invitation.”

“Then how lucky we are that you invited us,” Libby said.

“Yes,” Adelson said absently. “Yes, quite.”

He flicked on a switch and began to descend a set of uncarpeted wooden steps. Libby followed him. Morris, who was last in line, pulled the door closed behind him. It had a key-operated deadbolt, so he couldn’t relock it, even if he’d wanted to.

It was instantly clear that most of the interior decoration budget had been lavished on the showroom upstairs. Morris reached the bottom of the steps to find a concrete floor, a series of bare light bulbs, and two rows of large bookcases that spanned the length of the large room. The bookcases had seen better days, although the volumes they held all appeared to be free of dust.

Upstairs, the big man who had come in after Morris and Chastain replaced the book he had been pretending to look at. He walked rapidly over to Mr. Schwartz’s desk, his shoes making no noise on the hardwood floor.

In the animal kingdom, a creature that combines size with stealth is to be greatly feared, for those are the components of doom.

The old man, absorbed in an issue of The Bookman, only became aware of the other’s presence when his shadow fell across the page. Mr. Schwartz, whose hearing was acute for one his age, started in surprise. Looking up, he actually cringed a little.

The big man looked down and rumbled, “Restroom?”

“B-behind you,” Mr. Schwartz said, pointing with a hand that was even more unsteady than usual. “Second door on the left.”

That lavatory was supposed to be reserved for the staff, its use extended to the occasional wealthy client only with Mr. Adelson’s permission. But Mr. Schwartz would have no more said “No” to that man than he would have stuck his hand down a whirling garbage disposal. He hoped the stranger would do his business in there and then leave. Someone like him didn’t belong in Adelson’s. He simply wasn’t their kind of person.

Downstairs, Adelson led Morris and Libby down a long row between bookcases. At its end was a vault that had been built into the wall. It looked as if it might be large enough inside for a man Morris’s height to stand upright, but just barely. The vault must have been installed before the invention of keypad lock controls – it still had a combination wheel that had to be turned to the correct sequence of numbers for the lock to disengage.

Instead of bending to the task of getting the immense door open, Adelson turned and looked at them, a deep frown on his face. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he said slowly. “Those four volumes could be worth a lot of money someday.”

Libby spoke to him as if to a not-very-bright child. “But, David, money will do you no good if you’re in prison. Receiving stolen property is a serious crime, and if the police find out about that, they’ll probably start looking into all your business dealings, going back for years. Who knows what they might find, David.”

“Oh, well, yes. I try not to think about that,” Adelson said. But he still did not turn back to the vault. Libby rested her hand on the back of Adelson’s neck and put her mouth close to his ear. In a voice so low that Morris could barely hear it, she said, “Think of it, David. Prison. No more good food or fine wine. No more beautiful rare books. No more women. And there are some big, mean men in there who would probably want to use you like a woman, David. Do you understand?”

“Dear God,” Adelson said, blinking rapidly. Then he nodded. “Yes, you should take those books out of here, right away.”

“Of course we will,” Libby said. “All you have to do is let us in.”

Adelson turned and put three fingers around the large metal dial set into the vault’s door. He began slowly to turn it.

MR. SCHWARTZ HAD become so engrossed in an article about bookbinding during the American Revolution that he actually forgot for a few minutes about the man who was using the staff bathroom. Then he heard the door open, looked up, and beheld something out of a nightmare.

The immense creature, which, under its thick fur, bore a resemblance to the man Mr. Schwartz had seen enter the lavatory, crossed the distance between them in three bounds. Mr. Schwartz was able to get to his feet – he managed that much. But his plan to scream for help was never realized. It is, after all, difficult to scream when a set of claws, that a grizzly might envy, have just torn your throat out. Mr. Schwartz collapsed to the floor, and a few seconds later, found the mercy of death.

A few minutes later, the thing that had killed him moved to the basement door, which he had seen Morris and Chastain go through a few minutes earlier. Nothing in his instructions covered the white-haired man who had gone with them, but he would die, too, of course. The rule was: never leave eyewitnesses. Besides, the creature was hungry. Very hungry.

Turning the doorknob with those claws was a challenge, but after several attempts the door was open, swinging silently on oiled hinges. The creature began to make its quiet way down the stairs.

Adelson was having trouble getting the vault open. The spell that Libby had used to make him compliant had affected either his concentration, his manual dexterity, or both. He had made three attempts so far and was fumbling his way through number four when Libby Chastain said, “Let me help you, David. Why don’t you step back and tell me the combination. I’ll get the door open for us.”

“But the combination’s a secret.”

“I know it is, David – but you were going to let us in, anyway, right? And I promise, after today, I will never, ever go near this vault again.”

Adelson stared at her and said, reluctantly, “All right, just this once.”

“Thank you, David. Now let’s trade places.”

Adelson took a step back, allowing Libby to kneel before the vault’s locking mechanism. “Go ahead,” she said.

“Right, to thirty-four.”

“Got it.”

“Left, to nineteen.”

“Okay.”

Right, to forty.”

“Um-hmm.”

“Left, to three.”

“Yep.”

“And then right, to twenty-one.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes,” Adelson said, “now just turn the – what the f*ck is that?”