“That would be me.” Vic popped a fry into his mouth and washed it down with a long draw from a Super Big Gulp, then wiped his hands on his Justice League T-shirt.
“Horus sent us,” Nick said.
“What do you want?” Though Vic seemed to be a man of few words, at least he was fully clothed.
Nick gave him a business card. “We’re researching the devil-worship renaissance in the sixties and seventies. I hear you collect religious propaganda.”
“Some.”
“Ever seen this before?” Nick laid Herrick Schelz’s pamphlet on the glass countertop.
Vic glanced at it then scratched his chin. “What are the odds? Follow me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Vic Walkowiak led us to a back room papered with comic convention flyers, autographed photos, and vintage Marvel Comics calendars. Around and above us, hundreds of pamphlets encased in plastic and separated in groups by yellowed paper tabs filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
Nick and I squeezed between stacks of open cartons of action figures and comic books and past a wastebasket overflowing with take-out cartons and crumpled bags. The air, thick with the odor of old paper and dust, tickled my nose. I sneezed.
“Excuse me,” I said, reaching for the open tissue box on the scarred wooden desk tucked in the corner of the room.
“This is my collection.” Vic swept his arms toward the shelves. “Twentieth-century handouts are my specialty.”
I read the section titles closest to me. “Spiritism,” “Kabbalah,” “Voodoo,” “Satanism,” and “Necromancy.”
Nick put on his glasses and sifted through booklets. “Amazing,” he said as he slid out samples from the “Illuminati” section and studied them. He stood back, taking in the full array. “I’ve never seen a private collection this extensive. How did you find all these?”
Vic bared yellowed teeth in a proud smile. “Online, rare bookstores, religious rallies, yard sales—you know. Sometimes even at comic conventions. Two months ago, I would’ve paid you fifty bucks cash for your Schelz pamphlet. If you’re looking to get rid of it now, I’ll give you twenty.”
“It’s not for sale,” Nick said. “What changed?”
Moving around us to a shelf tabbed “Devil Worship,” Vic leafed through a row of plastic-covered booklets and slid out a copy of the Herrick Schelz pamphlet. “I found this baby.”
I shuddered at his delight over the product of a madman. “Where did you get it?”
“There’s a guy who collects spell-casting and witchcraft publications. You know, candle burning, scrying—the airy-fairy stuff. He knows I like the darker occult themes, like this.” Vic pointed at the Schelz pamphlet. “Talk about twisted. Hell, I didn’t know about Schelz’s background until I bought this and did some research. What a find. A zealot turned murderer. This pamphlet is as rare as they come. The publisher went out of business in the nineties. How did you get your copy?”
Nick began to describe his Indiana gas station encounter. My phone rang in my purse. I pulled it out, saw Jarret’s number on the screen, and silenced the ringer.
Vic tugged at his beard as Nick told his story. “No kidding. He knew Schelz?”
“And his family,” Nick said.
“Do you mind if I take a closer look at your copy?” I said. At Vic’s nod, I slid the pamphlet out of its plastic bag and paged through, searching for a handwritten name, date, or notes. The unmarked contents were in pristine condition. The stapled pages were stiff and wouldn’t open flat, as if never read.
I handed the pamphlet back, ignoring the now vibrating phone in my purse. “How can we reach the man who brought this to you?”
“Why the interest in him?” Vic creased his brows, turning to Nick. “You said you were researching propaganda.”
“Intellectual curiosity,” Nick said. “We heard a few Schelz pamphlets were floating around. I’m curious who renewed the interest in his rantings. If you read the pamphlet, you have to agree Schelz lacks credibility.”
“Yeah,” Vic said. “Most propagandists do. I read through a few of Schelz’s pages but I collect pamphlets for art, not rules to live by.”
“I’m interested in the formation of belief systems and the origins of cults,” Nick said. “I’d like to talk to the guy who sold you Schelz’s pamphlet.”
“I…don’t remember his name.” Vic slid the pamphlet back into place and then shut off the light. “He doesn’t come in much either.”
“If you hear from him in the next few days, tell him I’ll trade him cash for information.” Nick said at the door.
I traipsed back to the car with Nick, frustrated by what felt to me like a dead end. “I think Vic was lying. Did you notice how he shut down when we asked about his friend?”