“Sit down.”
I eased myself down into the chair.
“How’d you know about Rubicoff?” he said.
“I’ve got ways. Sometimes they’re slow and ponderous but I usually find out in the end. For instance, I know about Rubicoff but I don’t know everything. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
We were fencing. This could go on forever. I groped for the words to break us out of it.
“Let’s pretend I don’t know anything; I’ll like it better that way. You tell me who Rubicoff is and how you got mixed up with him.”
“He’s a dick I hired.”
“Keep going. What’s it got to do with the books?”
“I hired him to help me find the sons of bitches.”
“Let me get this straight. First you all but give the books away. Now you hire a guy to help you get ‘em back.”
“I didn’t know then what I know now.”
“Which is what?”
“They’re worth a fortune, that’s what. And they’re still mine, pal, make no mistake about that.”
“You sold ‘em. You signed a bill of sale.”
“Doesn’t matter what the hell I signed: that deal was done on a fraudulent premise. The guy knew something I couldn’t be expected to know. You just let me find those babies, we’ll see who winds up owning them in a court of law.”
“How’d you find out about them?”
“About three weeks ago, a guy came and told me.”
“Uh-huh. A guy named Peter Bonnema.”
“I didn’t know his name then; didn’t know anything about him. I got a call out of the blue. The guy said I’d given away a fortune and he knew where the stuff was. He had some of it himself, and if I wanted it all back I’d meet him in a cafe on East Colfax at nine that night.”
“Then what happened?”
“He didn’t show up. I waited till ten. I don’t know what there was about it…something told me it was for real. Then when he didn’t show I said screw it, some silly bastard wasting my time. But he called me back the next day. I started to hang up on him, but there was something about it…I don’t know which end is up when it comes to books, and I couldn’t care less, but I knew there was something to it. Sometimes you just have a hunch.”
I nodded.
“So at nine o’clock that night I’m in the same skuzzy cafe, and this time the guy comes in and sits down at my table. He was a goddamn bum, a tramp, for Christ’s sake. I almost got up and walked out. Then he opens this box and takes out a book. It looks like any other book to me. Who gives a damn about a stupid book? But the guy says, ‘Look at this,’ and he takes out a little booklet, a catalog from some book dealer in Boston. ‘Look at this,’ he says, and he shows me in the catalog what the asking price is for a copy of the book he’s holding. Six hundred mazumas, buddy! I damn near lost my supper. One fuckin‘ book, six hundred big ones. Then he takes out another book and another catalog. Three-fifty. Do I need to tell you that by now he’s got my attention?”
“What did you do?”
“Asked what he wanted. He wanted one-third, a three-way split. I guess he’d done his homework. Anyway, he knew there was that third party involved.”
“Your sister.”
He waved that off with an impatient grimace. “Let’s just say that the guy knew what was involved. Before he’d tell me what happened to the books, I’d have to draw up an agreement and have it signed by…you know. Then I’d have to sign it myself and we’d have to have it notarized. I didn’t care. The damn thing wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s written on. Anybody could break a document like that when it’s based on blackmail or fraud. So I said sure, I’d have it all drawn up, nice and goddamn legal. He’s playing in my ballpark now. You don’t sheist the shysters, Janeway, and I’m not nearly as bad a lawyer as you think I am. You bet I’d sign it. We’d see what happened later, in court.”
“But then the guy got killed.”
“Yeah. I knew I was onto something then.”
“So you hired the gumshoe.”
“That’s right, and a lot of good it’s done me so far.”
“What’s he been doing?”
“Nothing exciting, you can bet on that. He can’t find his ass with both hands, if you want my opinion.”
“Where’d you go last night, Ballard?” I said suddenly.
“How’d you know I went anywhere?”
