Ruby was dressed in his usual country club attire: jeans, a sweatshirt, and sandals. He wore a heavy black beard that was streaked with gray. His partner was neater. Emery Neff had blond hair and a mustache. Taken together, they were a strange pair of boys. Ruby was gritty, down-to-earth, real; Neff put on airs, oozed arrogance, and, until you passed muster, seemed aloof and cold. Ruby could sell birth control to a nun; Neff seemed reluctant to sell you a book, even at high retail. Neff wasn’t quite a horse’s ass, but he was close: I guess it was his deep well of knowledge that saved him. He really was a remarkable bookman, and I seemed to like him in spite of himself.
They still hadn’t seen me: they were engrossed in the hypnotic, totally absorbing business of the bookman—sorting and pricing. I had seen the ritual before and had always found it interesting. Ruby would pick up a book and fondle it lovingly, then they’d bat the price back and forth and finally they’d settle on something, which Neff would write in light pencil on the flyleaf. They were just getting to the Faulkner when I leaned over their backs.
“Buck and a half,” Neff said.
“Too high,” Ruby said.
“It’s a perfect copy, Ruby. I mean, look at the goddamn thing, it’s like it was published yesterday, for Christ’s sake.”
“You never see this for more than a bill.”
“You never see a copy like this either.”
“Go ahead, if you want the son of a bitch to grow mold over there on the shelf.”
“Buck and a quarter, then. That’s rock-friggin‘-bottom.”
Neff penciled in the price. I cleared my throat and got their attention.
“Well, Dr. Janeway, I do believe,” Ruby said, brightening. “We just got in some stuff for you.”
“So I see. The masters of overcharge are already at work.”
Neff gave me a pained look, as if the mere discussion of money was a blow to one’s dignity.
“Always a deal for you, Dr. J,” Ruby said, and Neff’s pained look drifted his way.
I put the Faulkner out of my mind for the moment. I never could split my concentration effectively.
“I want to ask you boys a few questions.”
“Jesus, Mr. Janeway,” Neff said seriously. “This sounds official. Let me guess what it is. Somebody knocked off the sheriff and right away you thought of us.”
I gave him a mirthless little smile. “When was the last time you saw Bobby Westfall?”
“Jeez, I don’t know,” Ruby said. “He ain’t been coming around much.”
“What’s he done, rob a bank?” Neff said.
“See if you can pin it down for me,” I said.
“Well,” Ruby said, “he come in here maybe two weeks ago. Ain’t that right, Em? About two weeks ago.”
“About that,” Neff said. “What’s it about?”
“I told you, I’m trying to pin him down,” I said. “Did he have something to sell when he came in?”
“Just a few turds,” Ruby said. “Nuthin‘ I wanted.”
“Bob was on a losing streak,” Neff said. “He hadn’t found much all month long.”
“He was bitchin‘ up a storm about it,” Ruby said. “Bobby never bitches much, but I guess he needed the money and for once in his life he couldn’t find any books.”
“You have any idea what he needed the money for?”
“Hell, Dr. J, I just buy books from these bastards, I don’t go home and sleep with ‘em.”
“They always need money,” Neff said.
“Who doesn’t?” Ruby said. “But bookscouts… yeah, Em’s right. Those guys’re always scraping like hell just to get two nickels to rub against each other. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.“
“When was the last time Bobby had a big strike?”
“Oh, Jeez,” Ruby said, shaking his head.
“What do you call big?” Neff said.
“I don’t know, Neff,” I said. “What do
“Big to him might be this Faulkner you’re looking at. We’d give him thirty, forty bucks for that. Nothing to sneeze at if you got it for a quarter.”
