“I’ve heard so much about him,” Dorothy said.
“In quantity and quality. Besides that he was Derek’s boss, you’ve heard that he is harsh and cruel, that he put innocent people in prison in Kansas, that he blackmailed and ultimately destroyed Patrick White, and that he killed Derek. That’s quite a tale.”
“It does predispose me against him.”
“He is also charming, jolly, thoughtful and very important.”
“I’ll keep an open mind. What do you think about him?”
“I’m trying to stay open myself,” Charles said. “He is something between Derek’s victim and his co- conspirator.”
“Why is he coming?”
“To find out what I know, if anything, about Derek, including why I’ve put myself in the middle of his tussle with Karen Liu and Patrick White.”
“Would he know about Derek’s papers?”
“At this point, I’d put it at seventy percent that he does.”
“Does he know you have them?”
“I give it forty percent that he at least suspects.”
“What will you tell him?” Dorothy asked.
The jazz group fired up.
“I will play that by ear.”
Did any of our philosophers play chess, Charles?”
“Chess? Why, I have no idea, Derek. What an interesting question.”
“What would you guess?”
“Voltaire, if any of them. Hamilton might have.”
“I picture most of them hunched over their writing desks scrawling by candlelight. Not gregarious or social.”
“Nor cunning, either, Derek.”
“You aren’t cunning, Charles, are you? And you play chess quite well.”
“I’m gregarious.”
“What about Burke? Would he have played?”
“He might have been cunning, Derek. For the power he wielded in Parliament, he must have been. It wasn’t all fiery speeches.”
“The deals were struck at the gaming tables.”
“So he played cards, not chess.”
“I think I agree, Charles. Chess is pure intellect. Politics is much closer to gambling. Do you play any card games?”
“They’ve never appealed to me.”
“Perhaps we should try. I think you’d be good at it.”
“I’d have to learn any you’d suggest, Derek.”
“I think I’ll get a deck of cards.”
THURSDAY MORNING
Charles looked out the window from his desk. On the sidewalk below, across the street, John Borchard stood waiting.
The clock said 10:25.
“Should I invite him in?”
“Of course,” Dorothy said, coming to look. “We’re open. Why is he waiting?”
“Because he said 10:30.”
“But that’s ridiculous.”
“A Deputy Assistant Attorney General isn’t ridiculous,” Charles said. “Well, maybe he is. But he isn’t supposed to be.”
John Borchard pulled a pocket watch from his suit vest, frowned, and returned it to its pocket.
“Now that is impressive,” Charles said. “Did you see how he did that? It takes practice to do it with just the right pomposity.”
“But why is he waiting?” Dorothy asked again.
Charles shook his head. “Because he’s nervous.”
“About what?”
“That’s the question. I’ll go down to be there when he comes in.”
“Should I come?”
“In a few minutes. When you’re ready.”
“Have we sold anything yet this morning?” Charles asked. He and Alice were still alone. The clock said 10:29.
“There was a lady in to buy a book for her grandson,” Alice said.
Charles had his hand on the doorknob. The seconds ticked down.
Ten thirty. He opened the front door.
Mr. Borchard was six inches from it, his face down, staring at his watch on its chain. He looked up and an immense grin spread across his large face.
“Charles!”
“John. Come in.”
John Borchard stuffed the watch back into his vest, took a vast breath, and stepped over the threshold. The room was suddenly filled.
He moved to his proper place in its center.
“This is Alice,” Charles said. “Mr. Borchard.”
“Oh! So good to meet you!” He shook her hand with both of his in a full body greeting, and then he returned his stare to the room itself.
“Absolutely amazing!”
He seemed absolutely lost in his amazement. His grin had been replaced by the pure fascination of a child in a wonderland.
Charles stepped back to the counter to be out of his way.
“What did the lady buy this morning?” Charles asked Alice.
“A Peter Pan.”
For a moment the only sound was the ticking of John’s pocket watch. Then he regained his speech.
“It is amazing. Charles, it’s everything I thought it would be.”
“It is just my humble shop.”
“Hardly humble! It’s impressive, quite impressive! Please, show me around.”
“This is the showroom. Children’s books-sports and hobbies-mysteries-general fiction-general nonfiction-and so on.”
“But…” John moved to a shelf, wrinkles of doubt rippling across his forehead. “But they’re special, aren’t they?” He looked closer.
“These are all first editions or rare editions or signed copies. Yes, they are special.”
“I see.” He removed a The Cat in the Hat and gravely inspected it. He handed the book to Charles and looked again at the shelves.
Charles waited as Neverland slowly lost its magic.
“But surely, there is more?” John said.
“The older books?” Charles ventured.
“Yes! Yes, that’s it! Exactly! I’d imagined older books. The ones that Derek would have bought.”
Charles nodded. “Those are downstairs.”
