by Tim Tingle
Going to England had another benefit as well. In addition to being a coal miner, Travis was an aspiring fiction writer. Two years earlier, his first attempt at getting his works published had resulted in a Canadian publisher giving him a contract on ‘The Relic’, and it had taken a year and a half of editing to get the manuscript to the finished product. In the meantime, Travis had concocted an elaborate scheme to shamelessly promote his soon-to-be-released book. He had submitted a bogus story to a well known tabloid, ‘Whisperings’ Magazine, which they had published without questioning its validity. The result was, just as his book was due to be released by his publisher, there was already a flood of orders for his book from all over the country. The timing was perfect! ‘The Relic’, by Travis Lee, was destined to be an instant best-seller, propelling him to fame and fortune as an up-and-coming Southern fiction writer. And with six other novels already written and awaiting publication, the reading public was about to be saturated with a flood of literary output, not seen since the emergence of Stephen King!
But there was a small problem.
The rocket of literary fame was scrubbed on the launching pad.
(Houston, we have a problem.)
Maple Leaf Publications had gone belly-up. Their announcement that they had filed for bankruptcy, came just two days after his book’s release date, according to the Maple Leaf Publications web site. What this meant to the authors who had been published by Maple Leaf, was that they could no longer get copies of their books.
For Travis, this was devastating. It couldn’t have come at a worst time. He had 17,000 orders for his book, and that was just the requests for autographed copies he received at home through the mail. He had no idea how many tens of thousands of orders for his book had been sent directly to Maple Leaf, up in Canada. His efforts to reach the founder of Maple Leaf were unsuccessful, so he bought a plane ticket, got a leave of absence from the mine, and went to Edmonton, to see what he could work out.
What he learned when he got there was troubling. It seemed that Maple Leaf Publications was not much more than an elaborate scheme to defraud hundreds of aspiring writers like himself, into paying a big set-up fees, and getting little back in return. But Travis had not been asked to pay a set-up fee. So what was the deal with his book? The answer he dug up made him even more angry.
It seemed that when Maple Leaf got a manuscript that had real merit, they had another use for it. Under an obscure clause in the contract, (which Travis had signed without fully understanding it, by the way), the founder of Maple Leaf could, if the company went bankrupt, sell off individual titles to other publishers. And neither Maple Leaf, nor the publisher they sold the titles to, was under any obligation to pass the resulting royalties on to the Author. In Travis’ case, ‘The Relic’ was sold to a British publisher, called Jester Books, who immediately began printing the book and selling it both in England, and even to book stores back in the United States. And because of the article in ‘Whisperings’ Magazine, which Travis was responsible for, ‘The Relic’ had been propelled onto the British Best-Seller’s List, at either third or fourth place all summer long. And now it was starting to climb up the Best-Seller’s List in the United States as well.
Travis was no genius, but he didn’t have to be, to realize that if his book became a Best-Seller, even if he got no royalties from it, it would make his subsequent novels sell more easily because of the name recognition. That was the name of this game, name recognition. If Stephen King cranked out a book that was pure crap, it would still be a best-seller, just because of the name on the cover. So if he could get the name ‘Travis Lee’ out there, and synonymous with a best seller, it sure couldn’t hurt, especially if he followed it with another great work of fiction, put out by a reputable publisher.
So it was a happy coincidence that they had already signed up for a trip to England late that summer, when Travis found out that his new publisher was located in London as well. He had contacted Jester Books, and they were delighted to learn that he was already coming to England, and they were only too glad to arrange for him to do a few book signings for them while he was there. It would help them, by selling more books, and help himself, by getting his name out there, and building on an already growing reputation as a writer.
But there was still a lot to do, a lot of details to work out. Janice came into his study with a box of mail, mostly fan letters, and requests for more autographed copies of his book. “We got another 1,500 books yesterday from Canada.”
“Good!”
“Travis, you never have told me where these books are coming from.”
“That’s because you don’t need to know, not at this time.”
“‘Pirate Publications’? ‘Printed on the High Seas, by Pirate Publications?’ What is all that about?”
“I told you, the less you know, the better. Just be thankful that they keep showing up here!”
“I’m not sure I want to know. But look at this e-mail I got yesterday from Jester Books.” She handed him a print-out, and he looked it over.
“Hmm, so they have finally seen a copy from ‘Pirate Publications’. I was hoping that it would stay under their radar a little longer.”
“So tell me about it. Where are these books coming from?”
“Canada.”
“I know that! I can read the shipping labels. You know what I mean!”
“Okay, it’s a small press in Edmonton, called Iota Press. They were one of the three presses that were doing the actual printing for Maple Leaf, and Maple Leaf went bankrupt owing them a ton of money. When I visited them, looking for left over copies of ‘The Relic’, they showed me that they had 2,000 copies of my book. But they had no covers for them, because the color covers were made by another printer. So I struck a deal with them. I hastily designed this black and white cover, which you see now, and because it was black and white, they could produce it themselves. And because they still had the digital text of ‘The Relic’ in their system, they could produce more copies very cheaply. I persuaded them to keep printing them, 1,500 copies per run, so they could recover some of their losses, and so we could get copies of our book.”
“Is that legal to do? I mean, since Jester Books now has the contract?”
“No, it’s not. That’s why we came up with the bogus name, ‘Pirate Publications’, because they are pirated copies. And that is why you won’t find the name Iota Press anywhere on the book. It’s a shame that I had to make pirated copies of my own book, just to feed the demand for it. But I couldn’t let it die!”
“Hey, I understand. I’m glad you did it. But what will Jester Books do if they find out where they are coming from?”
“They will sue me, and Iota Press, for knowingly producing the pirated copies. According to this e-mail, they have no idea where they are coming from, but have investigators checking into it. They are asking if I know anything about it. Of course, I will act like I am shocked to hear about it. That’s why they can’t find out that I am behind it. I will be sued for producing my own book! If you get any more e-mails like this from Jester Books, don’t reply, but let me know, and I’ll reply to them.”
“In other words, you will lie to them?”
“I have to protect our interests. We need to assert that we have no idea where these copies are coming from. Put one of those copies in my suitcase. I’ll show it to Jester, and ask them where the copies are coming from, as though I’m as baffled as they are.”
“Travis, you are so bad!”
“I do what I have to do. It’s important that you not tell anyone, and I mean anyone, where these books are coming from. Got it?”
“Yes, I’ve got it.”
“Is Drew getting his stuff together for this trip?”
“Are you kidding? He’s been packed and ready to go all summer! I have never seen him so ready to go somewhere!”
“I’m glad his football coach agreed to not discipline him for missing the first week of fall football practice.”
“He doesn’t have much choice. Drew is a senior, and they only have 17 players on the team. He won’t miss out on much. Oh, I just remembered. Your mother wants you to stop by their house before you go to work today. She has a million questions about what she should take with her to England. She has been asking me, but I don’t know what the weather will be like there!”
“Okay, I’ll stop and see her on my way to work.”
“Don’t forget. I have a doctor’s appointment at ten. I probably won’t be back by the time you go to work, so get your work clothes out of the dryer before you leave.”
“I’ll do it.” Travis sighed. There was so much to do before they left for England! And his schedule in England wasn’t much better, what with touring the sites during the day, and having to show up for book signings almost every night. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he got back home.
* * *
As Travis went to work that day, he had a lot on his mind besides the up-coming trip to England. He was glad that the mess with Jenny seemed to be over, though he hated that she had made the decision she had, to go back to Rodney. He knew that her dead-beat husband was going to be nothing but trouble in the future, and he might still have to deal with him, but for now at least, things were going to settle down.
He couldn’t help thinking about the strange incident with Miranda the night before, and he wondered what she had decided to do about the Judge, after she had time to rationally think about it. The only rational thing to do, would be to call the police and report it, but he strongly suspected that she would not do the rational thing.
But it was the problems with Jenny that were brought back to mind, as he got to work. A few days earlier he had mentioned the problems he was having to some of his closest friends at the mine, and as friends will do, they all try to help in any way they can. Today as he got out of his truck, Bird walked up beside him.
“I got something you might want, Travis.”
“What’s that, Bird?”
He briefly flashed a snub-nosed pistol from his pocket. “A gun?” Travis asked.
“Not just a gun,” Bird said, “This is a .38 special, a throw-away gun. The serial number has been filed off, so there is no way it can be traced. I have had it in my closet for years, just waiting for a need to use it. I’ve even got bullets for it, if you want to use it to solve your problem!”
“I appreciate your concern, Bird.”
“Terry, out in the shop said that after you use it, bring it out to the shop, and he can light up his rose-bud, and make this baby disappear! Drops of molten steel can’t be traced back to a gun!”
“That is mighty thoughtful of you, Bird, and of Terry, but if I have to kill him, I will most likely do it with my bare hands.”
“That’s what me and Terry thought, but we figgered we’d make the offer anyway.”
“I appreciate that. I will keep your offer in mind.”
Later, after Travis had changed clothes, and was sitting out on a bench, waiting for the shift to begin, Cecil, a miner operator came and sat down beside him. Not a whole lot of people knew it, but Cecil was the Grand Dragon of the Byram County branch of the Ku-Klux-Klan. Cecil had often offered Klan membership to Travis, who was always diplomatic in declining the offer. Today, however, he approached as a fellow coal mining brother, to offer his services.
“Afternoon, Travis!”
“Afternoon, Cecil.”
“I hear you are having some difficulty with a good-for-nothing son-in-law?”
“Yes, word certainly does get around, doesn’t it?”
“The word I hear is that your son-in-law is a low-life, and a devil worshiper.”
“That’s true.”
“This outfit I head up we take a very dim view of devil-worshipers!”
“Yes, I’ve heard that.”
“If there’s one thing we hate worse than niggers, Jews and homosexuals, it’s devil-worshipers! Say he was practicing that shit in your back bedroom?”
“Yep, before I threw him out, he was.”
“Tell you what, Travis. Even though you ain’t a member of our organization, I will take care of this guy, just as a favor to you!”
“That’s awful nice of you, Cecil.”
“Hey, it’s the obligation of white folks everywhere, to hold on to our heritage, and get rid of subversive elements that want to undermine our way of life. This son-in-law of yours, is he a Jew?”
“I don’t know. He could be.”
“That’s close enough! Being a devil-worshipping Jew, we’d be happy to take care of this matter for you, me and the boys!”
“That’s not really necessary, Cecil.”
“Hey, what are friends for? You just give me a photo of the bastard, and let me know where we can find him after midnight tonight, and we will solve your problem! He will disappear and never be seen again! And the good part is, there will be no traces of evidence leading back to you. All you got to do is have a good alibi of where you are tonight from midnight on, and we will take care of the rest!”
“You can do it tonight?”
“Or tomorrow night. Whenever is convenient for you. You just let me know when!”
“Well, I would like to try a more diplomatic route first, but if that fails, I just might take you up on your offer, Cecil.”
“Great! Just let me know. Me and the boys would love to be a help! There ain’t much call for our services nowdays, not like there used to be!”
“Yeah, the world moves on.”
4
The next day, as though he was not busy enough already, he got another call from Miranda, this time at home. Fortunately, he was the only one in the house, so he had to answer the phone. This was two days after he had freed her from Judge Rosewood’s bedroom. He had been so busy that he had not even thought about that strange incident since it happened. This call was not so frantic, but intense, none the less.
“Travis?”
“Is that you, Miranda?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“How have things been going? I mean, I’ve been watching the local news, but I’ve seen no mention of Judge Rosewood. I’m assuming that he hasn’t been found yet?”
“SSSH! Not over the phone!”
“What? Why not?”
“They could be listening, that’s why!”
“Who could be listening?”
“Meet me somewhere. We have to talk.”
“About what?’
“You know about what! Meet me in Bates Park in an hour!”
“Is that a request, or an order?”
“I’m not kidding, Travis! This is serious!”
“Okay, in the park, in one hour. I can do that.”
(click.)
It didn’t sound very good. He wondered what she had done this time. So mostly out of curiosity, he stopped what he was doing, and made preparations to meet her at Bates Park. Janice was not home, so he didn’t have to explain who called. As an afterthought, he deleted Miranda’s call from his caller I.D. before he left. No need in arousing suspicions with Janice.
It was a beautiful late-July day to be in the park, which meant that it was also hot. Late July to late August in Central Alabama was a most miserable time to be outside, because of the heat. But that was good, because it meant that though the weather was good, there were few people in the park. He left his truck, taking only his walking stick, as though he intended to walk a few laps.
He did make one complete lap before he saw a small red sports car pull into the park, which he knew belonged to Miranda. The woman who got out of the car was over-dressed for the weather, however. She had bulky clothes, a head scarf, and dark glasses.
It was the absurd image of a woman who was deliberately trying to hide her identity. He was almost embarrassed to be seen talking to someone who was trying so hard not to be noticed. He walked another half lap, and she caught up with him.
“Pardon me, Lady, but you look familiar. Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Hey, you’re one of those movie stars that’s hiding from the paparazzi!”
“Can it, Travis! I’ve got a big problem!”
“You sure do. You’re going to fall out with a heat stroke, dressed like that. At least take off that bulky overcoat.”
“I’m just trying to protect you. You don’t need to be seen talking to me.”
“Then let’s at least sit down and talk. There at the pavilion, . . . nobody is there.” They went and sat down in the shade, across the table from one another. She looked both ways before she took off her sunglasses, revealing, as usual, the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen.
“Like I said, I’ve got a big problem.”
“How big?”
“About 225 pounds!”
“You don’t weigh that much, do you?”
“No, it’s the Judge.”
“Ah yes, the Judge! How is the old boy doing these days? Or have you not been back to see him?”
“I’ve been back, all right! I loaded him up, and took him to my house!”
“You did what? Why did you do that?”
