by Tim Tingle
“But as my primary publisher, I would first be required to submit my manuscripts to you, and you would accept or reject them. If you reject a manuscript, I could then take that manuscript to another publisher, if I wish?”
“Yes, as long as I get first shot, at acceptance or refusal, that would be the deal. If I do not like a manuscript, for whatever reason, I can pass on it, and you will have written permission to go to another publisher with it. But if all your works are as good as your first two, I would be a fool to pass on them. I would hate to pass on one of your works, and then have one of my competitors gets a best seller! That would just kill me!”
“Well, we are getting the cart before the horse. I have not even agreed to give you my second novel yet, other than to just look it over. Accepting Jester Books as my primary publisher, is something I will have to carefully consider.”
“That’s right, we must work out a lot of details before we arrive at that decision, but I want you to know that I am very impressed with your work. And I especially appreciate your agreeing to do these book signings as you have. You have been very gracious with your time.”
“Well, it is in my interest to make a name for myself as a writer, even if I get no royalties off this book. It should certainly benefit me on the second one.”
“Oh yes. Indeed. And I would love to be the publisher of your second book as well. You see, ‘The Relic’ is the very first book we have ever published to reach the #1 spot in sales, so this is a first for us as well.”
“Are you a big enough publisher to handle a #1 best-seller?”
“Absolutely! We are a well established company, and have been for over thirty years. We have had ninety-two books on the British Best-Sellers list over the years, but never in the number one spot! That is why I am so impressed with your work. Do you have any idea what caused its phenomenal rise?”
“As a matter of fact, yes I do.” He reached into the bag he brought with him, and pulled out a copy of ‘Whisperings’ magazine, and opened it to the article about his book, and allowed Aaron to read the headline.
“Is this a tabloid?”
“Yes sir.”
“A man was scared to death by your book?”
“Not really, but it made a good headline for my book. I got thousands of orders for ‘The Relic’ because of this tabloid story. I was told by my publisher to ‘be creative’ in my advertising, and this was the result.”
“So a gimmick was responsible for your initial success!”
“Yes, it was.”
“I like it! It shows ingenuity!”
“It was almost all for naught, because Maple Leaf had no intention of supplying me with books. But when they saw the thousands of orders, they filed for bankruptcy, and sold my book to you.”
“That Ronald Fallon was a blight on the entire publishing industry. I should never have dealt with him!”
“Well, he’s gone now, and we move on. We make the best, of a bad situation.”
“I have recently learned that in addition to selling your book to me, he also violated the terms of the contract with me, by apparently publishing and distributing ‘The Relic’ in a pirated version. And so, he not only stiffed you, but he has also crossed me!”
(Travis knew he had to be referring to the pirated version of ‘The Relic’ that he had come out with, in his secret agreement with Iota Press. But he certainly didn’t want Bagley to know that it was his doing.)
“So it was Fallon who has been putting out those black and white copies of ‘The Relic’?” Travis asked.
“I do not know who else could possibly be responsible for it! Either Ronald Fallon, before he was killed, or perhaps his brother Curtis, who is still trying to resurrect their company in Quebec, under another name! So you know of, or have seen those pirated copies?”
“Yes I have, but like you, I had no idea where they had come from.” Travis lied.
“I hear that the cover is not only black and white, but it is a different cover design as well.”
“So you haven’t seen them?”
“Actually, no, but I have certainly heard a lot about them. They are flooding the North American market, which is in clear violation of Fallon’s contract with Jester Books!”
“Then take a look at this.” Travis reached into his bag and pulled out his pirated copy of ‘The Relic’, and handed it to Mr. Bagley.
“Where did you get this?”
“In the States. One of my fans sent it to me, to have it autographed. I was shocked to see it. I brought it with me to ask you about it! I have signed literally dozens of them, and mailed them back to their owners.”
“Do you know where your fans are getting these books, and where they are being distributed from?”
“No, that’s why I brought this copy with me, to show it to you. But like you said, it most likely was authorized by Fallon before he was killed, or by his brother. Check it out. There is no valid publisher listed on the copyright page. I have tried to do some detective work on my own, but I came up with nothing.”
“It says: ‘Printed on the high seas by Jolly Roger Press’. Have you ever heard of such! It is like, they are gloating over the fact that they are thumbing their noses at us!”
“So it is definitely a pirated copy?”
“Yes, no doubt about it! If I can find who has been publishing and distributing these copies, I will sue them into oblivion! Piracy of a copyrighted work, is the lowest form of treachery that any publisher could possibly sink to! It is common in China, and the Far East, but we civilized peoples of the West must honor copyright laws, or else there will be chaos, and collapse of our whole society!”
“Absolutely!” Travis echoed, as though he agreed with him.
“May I keep this copy, Travis, so that I may study it, and determine it’s origin?”
“Actually, that book does not belong to me. Like I said, it was mailed to me by a woman in Boston, who wants me to autograph it and send it back to her.”
“Then you can send her an autographed legitimate copy of ‘The Relic’, published by Jester Books! I will supply you with plenty of them. But when you send it back to her, try to find out where she got this copy! Step by step, we can backtrack and find the origins of these bastard copies, and take legal action against their publisher! Jolly Roger Press, indeed! I wager they will certainly not be so ‘jolly’ when my team of lawyers sink their teeth into them!”
“Aaron, I am glad to finally meet someone who feels the same way I do about this issue. I think if we work together, we can put a stop to it!”
“Absolutely! And speaking of sinking our teeth into something, are you ready to order dinner?”
“Sure.”
“We can continue our discussion of a publishing agreement after dinner.” He hailed the waiter.
(Travis knew what his first order of business would be after returning home. He would call Iota Press in Edmonton, Canada, and tell his friend Roger to stop production immediately. To complete and ship copies already in the works, but to produce no more, because Jester Books would have investigators trying to find him. Stop production, delete all files, and coach his employees into saying that they have never heard of ‘The Relic’. But it was a good run while it had lasted, and served them both well.)
During dinner, the conversation took an unexpected turn.
“Travis, what do you think about my daughter, Angel?”
“She seems very capable, in setting up my book signings. I an impressed with her professionalism.”
“Not too bad looking either,” Aaron said with a smile.
“She is actually very beautiful.”
“Yes, I have always thought so. But she can sometimes go a bit overboard when trying to impress our clients. Have you noticed that?”
“She does seem to have an agg
ressive, outgoing personality, but that is one of the things I like about her.”
“Really? Her personality can sometimes repel people, I have been told.”
“Different personalities, that is what makes the world go around. It would be a very boring world if everyone was the same.”
“So she does not repel or repulse you?”
“Why no, not at all.”
“That can only mean one thing, that she has persuaded you to sleep with her! Am I correct in assuming this?”
(Travis suspected that the ice he was treading on was getting thin. This was, after all, Angel’s father he was talking to.)
“She has certainly tried. However, I am a married man, and I told her that.”
“That doesn’t mean a whole lot to her, I am afraid.”
“So you do not approve of her ‘personal incentive program’?”
“Well I can hardly say anything to her. I was a bit of a ‘persuasive’ man in my younger days myself. In the early days of Jester Books, I only published books by aspiring women writers, who were desperate to get their writings into print. Aspiring women writers are willing to do just about anything to get a contract on their books. As a result, Jester Books was synonymous in its earlier years as a publisher of women’s books. And I published many books that were simply not worthy of publication, and it almost sank my business. I learned better over the years. I learned to persue only woman who had publishable manuscripts. Angel’s mother was one such woman writer. We were married only a short time before she died, however, and I never remarried. When Angel was twenty, I invited her to work for me, and she has done a good job. However, like father, like daughter, she seems to have inherited my earlier ways as well. But it is futile for me to say anything to her about it, because I would be perceived as a hypocrite.”
“Perhaps she will eventually amend her ways, like you did.”
“Perhaps, but not likely. She enjoys her job entirely too much.”
“Yes, she does.”
“At least now days she seems to focus on only on writers worthy of publication, which has been good for Jester Books, so I suppose I should be grateful for that.”
“Yes.”
“I did not mean to bore you with my soiled past, but I thought a bit of explanation might cause you to understand and overlook her behavior.”
“She and I have already worked past that. No problem.”
“Very good.”
* * *
That evening back in Alabama, the Lee family made preparations for the play at church. There would be no regular church service, just an abbreviated service, followed by the play about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Cory played the part of Jesus, Chris was Lazurus, wrapped in mummy bandages. Joey and Calvin played shepherds. A half dozen other kids played the remaining parts. None of them really wanted to be there, because this was the same night that the large Presbyterian church from Arlington hosted a county-wide bon-fire, down on the Cahaba river, complete with roasted hot-dogs, marshmallows, and endless ghost stories. It was more appealing than a church play, but they had no choice, but to do the play.
The play went well, to have been thrown together as it was, and all the participants were glad to finally have it over with. After the play, the boys had secured permission from their parents to drive down to the Presbyterian retreat, to listen to ghost stories. They were going in Cory’s Dad’s truck, and Janice mandated that they were to be home by midnight. Before leaving the church, Janice gave Cory strict orders.
“Cory, I am only giving my boys permission to do this, because I trust you to drive really careful, and not do anything stupid.”
“Yes, Ma-am.”
“Do you know how to get down to the Presbyterian Retreat?”
“Oh, yes Ma-am. My dad and I went down there fishing just last weekend, so I know how to get there.”
“Joey, I want you boys home by midnight, and I mean home by midnight, not on the way home by midnight! Do you understand?”
“Sure, Mom. Home my midnight, or Cory’s truck turns into a pumpkin.”
“No, home by midnight, or all three of you are grounded for three months! Got it?”
“Yes Ma-am. But what if something happens that is totally beyond our control, like Cory’s truck breaking down?”
“Grounded for three months!”
“Or what if a tree falls across the road, and blocks us in at the river?” Chris asked.
“I don’t care what happens,” Janice said, “Ride, walk, run or swim, you’d better be home by midnight! Are you going to bring that casket of your dad’s home before you go down there?”
All four boys were alarmed at that question, but Joey answered in a way that disarmed any suspicion. “No, it will be fine in the back of the truck. Besides, if we go home and unload it now, we will miss most of the story telling time, and that’s the best part of the Retreat. We can unload it when we get back home.”
“Okay, just don’t scratch it up. That casket was your Dad’s birthday present from me.”
“No problem, Mom.” He looked at his watch. “Hey guys, we need to be going. Don’t worry Mom, ‘Jesus’ is driving! We’ll be home by midnight.”
All four of them got into the cab of the truck, Chris still in his ‘mummy wrap’, and they drove away from the Church. Janice and Rebecca stood in the church parking lot and watched them go out of sight. The long August day was finally ending with a spectacular pinkish-orange sunset. Janice said to Rebecca, “Those boys are up to something. I can feel it!”
“Boys just being boys!” Rebecca replied.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
* * *
As they drove off into the sunset, the boys were ecstatic that they had cleared the final hurdle standing between them, and an awesome evening.
“This is going to be great!” Cory said. “I have our route all planned out. We start at McDonald’s in Montevallo, then on to the Dari-Queen in Laurel Grove, and if we have time, we’ll hit the Tiger Hut in West Blocton!”
“So we’re not going to the Retreat at all?” Calvin asked.
“Nah!” Joey replied. “If we hit all the places we plan to, we won’t have time! It’s 8:15 now. We gotta’ hustle to be home by midnight!”
Chris, who was to be the star of the show, couldn’t help laughing out loud. “This is going to be so cool! I wish we could film it!”
“What? And have incriminating evidence for Dad to see and hang us with?” Joey exclaimed. “That wouldn’t be smart! Just being able to remember that we did it, will be good enough!”
“Yeah, if Mom doesn’t kill us!” Calvin added.
“How will she ever find out?” Joey asked.
They pulled up to the intersection, but instead of going right, toward the river, and the Presbyterian Retreat, they turned left, toward Montevallo. Toward what they hoped would be a stunt that would elevate them, at least in the eyes of their peers, to the Teen-age Pranksters Hall of Fame.
* * *
As the sun was setting in Kellerman, Miranda waited for darkness, knowing that this whole mess with the Judge was about to reach its conclusion. During the day, she had totally cleaned her own house, to rid it of any evidence that Leon had ever been there. In the afternoon, the donation pick-up truck from Jimmy Hale Mission had arrived, and hauled off the freezer where she had kept the judge, so now she didn’t have to worry about that. She had called Lennie, to arrange for him to meet her secretly at the judge’s house at 8:30, so they could conduct a final sweep of the house, to make sure there was nothing to incriminate her there.
And of course, there was a devious reason for inviting Lennie to help her clean the judge’s house. She hoped that he would leave his fingerprints everywhere, which would incriminate him, if the house were to be checked for fingerprints, whic
h it was sure to be, once he was discovered to be missing.
Lennie was to meet here there. She was planning to slip through the woods which separated her house from Leon’s on foot, so that her car would not be seen there. One less thing to go wrong. When she deemed that it was dark enough, she left her house and crept through the woods, emerging on the Judge’s brick cobblestone driveway, only forty feet from the southwest corner of his house. She saw a figure sitting on a bicycle in front of the garage. That could only be Lennie, judging by the powerful stench of after shave lotion she could smell, even from that distance, but she had to make sure. She deliberately made a noise in the bushes, and she heard Lennie say, “Hello? Miranda, is that you?”
“Yes, Lennie, it’s me!”
“I been waiting for half an hour!”
“I told you 8:30.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want to be late.”
“Seen anyone?”
“No, not a soul.”
“Good. Let’s get started. The front door is unlocked.” As they entered the house, she said, “Now remember Lennie, you are not to tell anyone that we were ever here. What we are here for, is to clean up the house before the Judge’s wife returns from Europe. We will wash dishes, wash clothes, straighten up everything, so that nothing will be out of place.”
As she was talking, she was slipping on a pair of latex gloves.
“What are those for?” Lennie asked.
“I don’t want my hands to get dirty while I am cleaning.”
“Do I need gloves too?”
“Sorry, I have only this one pair, Lennie. Besides, a man’s hand is much tougher than a woman’s hand.”
“They are?”
“Yes, Lennie, and besides, the house is pretty clean anyway. There is probably no need for gloves at all.”
“Okay.”
Miranda opened the front door and turned on the light. It seemed like an eternity since she was last here, though it had actually been mere days. “Stay right here Lennie. I want to walk through the house by myself first, with no distractions, to see if I notice anything out of place.”
