Bookman

by Ed Baldwin

  “It’s been a helluva day. I just got out of jail. Sonofabitch po-leece threw me in there for trying to sell books. Can you believe that?”

  I cringed at the direction this was taking but had failed myself and was going to let John try it on his own. I walked over to the Coke machine and began fishing for a dime.

  “The law does what they please,” the old man said, taking the bottle from John, then taking a long draw himself. He was obviously on John’s side. They stared ahead for a few moments, contemplating the injustice of it all. Solemnly they finished the bottle, talking in subdued tones about the low blows life throws some people. I waited in the car with Randal.

  Suddenly, John stood up and slapped the old man on the back, snapping him out of his melancholy reverie. “Hey. I got that girl waitin’. We got to get back to Memphis. Will you take a check?”

  The old man got up and looked him in the eye and said, “I’ll take yours.”

  We cashed enough money for gas and I decided that John was a pretty fine addition to my crew so I let him brag and go over and over what had happened all the way back to Memphis. I hit the bank first thing the next morning to get enough cash to spring the guys back in the jail overnight. I bought them a big breakfast and a case of beer each. That seemed to be about even for a night in the slammer.

  “I’m ready for Little Rock,” Billy Schatz said one day after coming into the office early and closing the door.

  “You’ve only had a crew for a month,” I said, not wanting to be too easy. I had expected him the week before.

  “Hell, Phil. You had a district in not much more time than that. Besides, my production is equal to yours.”

  I stalled him off for another week under the pretense that Burt had told me a guy needed at least a thousand in the bank to start a sales office. What Burt really told me was to squeeze one more really good week out of him before cutting him loose on his own. The company pays all office and newspaper expenses, and he would be getting another $20 on every order in his crew. So there really wasn’t any financial drain except the moving, and he planned to live in a hotel for a few weeks anyway.

  The ruse worked pretty well. Billy wrote four the next week and squeezed a dozen out of the four salesmen in his crew. Production in the office was so good that I was getting all sorts of bonuses for over budget production and was salting it away in three different bank accounts. I didn’t want Honey feeling too flush all of a sudden.

  Billy talked two of the men in his crew and one in mine into joining him in Little Rock. With that kind of foundation he could count on doing reasonably well even if he couldn’t hire anyone new for a month. I went over with him to help set up while Burt came down and ran the district.

  We set up shop in an older downtown hotel in Little Rock. The office was a modest affair on a side street. There was just an army surplus desk for the sales manager and some waiting room furniture, but Billy was anxious to get out and conquer the world. I did my best to keep his spirits pumped up.

  The first few nights in the hotel were just like any other road trip—drinking and cards. That got a little old so we began to check out the local hotspots and came across the Pink Pussycat.

  Nestled back off the road on an older highway out of town near the Air Force Base, it was a large quonset building with an addition in the front. They had Go Go dancers in skimpy costumes and a hard rock band that made the roof shake when they really got going. But in spite of a dynamite show, things were a little slow during the week. When the same five guys came in for five nights in a row, drinking $70 worth of beer and pizza, and stayed until the janitor began sweeping up, we got to know the manager.

  Archie Yell spent most of his time sitting in with the band playing bass and singing an occasional song. When he got in the mood to mingle, or have another beer he’d just get up and the regular bass player would get back in. Old Arch was a small man with a lot of nervous gestures. When playing he would tap one foot, then the other, and sometimes both. All the while he would nod his head to the beat. When sitting at the table he’d blink like crazy and the tapping and nodding never stopped. This guy had rhythm like no other!

  “Hey, y’all are new in town,” he announced, sitting down at our table and ordering another round on the house.

  “Yeah. We’re setting up the new Collier’s office right here in Little Rock. Billy, here, is going to be the manager,” I said, ever on the lookout for an opportunity to pump Billy’s ego.

  “Hey, all right. I’m Archie Yell, proprietor and dispenser of good times.” He nodded, blinked and tapped his foot. “What do you think of the show?” Nod. Blink. Tap.

  It was a useless question. At that moment there were three semi-nude dancers on the stage. Every eye in the house was glued to one part or another of their anatomy. A tall leggy blonde was doing an up and down kind of bounce at one end of the stage, whipping her ponytail with the music. In the middle was a petite brunette, dancing with a baton in a kind of slow motion strut. Her act was much more subtle until she turned around and bent over, touching the baton to the floor, and giving the audience a view of the finest fanny in nine counties.

  At the other end of the stage was a heavy set black girl doing things at a rate twice that of the blonde’s. Her frantic rhythm sent waves through her exaggerated anatomical landmarks and the crowd roared.

  I just moaned in answer to Archie’s question about how the show was and tossed back the rest of my beer.

  “You like? I’ll have the girls come over after the show and have a beer with you fellas. Hey, we’re here to have a good time,” Archie said gaily as he got up to go back to his guitar.

  We had a few beers with Archie and his dancers after the show and then weaved our way back down to the hotel. The next night we worked close in so we could quit early and catch the last two shows.

  Archie yelled, “Hey Collier’s!” through the microphone as we came in. It was Friday and the crowd was larger.

  It was after 2:00 before the crowd thinned out and the girls changed into street clothes to come and have drinks and dance with the customers. I stumbled around with the brunette in a beer-induced stupor while Billy and Archie monopolized the other two. The band had left and we were using the juke box.

  “Hey! You like Sissy?” Archie said as he came up and put an arm around my shoulder.

  “I’m a leg man,” I said, meaning I liked her ass.

  “Show Phil some leg, sweetheart. Hey, we’re here to have some fun!”

  Sissy slowly raised her skirt, higher and higher, until a pair of black lace panties were visible, then turned and wiggled her behind for an instant before dropping her skirt and resuming the dance. She was all smiles.

  I groaned again and threw down another half a draft.

  The next thing I knew I was face down in bed listening to a phone ring. I looked at my watch and saw 9:00 a.m. staring back at me. There was a steady, rhythmic pounding in my head, and the movement to the phone caused a wave of nausea that almost sent me to the bathroom instead. It was Billy’s office and he could damn well go down and answer the phone. I told him so and he agreed. I lay back on the pillow planning another three hours rack time when an unexpected smell changed the direction of my train of thought.

  I sniffed my arms and hands, thinking I might have rubbed against one of the girls. It was there but not strong enough to fill the room. Nausea and vertigo were stronger than curiosity, and I lay still trying to get back to sleep when something in the bed moved. It began to dawn on me where the smell was coming from. I lay there for a few seconds trying to remember.

  I rolled over just enough to see a lump under the covers. Out of the top was part of a bouffant hairdo, mostly crushed and much the worse for wear.

  I began remembering more details. Archie had invited me into his office to discuss some of the “Realities of Business.” At the end of our talk he had told me that for $50 Sissy would be happy to get to know me.

  Still not certain of what had gone on, I slid a
hand under the covers to see what was there. A warm, bare behind that rolled over a bit when I touched it was there. I began to remember visions of that behind that I hadn’t seen on the stage. The vertigo returned so I lay back down but kept exploring with my hand. More memories returned. I had gotten my $50 worth.

  “Sissy?” I said, trying to wake her.

  No response.

  “Hey, good lookin’, wake up.”

  A low moan scooted lower in the bed. I began pulling the covers down. She resisted. The headache intervened and I decided to rest a little while longer and try again later. I dozed until 10:00 when I heard her get up and go to the bathroom.

  Half expecting her to be some worn out old whore in the morning light, I saw what appeared to be a younger woman than the one I’d seen on stage. In fact, aside from some bruises on her legs and back, Sissy was a perfect specimen. She was also as hung over as I was and in no mood for fun.

  “They must put something awful in their booze. My head feels like it’s been flushed down the toilet,” I said as I climbed into the shower with her.

  “You gotta quit tryin’ to keep up with the brewery. Leave some for someone else,” she said, her face flat and grim, while I soaped her back. “What’s your excuse? It’s my job.”

  “To get drunk with the customers?”

  “And whatever else Archie dreams up for me to do.”

  “You don’t have to do it,” I said, innocent as a lamb.

  “I want to do it,” she said as she got out of the shower, leaving the curtain open so water cascaded over the floor.

  She walked wet into the other room and rummaged around in her purse, finding some shampoo. She returned to the shower and began washing her hair. “Damn cigarette smoke gets in it—have to wash it every day.”

  I began to soap other parts of her anatomy and was rudely rebuked.

  “You had your fun. And then some.” With this, at least, I got her first smile of the morning. She looked like she remembered something, but didn’t seem to want to share it. Instead she dried off, wrapped her hair in a hotel towel, dressed, and was gone without further conversation.

  Burt had left word for me to call him in Memphis as soon as I came in. He was understandably pissed off over our lack of production. Our preoccupation with Archie’s women had clearly put a damper on our desire to work. On his way back to Minneapolis, Burt had some carefully selected words of advice for me. I assured him I would get everyone back on track.

  I returned to the office in Memphis Monday to a smaller group. Burt had kept things going fairly well and we were on budget. I hadn’t written an order in five days, so I let Barney drop me off in Whiteville, Tennessee. He went on to Jackson.

  With less than a thousand people, Whiteville was barely a wide spot in the road. It wasn’t even on the main highway. Rather it had been a watering stop on the railroad between Memphis and Nashville. The town was evenly divided down the middle by the tracks, and a fast freight came through without stopping every hour or so.

  I chose the better side of town to begin and soon got discouraged. There weren’t many children and the adults were a suspicious lot. It quickly got dark and I crossed over the tracks to the blue collar side of town, appreciating the warmth of my light raincoat as the December evening chill came on.

  My first call was to Bennie Hooper. He and his skinny wife lived in a run down mobile home on a gravel street at the edge of town. Although their home faced the street they were actually in the backyard of a house that faced a paved road.

  He identified himself as a truck driver when we first met, but closer questioning revealed he did manual labor on various farms around the area. He also drove an occasional load of chickens into Jackson for his uncle. He must have been a shade tree mechanic as well because the jeans he wore were so worn that it looked like only the grease stains were holding them together. Lounging on a naugahyde couch that was supported at one corner by four bricks instead of a leg, he smiled up at me like a content walrus.

  “So you see Bennie, the lucky family in Whiteville will get his whole set of books for just a dime a day. That’s less than you spend for cigarettes.”

  As we got further into the presentation and filled the living room up with shining promotional material, the skinny wife sat straighter and closer to Bennie. She had not expressed an opinion except with extreme prompting from me. Instead, she deferred to Bennie each time I asked a question Her body language, though, was pleading for the books. I wondered if Bennie noticed. I hit the educational benefit to small children hard, as their only child was still in the cradle. I talked about a “head start in a competitive world.”

  “Hoo-boy! I don’t know. That sure is a fine set of books.” Bennie said, squirming in his seat with the wife now clutching his arm. Apparently she was distracting him from his decision making because he stood up to look at the books from different angles.

  “You say we can pay that off over the 10 years and just pay that, uh, $3.99 a month?” He stooped to run his fingers over the broadside depicting backs of the 24 volumes, not even looking at me for a reply.

  “Well, no. I’d have to find someone else,” I said as I began replacing the materials. The wife shifted her weight on the couch.

  As I was replacing the materials in my briefcase, Bennie walked back toward the couch and then stepped into the hall that led back to the bedrooms. He hunkered down so he was sitting on his heels. He had chosen the hall because there was no place in the living room where he could sit like that and lean against the wall. He couldn’t see his wife from there, but her fidgeting became more audible. He lit a cigarette.

  “There is one more thing,” I said as I reached back into my case. I did not use this ace very often and carried it around just in case something like this came up. “In a rural area we are allowed to include this beautiful family Bible.”

  I pulled out a picture of a large Bible with a white leatherette cover and laid it beside the big picture of the complete set which I had left out. “In addition to the King James version of the Bible we have included all the famous art reproductions of Jesus, the last supper and many others all in full color. There is a large section for recording births, marriages and the like so this can be handed down from generation to generation as a complete record of family history.”

  There were tears in the wife’s eyes now, and poor old Bennie stood up, reaching for his wallet. “This here’s for the first month.”

  A wind had come up while I was with the Hoopers, and when I went back outside it was really cold. I walked back to the tracks and crossed. Since I had no appointments and at 9:00 there were houses with the lights out, I went to the laundromat where my pickup point was and sat down to wait.

  I had bought a Pepsi and was leafing through the prospectus when a lady came in and turned out the lights.

  “We close at 9:30,” she said as she held the door open for me.

  I huddled under the narrow awning as a light rain began to fall. The wind picked up so that it blew the rain under the awning, getting my feet wet. At 10:00 I could hear another freight coming in the distance so I walked over to the tracks for some excitement. The engineer slowed it down to about 40 and waved as he passed through town. There were 26 box cars and 2 tank cars. When I could no longer hear it in the distance I walked back toward the laundromat, stopping to read all the fliers in the window of the furniture store.

  At 10:27 some of the raindrops began bouncing when they hit the street. I opened my cigarette lighter and pulled the wick out further to make a larger flame, then heated the metal case by holding the lighter upside down. Thus heated the lighter made a nifty hand warmer, except it didn’t stay hot very long.

  AT 11:00 the town marshal pulled up in front of the laundromat and got out. I was shivering so bad I was ready for the cuffs. He had passed by every 30 minutes or so since I had been standing there.

  “You waitin’ for someone?”

  “Yeah. Guy was supposed to pick me up at 10,” I lied. />
  “You want to wait inside?” He asked as he opened a glass door next to the laundromat. I followed him inside. He lit a gas space heater and offered me a chair. It was a small dirty office with a desk and two chairs. This was city hall. I was damn glad to be there.

  “There’s an FBI agent here,” Honey said over the intercom.

  I got up to open the door. My mind raced, trying to figure why the FBI would be here. We had pissed off a few people, strapped a few books onto some folks who might not have really wanted books, but the FBI? I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Mr. Lazar?”

  “Yes,” I said, giving away nothing. Still thinking of excuses.

  “I’m James Davis with the FBI. Could we chat for a few minutes, in private?” He showed me his ID.

  “Sure,” I said, regaining my confidence and pointing at a chair for him to sit down. At least he hadn’t brought out the cuffs yet, and he was letting me sit behind my huge desk, which made me feel in control.

  “We’re looking for this man,” Davis said, holding up a picture. I strained over the desk to see a mug shot of Billy Schatz.

  “That’s Billy!” I gasped.

  “His birth certificate says Marvin Lee Gunther. He is wanted for armed robbery, forgery and kidnapping in Minneapolis. We have received information that he works here.”

  “Shit.” The realization was sinking in. The implications were building. My only manager was going to be unemployed as of today. My satellite office was closed. My most productive salesman was gone. “Shit.”

  “Is he here?”

  “He’s my sales manager in Little Rock. Best man I have. Maybe there is some mistake. He had a driver’s license that says his name is Billy Schatz,” I said hopefully.

  “Billy Schatz was mugged in the parking lot of a night club in Minneapolis last August.”

  I gave him the address of the office in Little Rock. He used the phone and called an agent there. Then he sat down and asked that we leave the doors in the reception area and the branch office open so he could see the two extensions. Relaxed now that he had done his job, he filled me in on some details.