Lawrence Block - The Burglar Who liked to Quote Kipling

A book in the Bernie Rhodenbarr series

I suppose he must have been in his early twenties. It was hard to be sure of his age because there was so little of his face available for study. His red-brown beard began just below his eyes, which in turn lurked behind thick-lensed horn-rims. He wore a khaki army shirt, unbuttoned, and beneath it his T-shirt advertised the years fashionable beer, a South Dakota brand reputedly brewed with organic water. His pants were brown corduroy, his running shoes blue with a gold stripe. He was toting a Braniff Airlines flight bag in one ill-manicured hand and the Everymans Library edition of The Poems of William Cowper in the other.

He set the book down next to the cash register, reached into a pocket, found two quarters, and placed them on the counter alongside the book.

Ah, poor Cowper, I said, picking up the book. Its binding was shaky, which was why it had found its way to my bargain table. My favorites The Retired Cat. Im pretty sure its in this edition. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while I scanned the table of contents. Here it is. Page one-fifty. You know the poem?

I dont think so.

Youll love it. The bargain books are forty cents or three for a dollar, which is even more of a bargain. You just want the one?

Thats right. He pushed the two quarters an inch or so closer to me. Just the one.

Fine, I said. I looked at his face. All I could really see was his brow, and it looked untroubled, and I would have to do something about that. Forty cents for the Cowper, and three cents for the Governor in Albany, mustnt forget him, and what does that come to? I leaned over the counter and dazzled him with my pearly-whites. I make it thirty-two dollars and seventy cents, I said.

Huh?

That copy of Byron. Full morocco, marbled endpapers, and I believe its marked fifteen dollars. The Wallace Stevens is a first edition and its a bargain at twelve. The novel you took was only three dollars or so, and I suppose you just wanted to read it because you couldnt get anything much reselling it.

I dont know what youre talking about.

I moved out from behind the counter, positioning myself between him and the door. He didnt look as though he intended to sprint but he was wearing running shoes and you never can tell. Thieves are an unpredictable lot.

In the flight bag, I said. I assume youll want to pay for what you took.

This? He looked down at the flight bag as if astonished to find it dangling from his fingers. This is just my gym stuff. You know-sweat socks, a towel, like that.

Suppose you open it.

Perspiration was beading on his forehead but he was trying to tough it out. You cant make me, he said. Youve got no authority.

I can call a policeman. He cant make you open it, either, but he can walk you over to the station house and book you, and then he can open it, and do you really want that to happen? Open the bag.

He opened the bag. It contained sweat socks, a towel, a pair of lemon-yellow gym shorts, and the three books I had mentioned along with a nice clean first edition of Steinbecks The Wayward Bus, complete with dust wrapper. It was marked $17.50, which seemed a teensy bit high.

I didnt get that here, he said.

You have a bill of sale for it?

No, but-

I scribbled briefly, then gave him another smile. Lets call it fifty dollars even, I said, and lets have it.

Youre charging me for the Steinbeck?

Uh-huh.

But I had it with me when I came in.

Fifty dollars, I said.

Look, I dont want to buy these books. He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Oh God, why did I have to come in here in the first place? Look, I dont want any trouble.

Neither do I.

And the last thing I want is to buy anything. Look, keep the books, keep the Steinbeck too, the hell with it. Just let me get out of here, huh?

I think you should buy the books.

I dont have the money. I got fifty cents. Look, keep the fifty cents too, okay? Keep the shorts and the towel, keep the sweat socks, okay? Just let me get the hell out of here, okay?

You dont have any money?

No, nothing. Just the fifty cents. Look-

Lets see your wallet.

What are you-I dont have a wallet.

Right hip pocket. Take it out and hand it to me.

I dont believe this is happening.

I snapped my fingers. The wallet.

It was a nice enough black pinseal billfold, complete with the telltale outline of a rolled condom to recall my own lost adolescence. There was almost a hundred dollars in the currency compartment. I counted out fifty dollars in fives and tens, replaced the rest, and returned the wallet to its owner.

Thats my money, he said.

You just bought books with it, I told him. Want a receipt?

I dont even want the books, dammit. His eyes were watering behind the thick glasses. What am I going to do with them, anyway?

I suppose reading them is out. What did you plan to do with them originally?

He stared at his track shoes. I was going to sell them.

To whom?

I dont know. Some store.

How much were you going to get for them?

I dont know. Fifteen, twenty dollars.

Youd wind up taking ten.

I suppose so.

Fine, I said. I peeled off one of his tens and pressed it into his palm. Sell them to me.

Huh?

Saves running from store to store. I can use good books, theyre the very sort of item I stock, so why not take the ten dollars from me?

This is crazy, he said.

Do you want the books or the money? Its up to you.

I dont want the books.

Do you want the money?

I guess so.

I took the books from him and stacked them on the counter. Then put it in your wallet, I said, before you lose it.

This is the craziest thing ever. You took fifty bucks from me for books I didnt want and now youre giving me ten back. Im out forty dollars, for Gods sake.

Well, you bought high and sold low. Most people try to work it the other way around.

I should call a cop. Im the one getting robbed.

I packed his gym gear into the Braniff bag, zipped it shut, handed it to him. Then I extended a forefinger and chucked him under his hairy chin.

A tip, I said.

Huh?

Get out of the business.

He looked at me.

Find another line of work. Quit lifting things. Youre not terribly good at it and Im afraid youre temperamentally unsuited to the life that goes with it. Are you in college?

I dropped out.

Why?

It wasnt relevant.

Few things are, but why dont you see if you cant get back in? Pick up a diploma and find some sort of career that suits you. Youre not cut out to be a professional thief.