Lawrence Block - The Burglar Who Traded Ted Williams

Not a bad-looking Burglar, he said. I dont suppose youd

According to Oscar Wilde, I told Carolyn, a cynic is

The rents only part of it, I said. Theres more

The elevator huffed and puffed getting me to the ninth

Youre not here, I told the dead guy. Youre a

Look, it wasnt my idea.

Well, it seemed to be working out. Id had plenty

Trade picked up as the afternoon wore on, with a

Before I forget, Wally Hemphill said, I called your therapist.

I could have gone straight to the store and opened

In 1950, I told Carolyn, the Chalmers Mustard Company got

Faded jeans, a cocoa-brown turtleneck, and a black leather bikers

Ten minutes later we were sitting in a Blimpie Base

Here we are, I said. The 1950 Chalmers Mustard Ted

Once, briefly, there was a Second Avenue subway. Back in

I was somewhere, God knows where, picking a lock. Had

This is an interesting combination, Carolyn said, inspecting her sandwich.

When I went out for lunch with Martin Gilmartin I

The car slowed. I pressed a button to lower the

He was right. It was a busy week.

At exactly seven-thirty the following evening I presented myself to

I had a tense moment there, I have to admit

I had a lunch date the following day, so I

A day or two later I was on the phone

N ot a bad-looking Burglar, he said. I dont suppose youd happen to have a decent Alibi?

I didnt hear the italics. Theyre present not to indicate vocal stress but to show that they were titles, or at least truncated titles. A Is for Alibi and B Is for Burglar, those were the books in question, and he had just laid a copy of the latter volume on the counter in front of me, which might have given me a clue. But it didnt, and I didnt hear the italics. What I heard was a stocky fellow with a gruff voice calling me a burglar, albeit a not-bad-looking one, and asking if I had an alibi, and I have to tell you it gave me a turn.

Because I am a burglar, although thats something Ive tried to keep from getting around. Im also a bookseller, in which capacity I was sitting on a stool behind the counter at Barnegat Books. In fact, Id just about managed to forsake burglary entirely in favor of bookselling, having gone over a year without letting myself into a strangers abode. Lately, though, Id been feeling on the verge of what those earnest folk in twelve-step programs would very likely call a slip.

Less forgiving souls would call it a premeditated felony.

Whatever you called it, I was a little sensitive on the subject. I went all cold inside, and then my eyes dropped to the book, and light dawned. Oh, I said. Sue Grafton.

Right. Have you got A Is for Alibi?

I dont believe so. I had a copy of the book-club edition, but

Im not interested in book-club editions.

No. Well, even if you were, I couldnt sell it to you. I dont have it anymore. Someone bought it.

Why would anyone buy the book-club edition?

Well, the prints a little larger than the paperback.

So?

Makes it easier to read.

The expression on his face told me what he thought of people who bought books for no better reason than to read them. He was in his late thirties, clean-shaven, with a suit and a tie and a full head of glossy brown hair. His mouth was fulllipped and pouty, and hed have to lose a few pounds if he wanted a jawline.

How much? he demanded.

I checked the penciled price on the flyleaf. Eighty dollars. With tax it comes toa glance at the tax tableeighty-six sixty.

Ill give you a check.

All right.

Or I could give you eighty dollars in cash, he said, and we can just forget about the tax.

Sometimes this works. Truth to tell, there arent many books on my shelves I cant be persuaded to discount by ten percent or so, even without the incentive of blindsiding the governor. But I told him a check would be fine, and to make it payable to Barnegat Books. When he was done scribbling I looked at the check and read the signature. Borden Stoppelgard, he had written, and that very name was imprinted at the top of his check, along with an address on East Thirty-seventh Street.

I looked at the signature and I looked at him. Ill have to see some identification, I said.

Dont ask me why. I didnt really think there could be anything wrong with him or his check. The lads who write hot checks dont offer you cash in an attempt to avoid paying sales tax. I guess I just didnt like him, and I was trying to be a generic pain in the neck.

He gave me a look that suggested as much, then hauled out his wallet and came up with a credit card and drivers license. I verified his signature, jotted down his Amex number on the back of the check, then looked at the picture on the license. It was him, all right, if a touch less jowly. I read the name, Stoppelgard, Borden, and finally the penny dropped.

Borden Stoppelgard, I said.

Thats right.

Of Hearthstone Realty.

His expression turned guarded. It hadnt been all that open in the first place, but now it was a fortress, and he was busy digging a moat around it.

Youre my landlord, I said. You just bought this building.

I own a lot of buildings, he said. I buy them, I sell them.

You bought this one, and now youre looking to raise my rent.

You can hardly deny that its ridiculously low.

Its eight seventy-five a month, I said. The lease is up the first of the year, and youre offering me a new lease at ten thousand five hundred dollars a month.

I imagine that strikes you as high.

High? I said. What makes you say that?

Because I can assure you

Try stratospheric, I suggested.

that its very much in line with the market.

All I know, I said, is that its completely out of the question. You want me to pay more each month than Ive been paying for an entire year. Thats an increase of what, twelve hundred percent? Ten-five a month is more than I gross, for Gods sake.

He shrugged. I guess youll have to move.

I dont want to move, I said. I love this store. I bought it from Mr. Litzauer when he decided to retire to Florida, and I want to go on owning it until I retire, and

Perhaps you should start thinking early retirement.

I looked at him.

Face it, he said. Im not raising the rent because Im out to get you. Believe me, its nothing personal. Your rents been a steal since before you even bought the store. Some idiot gave your buddy Litzauer a thirty-year lease, and the escalators in it didnt begin to keep pace with the realities of commercial real estate in an inflationary economy. Once I get you out of here Ill rip out all that shelving and rent the place to a Thai restaurant or a Korean greengrocer, and do you know what kind of rent Ill get for a nice big space like this? Forget ten-five. Try fifteen a month, fifteen thousand dollars, and the tenantll be glad to pay it.

But what am I supposed to do?

Not my problem. But Im sure there are places in Brooklyn or Queens where you can get this kind of square footage at an affordable rent.

Who goes there to buy books?

Who comes here to buy books? Youre an anachronism, my friend. Youre a throwback to the days when Fourth Avenue was known throughout the world as Booksellers Row. Dozens of stores, and what happened to them? The business changed. Paperback books undermined the secondhand market. The general used-book store became a thing of the past, with the owners retiring or dying off. The few who are left are on the tail end of long-term leases like yours, or theyre run by canny old codgers who bought their buildings outright years ago. Youre in a dying business, Mr. Rhodenbarr. Here we are on a beautiful September afternoon and Im the only customer in your shop. What does that say about your business?