The Mad Book Dealer

Antique, First Editions, Unique, Collectable. Books Bought ONLY BEST QUALITY!!! DO NOT WASTE MY TIME!!!!!! Nitocrisarchive@gmail.com

     The grey-eyed girl passed Charlie coming out of the elevator of West 96th street. The door was open and she could tell by the combined odor of old paper, and Moroccan leather that there would be some decent books here. Shelves ran along one wall of the apartment. She pushed the sliding library ladder so she could get a better look at a set of Prescott’s History of the Conquest of Mexico bound in red gilt leather.

“Just give me what you think is fair.”

“You have a very fine collection here, Dr. Sign.” She said not looking away from the books.

“Yeah, I haven’t been able to part with them.”

“Moving?”

“You could say that…just leave the books on the shelf all the way to the left. What is the quote? A room without books is a room without a soul?”Derrick took a volume of The Life of Samuel Johnson into his hand and caressed the binding. “Books have given me joy all my life especially since I lost my sight.  I don’t think I have to explain it to you, but the feel of a book in the hand the binding, the boards, the smell of the paper and leather. The sound of the pages even, still give me pleasure.”

She was busy calculated what he had and feeling a little dizzy high up on the ladder, when a tall gaunt man (she hadn’t noticed previously) with hollows under his eyes wearing a threadbare double-breasted suit sitting at a desk, busy writing a letter, said  “My dear, does he have any works by the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred ?”

 “I have an appointment but an associate of mine will be here in about an hour to settle up with you. Will that be enough time?”

“Yes it should.” She said feeling a nauseous pit in her stomach.

Derrick rubbed his stumbled chin, “You don’t waste time do you?”

“No, Dr. Sign, I don’t. It was nice to meet you.”

                                        

The grey-eyed girl retrieved a notebook and pencil from her knapsack and began methodically recording the values of the books, what they would be worth online and how much she could pay Dr. Sign. She was sure she wouldn’t have enough money to front for all the books. There was well over $50,000 worth of books here. A hot sensation ran made the tiny hairs stand up on her arms.

“Quite a collection wouldn’t you say.” The man sitting at the desk was pulling a book from the shelf. Ah, the Arabian nights, one of my earliest influences. Buying books from a blind man, I do wonder how he went blind, perhaps he looked into one of these very books, possible a book containing a message so unearthly, so titanic, so beyond the ken and realm of human understanding his eyes ceased functioning rather than relay the horrid message to his mind.”

“Perhaps” she continued writing figures in her notebook trying to focus.

The gaunt man perused the shelves, “Ah yes, the Iliad, the Odyssey, this blind man does see I contend with a library such as this. This apartment is quite nice you know? Not like the places I lived in while I was here, rat-holes they were, the high ceiling and moldings are quite nice. I just adore these windows. Do you know why Nito that I never liked New York? People say I found it too fast passed, to diabolical, to monumentally oppressive, and it is all those things.  What I really didn’t like though was I couldn’t see the stars from my dingy apartment window. My view was a brick wall two inches from my window. Really. Are you listening Nito?  I see you are busy let me sit I will write this all down in a letter for you; ok Nito?”

“Yes Howard…?”

“I just wanted to see if you were listening.”

“Go ahead write down for me.  I know how you love to write letters.”

“OK Nito but I will be right here if you need my help. I do know my way around books you know. You know right, that…”

“Yes Howard, I know.”

He sat back down at the desk and started to write with a fountain pen.

After forty minutes the grey-eyed girl had almost finished tallying up the worth of Dr. Sign’s library, when a furry, orangey streak ran yipping by her scaring Howard out of the desk and up the library ladder.

“Egads! What was that?” Howard said.

The Pomeranian did a circuit or two of the room.  Behind the dog Mort entered the room.

“Oh a mangy mongrel of a dog! I so do prefer cats.”

“Come here Leland leave her alone,” The Pomeranian continued to yap and run around the room.

“I’m almost finished.”

“You must the book dealer.”

“How’d you guess?” The grey-eyed girl recognized him from the poetry reading.

Mort recognized her right away.

“Gads! Nito what kind of people do you associate with.”

She tried to ignore what he was saying.

“Professor Sign gave me a check for you, just let me know how much when your done.”

“It will be just a few more minutes, just have to tally it all up.”

“Nito, do not trust this creature. I am sure he is probably an emissary from a unseen race of creatures so beyond our understanding doing business with him will surely infect your sanity.” He said from his perch on the ladder.

Mort walked across the apartment and into the kitchen and started to move some glasses and dishes around.

“Howard you have to shut-up. Why don’t you leave?”

“He has pink eyes! I bet he stole Dr. Sign’s sight and sanity.”

“Listen to yourself.”

“Did you say something?” Mort called from the kitchen.

“Ah no, nothing” she said.

“You have to leave, now.” She said in a harsh whisper.

“Here I brought you water.” Mort said.

“Oh thanks,”

“What kind of creature drinks water?  Probably to keep his gills wet.” Howard said as he disappeared out of the door.

“My name is Mort by the way.” He extended his hand

“My friends call me Nito.” She said shaking his hand.

“I know what you did after that poetry reading.”  He said with small smile on his face.

The Air Between Us

Dear Charlie,

Read this letter by the shore.

Stand and feel. Feel the continent of nothing that separates us. See me from across the world gazing to you. Your eyes are green swirls in tidal pools. Waves wreathe sea foam along damp tracts of sand. My toes curled in the silken loam; up to my knees, breakers beckoning, undulating, “come deeper” the creamy tops swallowing my legs, hips.

Charlie feel the air between us.  Let it caress, let it hold you, let it grip you. Lick blowy against you, through you.  The sky is warm, pliable, let it enfold you. Taste the salt-spray  bite of the breeze.

 I kiss the air between us.

Feel my kiss on the air between us.

Love,
L.A.F

Eyes on the Street

THAA-WHACK! That was the sound of Mort's body hitting the mat.

Mort remembers seeing the ceiling of the dojo dimly give way to a fluttering blackness at the corners of his vision, like someone was tightening a garrote around his neck, then it was total black.

That was the first time Mort met Professor Sign.

Looking across the mat; Mort didn't think much of the man at the time. Yes, he noticed the tattered

black belt, the thick wrists revealed by the sleeves of the man's gi, but the guy was blind.

Mort was cocky in the way a lot of young, strong, beginners are. Mort pulled his blue belt tight, went to shake the hand left dangling for him. When Mort came to he was shaken; he stayed away from the black belt for months.

Eventual Sign came up to him "Why you dodging me Mort? You have to tap next time buddy." So Mort grabbed hold of Sign's gi when Mort pushed Sign pulled when Mort pulled Sign pushed. Mort felt like chew toy in the mouth of a Rottweiler. It was like grappling a whirlwind inside an empty jacket.

 "Don't use Strength Mort. Feel where I'm giving you energy than use that energy to throw me."

Sign took Mort under his wing teaching him all the techniques, and counters he knew. Pretty soon Mort was tossing guys on their heads as well. Professor Sign felt akin to this somewhat socially awkward kid that had certain brashness, an outsider’s attitude.

 

After years of training with Professor Sign; Mort knew almost nothing about him, he wore a ring but never mentioned a wife, he lost his vision somehow while working for the NYPD, that he taught Criminal Psychology and Profiling at John Jay College, and of course the ability to toss you on your head in the blink of an eye. Sign on the other had known almost everything about Mort. For instance that Mort was a nickname. That his family ran a funeral parlor which Mort worked at and that he was expelled from the Forensic Pathology Program at John Hopkins University because of extra circular experiments involving cadavers from the pathology lab. Sign knew Mort was something of a prodigy when it came to study lividity, desiccation, putrification, taphonomy, proximate and immediate causes of mortality. Mort though rough around the edges was a good kid and he knew his stuff.

It was on the Desi Freedman case, that Professor Sign enlisted Mort’s help. She was missing for two days when Steve Freedman, a Wall Street big-shot with enough dough in the bank to by a deserted island in the Caribbean and enough girlfriends to repopulate it with hired Sign to find her. Steve met Detective Sign at the couple’s posh west side townhouse. Through an open window Sign felt a breeze; the blowing breeze brought a smell of new churned dirt, and the faint bitter ammonia scent of decay. Sign knew Desi was buried not too deeply under the ivy in courtyard. He finished his talk with Steve Freedman in the courtyard “Ever since I lost my sight,” Sign said “that is one of my favorite sensations, the wind blowing through ivy.” He couldn’t risk letting him know he had found Desi already Sign had a feeling Mr. Steve had some blood on his hands and dirt under his fingernails.

 Mort was trapped. Professor Sign was holding him down using his signature side control pressure crushing Mort’s head down against the mat. Mort futilely maneuvered his legs to get a knee against Sign’s body to create some much needed space, just to breathe. Sign said to him. "Mort I hear your pretty good with dead bodies."

"Yeah they don't complain much."

"I bet. I have a job for you if you’re interested."

Sign needed Mort’s expertise to place a time of death, cause of death, everything a forensic Pathologist does and more. Sign always like working just outside the rules so he chose Mort.

 The Desi Freedman case was wrapped up. Two of Steve Freedman’s girlfriends murdered her in her sleep while Steve watched lying next to her in bed the whole time. Steve and the two girlfriends were both convicted and awaiting sentencing. Mort was able to tell the time and immediate cause of death through asphyxiation. Mort couldn’t testify in the trial because he wasn’t licensed but Sign brought Mort’s report to the coroner who gave it her seal of approval.

 The duo continued to train jiu-jitsu together and Mort would help out whenever Sign needed him. They would banter about cases as they tried to choke or lock up a submission on each other. While Sign had Mort squirming locked in an arm bar, he said.

"How about working for me full-time more-or-less."

"Owww...Owww!  Tap! Tap, tap."

"Oh, sorry. Mort I've learned a lot, how to use my senses to compensate, but I'm not superhuman I could use a pair of eyes on the street."

 

Mort became Sign's eyes on the street doing surveillance operations, trailing people, providing forensic backup at crime sciences, and supplemental pathology reports. With Mort’s help Sign was being hired for more and more high profile cases working with the FBI, NYPD, even the Joint Task Force on Terrorism, but he liked staying on small cases private cases that paid a whole lot more.

  It was Mort’s idea to place a camera and listening device in Sign’s sunglasses. Mort really could be Sign’s eyes at a crime scene or when meeting with clients or suspects, communicating information via a hidden earpiece. Sign quickly garnered a reputation of semi-superhuman powers of deduction, a blind Sherlock Holmes.

Fortunes Told/ Hairs Cut

Before I left for Mexico I figured I would get a hair-cut.

Someone had recommended I see this lady about it. Turns out she wasn't much of a barber but a hell of a fortune teller. I got the address from a contact in the city who mainly deals with polish immigrates and intelligence from their network of resistant fighters. This particular contact thought I needed a little insight in to my future and subsequently a trim.

After a little wandering around the village I found the Barber pole hanging from a second story apartment above a sign that said Fortunes Read/ Hairs Cut. I walked up the stairs and was passed by some ladies leaving almost bald but for some rough tufts of hair sticking out of their heads. Is that what I'm in for I thought?

The room was like your typical Barber shop, mirrors, two barber chairs, a waiting area with magazines, chairs, a coat rack, and pictures of men's and women's hairstyles but here you couldn't pick your hairstyle. There was also a back room separated by a beaded curtain over which hung a sign in the shape of a hand with an eye in it reading Aggi the Psychic.

I sat in the chair supremely skeptical and afraid for my head. Aggi came out, she was a dressed in a peasant tunic and looked like she hadn't had a haircut for years herself. Steel gray and black pulled back into a wild ponytail that reached the back of her thick legs. She looked at me with indifference and said "You want haircut?"

"Yes- please."

She motioned with her strong arm that looked accustomed to hard manual labor whipping out a white smock she tightly fastened it around my throat. Trying to loosen it with my finger I said "Just a little off the sides." and she smacked my hand away and said "Sit still."

Hair collected on the floor and she clipped away taking random bites off my head. I blew the hair off my face and blinked to keep it out of my eyes. Out from behind a beaded curtain a little woman with a broom twice as big as herself and dressed similar to Aggi started to sweep the hair into piles at Aggi's feet .Then a high-pitched voice came from below me.

"You will be traveling." The voice was coming from the little lady sweeping the hair into piles around the chair.

"Yes, I plan too." I glanced down and saw here staring down into the small piles of hair.

"Don't move." the lady with the ham hock arms said and forced my head straight ahead.

"The trip you are taking will end abruptly. Be careful of a green woman and be on the lookout for an enemy who is really your ally. Your trip will be ultimately unsatisfying. Don't go into bad places alone."

By this point it was all pretty general stuff and my head was getting cut to shreds.

"Stay off of motorcycles. You have knowledge, you feel you can't divulge. Disappear, someone is looking for you... you should disappear."

Although I was almost completely bald by this point I wanted to hear what she said and let the rest of my hair get chopped off.

"You will have children. But soon you will have to..."

At that point she stopped.

"Have to what?" I said looking down at the lady as she swept up the remaining piles of hair and waddled back behind the beaded curtain.

"Hey, where's she going?"

"No more hair no more fortune." the thickset lady with the scissors grunted.

It was true my head was completely shore.

Mexico Night

  

     It turned gory that night in Mexico. Blood mixed with rain water pouring from the palm fronds and running along the concrete patio of the cantina. I wouldn’t have ordinarily minded a scene like this but it was my blood pouring so freely into the night. Just a minute ago I was drinking a cerveza with lime and smoking in my new guayabera shirt; now my head felt the rain but the blackness faded.  I was watching my life pour out, and I didn’t really mind, I actually felt quite comfortable head busted open face digging into the concrete patio.

            I rolled onto my side and looked into the placid saucer sized brown eyes of the little Mexican kid. He was frowning and looked scared. I pushed myself on to my knees. Someone had done a good job putting me down. There was a gash on the side of my head, unsteady as I stood I placed a hand to stauch the bleeding.

 “Hola Kid.”

     He just looked at me with what I guessed was concern, shock or just plain curiosity then ran inside crying.  I let myself drop back into the chair I had been sitting in when someone clocked me good with what must have been something hard and heavy. I looked at my shirt and it was rusty pink with blood, water and dirt. My beer didn’t spill so I took a long draught, lit a smoke and took a long drag.

 “Fuck…”

“Senor Gringo you OK”? The ladies in the kitchen were apparently too busy to see what happen while they were preparing an octopus in a large cast iron pot. I had watched them squeeze the ink from the things head. The giant pot of pulpo was simmering now, it smelt both garlicy and like the ocean. Now I had ink coming out of my head- red ink I was back in school the old mistake machine back in action.

     Why wouldn’t someone just finish me off?  The Kestrel wasn’t so crude as to caveman bash me on the side of the cranium, no I would be dead if it was him who wanted me dead.

      I had figured out why the Kestrel wanted me in Mexico though; I stuck out like a sore thumb down here, yeah I could get lost in Mexico,but  it was easy for anybody to find me. The local news spread quickly and information was cheap and easy to get. I quickly found it hard to assimilate; they looked at my blond hair and blue eyes and soon I was gringo, or Americano or whatever they called me. I didn’t have a grip on the language so relied on who ever I stayed with. I also knew who hit me lying beneath a palm tree like another jungle plant was a green hat shimmering like the surrounding jungle.

Bridges

"What is it with you and bridges?"

 I was cranky with a screaming tooth ache and it wasn’t getting any quieter. My whole head was wobbly with it and the whiskey I was nipping to keep the pain at bay.

“What’s the matter Mr. Farmer- don’t you like the scenery? Besides it’s easier to see who’s coming up on you. You can learn a lot from me Chuck.”  

"Yeah, right." This Kestrel guy was more irritating than ever.

We paced the bridge the wood slots making a creaking, satisfying noise as we crossed toward Manhattan.

"I saw your little post-script to your girlfriend."

"You are resourceful Kestrel."

“Did I ever tell you I was an engineer before the war? Good training for an intelligence man, figure out how the pieces work together. How you can eliminate unnecessary parts.” The Kestrel said with a grim smile.

"Listen you know as well as I, you need to get her out of there and the way I see it, they already know about her, they don't need me to tell them."

"Spit it out what do you want?'

"I need you to go to Mexico."

“I hear it’s just wonderful this time of year, I’ll send you a postcard. You are just hilarious Mr. Kestrel.” I took a drag from my cigarette and a pull from my whiskey.

"You don't get it; you could have compromised me Hombre, that’s Espanol by the way."

I glanced at him, threw my cigarette over the railing and stopped dead.  My head felt like it would cleave off leaving me half a head; I thought Shit I could be happy that way- if the pain stopped.

"What are you saying pal?"

"I’ll bring her to the U.S. but you cannot have any contact.”

""What makes you think I’m going to do that now?”

“I know what kind of ratchet you two had going on... what your plan was, I know who is a big fan, of your Ava de Fleur, or should I say Louisa Foerster. So this is the deal; you leave, not forever, just till this blows over, she in deference to you-  comes here to live but I can’t let you two communicate; too risky.”

"You don't understand. I was going to marry her. Where do you get off”?

“Very romantic; didn’t peg you for the romantic type. Maybe my reputation doesn't precede me. A year ago I would of just eliminated you both and been done with it but I like you Chuck. You remind me of myself in a way.”

I spun and grabbed the man by the throat shoved and held him just over the railing tenuously balancing him.

"WHAT makes you think I can't do the same to you right now”? The pain was too much.

"Mr. Farmer I have many tentacles, I have my eyes, ears, and talons in many places. You can let me fall into the river but your poor Ava won’t leave France; worse she won’t die in France she will die somewhere much much worse."

I let him back my head swimming with pain emotional and physical. I pulled out the flask of whiskey again and took two quick hits.

"The choice is yours Mr. Farmer, either you do as I say or...have it your way." he said as he turned pulling his overcoat up over his neck and face.... "You won’t be helping anyone especially Louisa or..."

“Or myself yeah right well…”

 “…Or that little bun she’s got in the oven.”