by Boyd Magee

Previously in The Diary of a Book Hunter

Boyd Magee, unemployed renegade, visits his friend Samantha at her Used and Rare Bookstore…Samantha tells Boyd that her signed copy of A Farewell to Arms has gone missing…She asks Boyd to find it for her…She thinks the man who took it is named Edgar Limon…Limon is obsessed with Hemingway…Boyd accepts her offer…Boyd visits his ex-wife, Amanda, to get his gun from her…Boyd visits another Used and Rare store…The clerk is no help, but when Boyd says “Edgar Limon,” the clerk scurries away to his boss…Boyd meets Sal, the owner of Sal’s Paradise Bookstore…Sal is familiar with Limon…He says Limon’s interests, based on the books Limon buys, include spells, curses and possibly otherworldly communication…Sal asks Boyd if he is a book hunter…Boyd heads out to track down Limon, the Hemingway obsessed witch…Boyd stops at The 360 for a beer…The bartender tells him that Limon drinks there…Limon wears rings…He spins them and mumbles…Limon mumbles at women and takes them home…Boyd adjusts a geek’s tie…Limon stops in for a beer…Boyd asks him a few questions…Limon spins his rings…Limon mumbles…Limon disappears…

Oh, Danny Boy!

I needed a day to cool off from Limon’s disappearing act. It’s not the sort of thing that you can forget about. He could make himself disappear; I saw it with my own eyes. Maybe that sort of thing normally wouldn’t rattle me, maybe if Limon wasn’t the guy I was looking for and I saw him disappear from across the bar I would have shrugged and ordered another beer. But since I had to track him down, it made the situation a bit more troubling. A lot more troubling …

   If I didn’t care about Samantha so much, I might have called the hunt off. But she needed her book back, and was out a lot of money without it. She’d done enough for me that I had to repay her. Plus, she was paying me, and I was walking around telling people I was a professional book hunter.

   I guess I didn’t realize what it meant when people told me Limon was into the occult and magical arts. I always looked at those things like cute hobbies – the same as if he liked to knit or collect piggybanks. I didn’t think those sorts of things were something that somebody could master, much less use. You get cynical enough that you start to think the sky isn’t blue.

   I sat around my place, drank, and watched baseball. I thought about calling Amanda, thought about her wearing that robe with her hair still wet, but thought better of it. I don’t think I would have impressed her much by talking about my day. I decided I’d call her once I got Limon and got paid. I could take her out to dinner to a place with a waitress that expects a tip. I kept my gun out the whole time I was around my place. I thought that if Limon could disappear, he could reappear, too. I didn’t need my world to change from the bottom of the seventh and six beers to a magical freak standing in front of the television … at least not without my gun in hand.

   After a day of centering myself, I got back on the case. I had heard that there would be a used book sale at the shopping mall. I forget who it benefited, but the money went to scholarships. I knew from Samantha that these types of events drew a good amount of people in the business. I printed up business cards on my computer. Real simple ones that said, “Boyd Magee – Book Hunter,” with my phone number underneath. My entrepreneurship impressed me. I slid a handful in my back pocket.

   I got to the mall right as the sale started. They had tables set up throughout the building in the wide aisles that were usually filled with either teenage girls in clothes their fathers didn’t know they had or seniors on their morning walk, depending on the time of day. That day, though, it was just books. Tables and tables all divided into categories. I found the spirituality and occult table quickly, but the occult books were somewhat of a letdown. Lots of stuff on Big Foots and UFOs, stories of lost souls wanting more than the world could give them. Not much on disappearing witches who read Hemingway.

   Now here’s where things get interesting. I made my way through the tables, and ended up at the rare book section. The tables were set up in a rectangle with book sale volunteers in the middle with a cash box. Book dealers swarmed around it like yellow jackets on a soda can. I had a hard time getting to the table. It seemed like every time I got close, one of the book people nudged over just enough to keep me out. It happened enough times that I knew it wasn’t coincidence. I saw an opening and nudged back against a heavyset middle-aged man with a Post Office container full of leather books.

   “Excuse me, I was looking at those,” the guy said. His breath smelled like sausage.

   “Oh yeah,” I said. “No problem, I’ll be done in a minute.”

   That got him going another way, with a huff. Across the table two dealers were about to come to blows. One screamed that the other took the book right out of his hands. The other said the thing about the early bird and the worm. They were both meek little guys. It quickly turned to nonsense, and they dispersed, although the one who said he had the book in the first place kept his voice up. Had they ended up fighting, I think one would have bitten the other, but I couldn’t say which one. Maybe both, and if that happened, I would have pulled up a chair.

   I looked at the books in front of me. Whenever I saw old books, I always thought of how many hands they had passed through. How many sorry, lonely and desperate hands had turned the pages to escape from the job they hated or the spouse who wouldn’t listen. How many eyes looked over the pages because they were afraid to look at their own lives. Or how many people that just loved to read, loved the feeling of the pages turning in their fingers, the intimate contact with a great writer, like a slow dance to a Patsy Cline song in the summertime. I’d been all three of those. 

   I didn’t see much in front of me that caught my eye. A couple of writers I liked, but I wasn’t really looking to buy. I made my way around the table as best I could. I didn’t push much, but I noticed some of the people did. Nobody pushed me, though, which was good thinking.

   I did that for a little while until I came across a big book bound in black leather, with raised bands on the spine and some faded silver signs. I picked it up. It was heavy in my hands. I thought it felt heavier than it should have, but that might be a problem in my memory. “$60.00” was written on the front page, which put it at the high end of the books I had looked at that morning.

   It seemed to be what I was looking for. Lots of diagrams, charts and passages that looked like poems with bad endings. Some of it was in different languages. There were lots of drawings of moons, fires and eyes. Looked good to me. I started to look at some other books when one of the workers walked over to me.

   “Well,” the man said, “let’s see what the professionals are buying today.” He had a trace of an Irish accent, like he had been away long enough to lose it but wanted to make sure everyone still heard it. His hair was thinning and sandy. He tried to hide the thinness with creative combing, but he just made it stand out.

   I looked around to see what professional he was talking about. He was looking right at me, though.

   “I’m not a professional,” I said. “At least not at this.”

   “Well my lad, you certainly picked that book up quickly, I noticed.”

   “I’m not your lad,” I said. “

   “Just trying to be friendly,” he said. “But like I said, you picked that book up quickly.”

   “I was looking for something like this. I was under the impression that these books were for sale.”

   “Yes, they are, of course. But I am not sure if that book was meant to lie on the table. I believe that there has been a mistake, and I must ask you to hand the book over to me.”

   I pulled the book a little bit closer against my body. I guessed I wasn’t the first person to do that.

   “I think I’m going to hold onto it,” I said. “I’ll keep the book and write you a check. How’s that?”

   “No sir. That will not work. That book is not for sale. There has been a mistake.”

   “Do you need my driver’s license for the check, or can you go by my good looks?”

   “No. That book is not for sale. Please give it to me, or I will have to call a guard.”

   “I’ll write my license number on the check. I’d hate to put you in a bad spot.”

   “Return the book, or I will call a guard,” he said. He leaned closer to me, across the table.

   “What are you going to tell the guard? That I’m trying to buy a book? I’m going to write you a check. You seem really busy.”

   I set the book on the floor to write out a check, and old Danny Boy dove under the table to grab it. I was there first, though, and his eyes locked with mine then moved down. My gun peeked out from under my coat. I took the book. We both stood up.

   “Please,” he said. “Please let me have the book. I know a man who would like this very much. He is a close friend. He collects these sorts of books, and I believe he has a unique insight into them.”

   “Yeah, I think I know him. I’m going to buy the book.”

   “You couldn’t possibly know him. He keeps a very low profile.”

   Definitely Limon, I thought. For all the talk I heard of him keeping a low profile, I bet more people in town knew him than knew who was the head judge. I, of course, had met the judge, so I knew both of them.

   “I’ll write you a check,” I said and wrote it out. “My money’s better than his anyway.”

   “Now you are insulting my friend, whom you don’t even know. I will ask you one more time to leave the book here so that I can sell it to him.”

   “It’s $60, right?” I looked right into his little eyes. “Tell Limon he’ll find another one.”

   That got him. I don’t think he would have been more surprised than if I told him I liked cuddling with his wife. The thought made me look down at his hands, where there were two rings. One was a wedding ring, but the other wasn’t. It was just like the ones Limon wore. That got me.

   We stood there for a second. It was a moment of clarity for both of us. The guy with the Post Office container was next to me. He was ready to check out, and I handed Danny Boy the check.

   I faded into the crowd, but kept an eye on Danny Boy. He got back to his business, and he stayed busy. I went to the restaurant in the mall and had a beer and a smoke. I looked at the book a little, too. It looked like a mess. I thought about all the Limons that had used the book. I wondered if Danny Boy had promised it to Limon but had forgotten to pick it up. This all made my life more interesting.

   I walked by the rare book tables again, and he was still there. Still bust, too. I went to the CD store and listened to their headsets. I listened to Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen. I left and bought a pretzel. I checked on Danny Boy again. Still there, still busy. I sat down on a bench where he couldn’t see me, and I watched him. The teenage girls in their contraband clothes came out. They laughed when they passed me. I didn’t laugh back. A new group of workers came to the table. Danny Boy covered up his cover up with a cap.

   I followed him out of the mall. He hadn’t seen me, so he wasn’t looking for me. He got to his car. So did I. He didn’t have time to say anything until I was right up against him.

   “You,” he said. “You leave me alone. You’ve caused me enough trouble for one day.”

   “I’ll leave you alone. Just give me Limon’s address.”

   “You are out of your mind. I would not give you his address even if I did like you.”

   “I don’t care if you like me, lad. In fact, that’s the last thing on my mind. Give me his address and I’ll walk away.”

   “Not a chance.”

   I got up real close to him just to make a point. At the time, I had no desire to rough him up. That changed when he reached for my gun. That sort of thing will change things real quick. I grabbed his hand before it got to the gun. In my grasp, I could feel one of his rings. I didn’t know which one it was, but figured it didn’t particularly matter. I took it off with my free hand and kept my grip tight with my other one.

   “Give me Limon’s address,” I said, “and I’ll let go of your hand.”

   “Please give me my ring back.”

   “Give me his address. I may still keep your ring, though. But, on the upside, you’ll be able to drive home.”

   He got the point and told me Limon’s address. Limon lived up in the hills. I didn’t need Danny Boy to write down directions. I had expected more of a fight, even if it would have been pretty one sided.

   “You’re boy doesn’t lay as low as you think,” I told him. “He stole a book from my friend. I’m going to get it back.”

   “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

   I let go of his wrist and looked at the ring. It wasn’t his wedding band.

   “I have a pretty good idea, but thanks for looking out. It means the world to me.”

   “Now what are you doing to me?” he asked as I slid my hand into his pants pocket. I came out with what I was looking for and took the battery from his cell phone. 

   “I think I’m going to see Limon. I want to surprise him though. You understand.”

   I took out one of my business cards and gave it to him.

   “Call me if you want the battery back.”

   I felt bad for the guy, but he had been helpful. And it wasn’t so bad for him. I’m sure he didn’t think he’d meet a professional book hunter when he got out of bed that morning. That’s the thing about getting out of bed, though. You never know what’s coming your way.