Daredevil Riders

New Age

“you want to use my car?”

“i think we should, since i don’t happen to own one.”

annabelle conroy rode the elevator up to the second floor, stepped off, turned and entered the rare book reading room in the jefferson building of the library of congress. she surveyed the large room and spotted james shaw at his desk in the back. she caught his eye and he quickly came forward.

“annabelle, what are you doing here?”

“can you take a break? i’ve got reuben and harry finn out front. we want to talk.”

“about what?”

“what do you think? oliver. those guys took him from the hospital and we haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

“if anyone can take care of himself it’s oliver.”

“but he might need our help.”

“all right, give me a minute.”

as they rode down in the elevator james said, “this has been quite an exciting day for me.”

“why’s that?”

“we just got in an f. scott. and not just any f. scott. the f. scott.”

“the f. scott what?” asked annabelle.

james gazed at her in horror. “f. scott fitzgerald. one of the greatest american writers of all time.” he sputtered, “my god, annabelle, where have you been all these years?”

“nowhere near a library, i guess.”

“the book is the great gatsby, arguably his greatest achievement, and certainly his most well-known work. and it’s not just any great gatsby, of which we have several. it’s a first edition, first state, of course. but it has the very rare, scarcely obtainable dust jacket cover.” annabelle looked at him blankly. “you know, the one with the haunting pair of female eyes? it is one of the most uniquely famous covers in classic literature. you see, the cover was actually conceived before fitzgerald finished writing the book. he loved it so much he wrote a scene in the novel that included that image.”

“very interesting,” said annabelle politely, but her tone actually showed little interest. she had once shared a van with james for nearly two days, during which he had regaled her nearly nonstop with literary scuttlebutt. she had never really recovered from the onslaught.

they got off the elevator and walked toward the exit.

james continued, “and that’s not the best part. the best part is that it’s zelda’s copy. the provenance is absolutely certain.”

“who’s zelda?”

“who’s zelda?” sputtered james again. “his wife, of course. scott and zelda. a more tragic couple you would be hard pressed to find. she died in an asylum and fitzgerald drank himself to death. he inscribed the book for her. what a coup for the library. a one of one,” he added. “we love those.”

“totally unique?”

“absolutely.”

“how much did you pay for it?”

james looked taken aback. he blustered, “well, i mean, that is not for public—”

“come on, just an estimate.”

“it was well into the six figures, i’ll have to leave it at that,” he said, a bit pompously.

annabelle now looked interested. “my grandmother left me her personal copy of wuthering heights. i wonder how much it might be worth. it’s in excellent condition.”

james looked intrigued. “wuthering heights? first editions of those in pristine condition are rare. where did she get it?”

“at a bookstore eight years ago. it’s a paperback, is that a problem?”

james gazed stonily at her and said stiffly, “funny.”

outside they met up with reuben and harry finn. finn was a decades-younger version of stone, lean and lethal. unless he needed to move fast, he never seemed to even flinch, as though storing his energy for when a crisis occurred. reuben had changed from his loading-dock uniform into his usual garb of jeans and a sweatshirt with moccasins on his feet. they sat on the broad steps leading into the library.

annabelle said, “so what are we going to do?

“what can we do?” said reuben.

“oliver may be in trouble,” she replied.

“oliver is often in trouble,” responded james.

“those men who took him from the hospital,” began annabelle.

finn cut in. “nic. riley weaver’s boys. heard it from a buddy of mine. it was a catch and release. i doubt oliver gave them what they wanted.”

“then he is in trouble,” said annabelle. “and we have to help him.”

“why don’t we wait for him to ask for that help?” said james.

“why?” annabelle shot back.

“because every time i help him i get in trouble here,” he said, looking back at the enormous library building. “i’m actually on probation, a positively horrendous situation for someone of my age and level of experience.”

“no one’s asking you to risk your job, james. but i did find something out. in fact, it’s why i wanted to meet with all of you today.”

“what did you find out?” asked reuben.

“that oliver was leaving to go somewhere.”

“how do you know that?”

“i found a packed bag in his cottage. along with several books written in what i think is russian.”

“you mean you broke in his cottage and found it,” said james heatedly. “you have absolutely no respect for property rights, annabelle conroy. none. it’s outrageous. it really is.”

she slipped a book from her pocket and showed it to the librarian.

“yes, it is russian,” said james as he glanced at the title. he looked more closely at the title. “it’s a book on russian politics, but it’s decades old. why in the world would he be taking that with him?”

“maybe he was going to russia and he needed to bone up on his language skills,” suggested finn. “one way to do that is read the language.”

“why would oliver be going to russia?” asked reuben. “wait a minute, how would he even get there? he doesn’t have a passport. he doesn’t have any id at all. not to mention money for the trip.”