him into account for Harden’s slot. The trouble was, his good work had been done in a little office, one man plus secretary. He’d been so loaded down all these years with routine that he’d never had time for anything else. He was like the character in the Disney Alice in Wonderland who had to run at top speed just to stay in one place.
This might be his big chance to shine, to be noticed by the big shots...if International Surety was still operating by the time the case was wrapped up. There had been rumors of a takeover bid from a bigger company. International Surety hadn’t been doing too well the past few years, and there was hardly an employee who wasn’t looking over his shoulder to see if something might be gaining on him.
Lindsey said, “Do you have a list of the missing items?”
“Off-Officer Plum took that.”
“You didn’t keep a copy?”
He shook his head. “B-But I can make another list,” he said.
“Thirty-five items? You memorized them?”
“Uh, I can see them,” he said. “I can just close my eyes and see the displays, the boxes, I can visualize everything that they took. Comics are my life, Mr. Lindsey. If I don’t get the money for the ones they took, I’ll lose my store, I’ll lose everything. I’ll never pay off the consignors.”
He felt around in his pockets for a stubby pencil, grabbed a napkin and started writing. Lindsey took the pencil and the napkin out of his hands and gave him an International Surety ballpoint and a lined pad.
He sat there making the list. He wrote down the first dozen or so without slowing down. Then he stopped and closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened them and wrote down a couple more, stopped again, wrote again. Finally he scanned the list, nodded, and handed it to Lindsey.
“It—It was the whole RTS order,” Patterson said. “I don’t know what I’ll do. What will George say? What about the consignors?”
Lindsey scanned the list, took his International Surety ballpoint back and slid it into his pocket. “Hold on,” he said. “What order did you say?”
“RTS.”
“Yeah. What’s that?”
“Uh, Ridge Technology Systems.”
Lindsey said, “You’ve lost me, Patterson. You run a comic book store, right? What’s Ridge Technology Systems and what do they have to do with a bunch of overpriced comic books?”
“Ridge was my customer. They were going to buy the comics.”
“Ridge Technology? That sounds like some kind of electronics outfit.”
“Y-Yeah,” Patterson said. “They build computers. We even have one of them in the store, for inventory and accounting. A Circuitron 60.”
Lindsey grinned. The computer at International Surety was a Circuitron 60. He remembered the classes on how to use the thing. He had gone first, then sent Ms. Wilbur. When she came back she helped him figure the thing out. He didn’t know or care who built it. To him, computers were generic, like jet liners or toothbrushes or VCRs. You just use them, and don’t pay any more attention to them than you have to.
“You often sell comic books to high-tech corporations?” Patterson shook his head. “No. Uh, could I have another Danish?”
Lindsey got him one. He had to stand in line again, and he glanced at Patterson to make sure he didn’t slip away. He didn’t.
“This is the first time,” Patterson said. “Usually we sell to private collectors. But this guy came in one day—”
“What guy?” Lindsey had his pocket organizer in his hand, ready to jot down the name.
“George. George, uh, Dunn. He came from RTS, he had this computer printout with a list of comic books. He said his company wanted to buy them as an investment. Something about tax shelters and needing to spend the money before the tax reform law took effect. He said they wanted exactly these comic books. He told me how much they were willing to pay for them and the prices looked about right to me so I said we’d try to assemble the collection they wanted.”
Lindsey studied the list Patterson had handed him. “They wanted these exact comic books? Titles, dates—exactly these and no others?”
“Well, uh, M-Mr. Dunn, George told me these were what they wanted. He said if they couldn’t get exactly these comics we could propose substitutes for them. Like another issue from the same era, of the same comic. Or another title in the same publisher’s line, with the same artists and features. Like, uh, the August ’44 Captain Marvel Adventures instead of the July ’44, or an EC book like Tales from the Crypt instead of The Vault of Horror.”
“Wait a minute. A what book like Tales from the Crypt?”
“EC. That was a publisher. They started out with things like Picture Stories from Science and Picture Stories from American History. EC stood for Educational Comics. Then they switched to horror and science fiction and changed the company to Entertaining Comics. So it was still EC, see?”
Lindsey nodded. “Okay. Now, what about Dunn, Terry?”
“Oh. Well, what I was saying—see, he really didn’t want to take any substitutes if he could help it. He said they might lower their offer or—or even go to another dealer if we didn’t get them exactly what they wanted.”
“And you got ’em?”
Patterson nodded, looking like a crane with Danish pastry crumbs tumbling down his chin. “It was a hard job. Some of the comics were in store stock, some came out of my own collection, and some came from consignors. But I got the whole order together for them. And now everything is gone. Everything!”
“You’re certain this list is complete and correct?” Lindsey asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Lindsey read the list again. Carefully this time, not just scanning it. If Patterson wasn’t pulling some new fast one, he decided, the kid had to have an eidetic memory. He not only had the thirty-five titles, but the date and issue number for each, a one-word comment on its condition, and a price. Lindsey looked at the prices and whistled.
“Twelve grand for a comic book?” he said.
“Th-Those are Overstreet prices, s-sir.”
“What?”
“Overstreet. Uh, there are several books, uh, price guides for comic collectors. Overstreet is the oldest and the most authoritative. Especially for Golden Age—that’s 1940s and earlier. Thompson and Thompson is better for Silver Age—Sixties. Of course, everything is negotiable. Sometimes people will pay way over guide if they want something badly enough. Or, uh, if there’s not much demand for an item, you either have to sell it under guide price and just eat the difference, you know, or else you’re stuck with it. Or you can hold it and maybe the price will come back.”
“Twelve grand for a comic book,” Lindsey repeated. He still couldn’t believe it. Father would turn over in his grave if he knew that. If he had a grave, that is. He hadn’t made twelve thousand in his entire short career. Mother said he’d never
