Suicide Squeeze

Suicide Squeeze Page 15

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Pete met Conner at the door to Playerz, escorted him past what looked to Conner like the same regulars watching the same dancers do the same things, like robots in an X-rated Epcot exhibition. Pete didn't say much, but his little rat eyes were always moving.

Conner carried the Jasper Dybek paintings under his arms.

Pete took Conner to Rocky's office door and left him. Conner knocked with the toe of his shoe. His arms were full of abstraction.

"Come in."

Conner juggled the paintings until he could get a hand on the knob, turned it, went inside. "Hello, Rocky."

Rocky squinted at Conner, looked at the paintings, raised a curious eyebrow. "Well, what's this then?"

"An offer."

Rocky motioned Conner to the empty seat across from him. Conner sat, leaned the paintings against Rocky's desk. He was a little nervous about this, didn't quite know if Rocky would go for it.

Today, Rocky wore a dark gray suit, obscenely bright floral tie. He spread his hands, indicated Conner should look at the item on his desk. "I'm trying to figure this thing out."

Conner looked.

A plastic fish on a wooden plaque. Rocky snapped his fingers near the fish's head. The fish sprang to life, body twisting, mouth opening and closing to the mechanical sounds of "Don't Worry, Be Happy." It sang a few lines, then went still again.

"What exactly do people do with these?" Rocky asked.

"You've never seen those?" Conner said. "It's a singing bass, a very annoying novelty that was a trend about a million years ago."

Rocky sighed. "And we have an entire truckload." Rocky tossed it over his shoulder, and it landed in a pile of junk behind him. "So, let's hear your offer."

Conner put the paintings on his desk. "These are worth a lot more than two thousand."

"What are they?"

"Paintings."

"I can see that," Rocky said. "Specifics."

"By a guy named Jasper Dybek. He's getting famous. His last painting went for nearly twenty thousand dollars."

Rocky looked embarrassed. "I don't usually take items in barter."

"There's like sixty grand worth of art here."

Rocky considered, picked up the phone. "Julie? Get me Burt Rosenthal at Sotheby's. Yes, I'll wait." He put his hand over the phone. "Only because Otis vouches for you. I really am becoming a ridiculous softy. Sometimes I think- Hello, Burt? Yes, it's Rocky. How's your boy? He still at New Haven? That's grand, really. Super. Listen, I'm calling about the usual. You know what I mean. Uh-huh. I know it takes time. No problem. Three abstracts by an artist named-" Rocky looked at Conner, raised an eyebrow.

"Jasper Dybek."

"-Jasper Dybek," Rocky said into the phone. "Yes, it does look like some sloppy work. I've never been a fan of abstract myself. Can we move them? Uh-huh. Right. No, that's good for now. Call me later with the details. Thanks, Burt." He hung up.

Rocky sighed. "Okay, I'll take them."

Conner clapped his hands. "Thanks, Rocky. You won't regret it. What's my cut?"

"Your cut of what?"

"That's sixty thousand dollars worth of art!" Conner's voice had leapt up an octave.

"We're square." Rocky's voice was flat, a warning tone.

"But-"

"Conner, these are original paintings, not DVD players. You can't put them through a legit auction. That means we have to find a private collector or somebody in Europe or somewhere to buy them. Burt will take a cut, and the fellow down the line will take a cut, and maybe they won't sell for a year or two or maybe never. I'll probably lose money on the whole deal. Do you understand?"

Conner nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, Rocky."

"Don't pout," Rocky said.

At least Conner's slate was clean, and right now that was no small thing.

Conner Samson walked out of Playerz, climbed behind the wheel of the Plymouth Fury, and put plan B into motion.

Planet X was a small shop in a plaza on the navy base side of town, wedged in between a pizza joint and a computer store. Conner walked in with the binder full of baseball cards.

The owner of Planet X had gone all the way. Models of spaceships and dragons hung from the ceiling on fishing line. Life-size cardboard cutouts of Batman, Green Lantern, Spider-Man, and the Punisher. Movie posters on the walls, Star Wars, Blade Runner, and others. Conner moved around a big display of Dungeons & Dragons accessories to look at a display inside a glass dome. It was a model of a castle under siege, lead figurines with swords and spears assaulting the defenders along the castle walls. The figurines had been painted with excruciating detail. Even dabs of red blood on the tips of the spears.

Somebody had a lot of time on his hands.

Conner bypassed several shelves of sci-fi and fantasy novels, Star Trek toys, and found what he was looking for. A long glass case filled with baseball cards. They ranged in price from $1.50 to $125.00. Conner put the binder on the counter, flipped through it, and wondered what he could get for them.

"Conner?"

Conner turned. "Hi, Randy."

Randy Frankowski looked just as awkward in denim shorts and a Wookie Anti-Defamation League T-shirt as he did in a tuxedo, but the kid seemed happy and comfortable, in his element with the Star Trek collectibles and comic books and sci-fi stuff all around.

"Did you hear about the Dybeks?" Randy said. "Somebody stole them. Can you believe it? Right in the middle of the reception. Professor Dan was livid."

"Wow. Do they know who did it?"

Randy shook his head. "Not that I've heard. The cops crawled all over the place looking for clues or whatever, but last I heard they were stumped."

Good.

"I really didn't expect you to come in here," Randy said. "You didn't seem like a comic-book sort of guy. Unless you want to start reading The Incredible Hulk again. We have the latest issue."

"Do you guys buy baseball cards?" Conner asked.

Randy pointed to a poster on the wall. It depicted a triple-breasted, green woman riding a unicorn and wielding a flaming whip. "That's one of mine over there. I drew it and went to this place and had a hundred posters run off. We sell them here in the store, and I've sold like eight or nine already. That's pretty cool, huh?"

"Focus, Randy. I asked about baseball cards."

Randy looked at the binder, nodded. "Ah. You want to unload the collection, huh?"

"I could use some cash."

"The boss set up two standard methods," Randy said. "First, we can sell them on consignment. We'll put them on display with whatever price you want, and when they sell, Planet X gets 15 percent. You get more money that way, but it's a slow sort of system." He pointed at a card in the case. "That Wade Boggs has been in the case a year. I could have sold it ten times, but the owner won't come down on the price."

"I don't have time for that."

"The other way, Planet X buys the cards from you outright, but only at half the Price Guide value."

"That's good." Conner tapped the binder. "Let's do it."

"Are you sure?" Randy asked. "You lose a lot of the value that way."

"Start adding them up."

Randy shrugged, went around the other side of the counter, and pulled out the Price Guide. Randy went through the binder, finding the prices in the guide, writing the numbers in a long column on a legal pad.

Selling Folger's old cards wouldn't be enough to get out of town, but it might carry him awhile. Conner thought he might have to sell the Plymouth Fury. It was in good shape, mostly original parts. One of the custom shops could probably turn it into a classic show car. But Conner knew he wouldn't get good money. As with the cards, he would want to unload the Plymouth in a hurry.

What he really needed was the ten grand from the DiMaggio card, but he didn't know where it was. Maybe Randy knew something that could point Conner in the right direction. After seeing the prices on the cards here at Planet X, it was difficult to believe a card could be worth so much, even to a rabid collector. A few hundred bucks was a lot, sure. Twenty thousand was a whole different ballpark.

"How much more valuable is a card if it's autographed?"

Randy looked up from the Price Guide. "Depends on the card, I guess."

"As much as twenty thousand dollars?"

Randy wasn't shocked by the number. "Sure. Still depends on who the player is, though."

"How about Joe DiMaggio?" Conner said.

"Oh, you're talking about Teddy Folger's card, huh? Yeah, that's an expensive one for sure."

"You know about it?"

"Everyone knows about it. Everyone in the business anyway. I heard it burned up with Folger's shop. Too bad. Jerry was bummed out for a week when he heard."

"Who's Jerry?"

"He's the card guy here at Planet X. I'm more of a comics guy, but Jerry knows cards like it was his religion. He could tell you every detail about the DiMaggio card, what it's worth, all that."

"When does he come in?"

"He's at the Other Worlds Sci-Fi, Comics & Collectibles Convention in Montgomery and won't be back until next week."

Hell.

Randy said, "I tallied up all the cards. Looks like $810. Half of that is $405. That okay?"

"Yeah," Conner said. "Is there anyone else I can ask about the DiMaggio card? I'm curious."

"You could ask Teddy Folger about it, I guess."

I could ask. I wouldn't get any answers.

Randy went to the register and came back with $405, handed it to Conner. "I'm going up to the convention tomorrow with a load of comics. I'm trying to sell a set of Frank Miller Daredevils in mint condition. I'm talking totally original, not one of the Marvel reprints."

When Randy said this, Conner heard, blah blah blah blah blah. "Uh-huh."

"If you still want to talk to Jerry, you can ride up with me."

Conner would rather hit himself in the face with a hammer, but he wanted to know about the DiMaggio card, its value, any small scrap of information that might help. This Jerry might know what sort of person would pay so much for a card, maybe even provide a list of buyers should Conner actually get his hands on the card. "When?"

"In the morning about nine A.M. We'll have fun. I usually pack a cooler full of sodas and sandwiches for the trip."

"How much does this cost?"

Randy said, "If you pay ahead of time, it's cheaper. At the door, it's going to be twenty dollars to get in, I think."

Twenty bucks. Possibly worth the investment.

Randy interpreted the hesitation on Conner's face as reluctance. He snapped his fingers. "I know how to get you in for free."

"Yeah?"

"Leave it to me."

"Okay." Why not?

"One more thing. I should really warn you about Jerry. Some people think he's a bit strange. He's really an okay guy, but he's kind of a nerd," Randy said.