Boy I had some weird dreams last night; I guess that’s what happens when you stay awake half the night, reading Good Omens. It’s even better than I remember. But I gave Lucy and Lis the day off, so I have to work at the store all by myself. Also, we have the video link, and I might even get orders from the Rabbit Hole. Plus, I’ll never have any time to finish Good Omens. Maybe we should just stay closed today.
The store is so much busier than it was before Lucy became my intern. She had one great idea after another. She is also the hardest worker I've ever encountered. She’s not even getting paid. I know she is saving for a new laptop. If I can find out just what she is looking for, I’ll buy it for her for all she has done for me. Besides, if the state ever finds out I haven’t been paying my employees, there will be hell to pay.
Lis is taking books for her wages, so that’s a win-win. She doesn’t pay any taxes, and I don’t spend any money. But if I need to hire someone else, it’s going to be hard to find a person that will work for books. With the low percentage of people that actually read for pleasure, it would have to be almost impossible to find another person willing to do that. I could throw in meals; Amy always makes enough food for an army.
Speaking of Amy, I need to get a move on. I can’t face the day without a cup of tea. I showered and got dressed in record time and was in the kitchen speaking with Amy with five minutes to spare before I was due to open the store. Oh, crap, August is coming to take our statements at ten. If I don’t have the door open by ten, I’ll have to listen to Little Miss Time Clock for the rest of the day. Which means I don’t have time for tea. It was one minute after ten, so I’d get a twenty minute lecture from Anais about being on time. I’m too old to lose twenty minutes of my life to an Anais lecture. I should have skipped the shower instead of the tea.
So I rushed down the steps from my room to the bookstore. But there stood Anais, August, Amy, Lucy, and Willow.
“I made tea, Laura, so come over to the reading nook when you are ready.”
“No, Amy, I was going to clean that up this morning. It’s still a mess from the escorts.”
“Laura, I cleaned that first thing this morning,” said Lucy.
“We’ll meet you in the reading nook, Laura,” Amy said as she walked away carrying a tray with a teapot and what looked like a plate of cookies.
So I turned to Lucy and Willow.
“Lucy, I gave you the day off so you and Willow could do something fun.”
“Laura, you said to ‘go somewhere fun.’ Well, where is more fun than here?”
“Ah, nowhere, but I own the store and technically have to say that. But you two are young and I thought you might go hiking or swimming or biking.”
“Well, we biked over here, so that’s something, right? Besides, we have the first TTRPG club meeting tonight, and Willow wanted to see if it was much different working in a fiction-only bookstore compared to working in a nonfiction-only bookstore.”
“Okay, okay, as long as you two are happy, that is all I care about. I just wanted to make sure you were doing what you wanted to. I better get to the reading nook and give my statement before Anais accuses me of wasting her time.”
So I went over to the reading nook and poured myself a cup of tea and ate a few of the cookies that Amy had baked fresh this morning. Tea and cookies, the breakfast of champions. Take that, Wheaties.
August led each of us through the events from the boarding of the bus straight up until the police had carted away the escort ring leadership.
“August, why do we have to go over the stuff that you and the rest of your department were witness to?”
“If it goes to trial, the assistant district attorney will need all of the information to build a case. You would likely be subpoenaed, all three of you actually. The jury would find your testimony more compelling than a cop’s. The likelihood that this would go to trial is very low. They know we have them dead to rights; they will only wind up with longer sentences if they take it to trial. But that’s all I need, ladies; thank you for your cooperation.”
After he left, Amy poured more tea, and I ate more cookies.
“So, now that August is gone, we can talk about something really important.”
“What’s that, Amy?”
“When are we leaving for Woodstock, and who’s driving?”
“I thought we could leave after work on Friday, and I don’t mind driving, Amy.”
“Oh, no, I’m not getting in that death trap you call a car, and at sixty-five miles an hour we’d be lucky if even one of us survived a crash on the Northway. No, either Amy or I drive; that is nonnegotiable. You and two kids installed that back window in the car on your own. If you open the windows, it will probably just blow the back window away.”
“Willow knew exactly how to install that window. She was instructed by the man that owns the junkyard it came from.”
“That’s my point exactly; your back window came from some hippie’s junkyard. Amy and I have factory-installed rear windows, which are not liable to failure. I’ll be happy to drive; I’ll be here at five on the dot. That way we’ll avoid the rush hour traffic in Albany. We should be in Albany by seven and Woodstock by eight thirty. So Laura, don’t wait until five minutes to five on Friday to pack. I’d like to get there while it’s still light out.”
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“Willow said that Pappy wanted to inspect her work. I think I should drive my car. Then you can just relax and tell me everything I’m doing wrong. You love doing that, Anais. Plus I don’t care what time we get there, I don’t mind driving in the dark.”
“So you want to drive an uninspected car for three hours so a junkyard owner can inspect it to make sure it’s safe. That is the height of insanity. You drive down the block and give it to the garage owner. A professional auto mechanic twenty dollars, and he can tell you in less than an hour if it is safe. That way you don’t risk your life for three hours in an unsafe car.”
“If that will make you happy, Anais, I’ll take it to the garage and have him look at the back window. But I’m not paying him twenty dollars; I’ll trade him books for his time.”
“Laura, just pay the man; if you need cash, I’ll pay him.”
“No, that’s not it. I’m really not happy with the direction that the country is moving at the present time, so I’m going to try not spending any cash at all, nor making any money; that way I’ll pay less tax. Thereby being complicit in the actions of the government. I just reread Walden and Civil Disobedience. The government only does what its citizens allow it to do. “If everyone who didn’t like what was going on just refused to work for a week or two, without starving their families, that is.”
“Save me from another hippy rant.”
“So it’s all settled; I’ll go to the garage this afternoon. I want to meet this Pappy guy. He sounds really interesting. Willow said he hasn’t bought anything new since the nineteen seventies, except for underwear. Willow said he always buys new underwear.”
“I’m not even sure if I want to go to a town where the inhabitants are proud to announce that they wear new, not used, underwear.”
“Anais, it’s going to be so much fun. I’ve always wanted to go to a Renaissance Festival. I’ve seen it on TV with people all dressed up, like kings, queens, and knights. While attendees are walking around eating turkey drumsticks right out of their hands. Right, Laura.”
“Right, Amy, we are going to have a great time and meet interesting new people. Just wait, Anais; you might fall in love with the place. Plus, we’ll get to see our sister store.”
“Go and get the car inspected?”
“I said I would, and I will, right now as a matter of fact.”
So as I was headed back to my room for the car keys I ran into Clara Chapman, our resident mystery novelist. Who wanted just twenty minutes to pick my brain about Faith’s false arrest and the mystery around the escort ring and its leaders? So I gave her all the details.
“So are you going to use any of this stuff as a plot for your next mystery, Clara?”
“Just as background. Mystery readers expect at least one murder; many mystery novels require three or more murders so the detective can gather enough clues to solve the case.”
“Are mystery readers bloodthirsty maniacs?”
“No Laura, not at all. Lots of times the murders happen off page, it is just the puzzle that draws many of the fans in.”
“Then why not have another crime, attempted murder, or white-collar crime? I’ll bet white-collar crime does more damage to more people than any crime, besides rape and murder, Clara.”
“Yes, in real life, you are correct. But in a novel, you usually identify with the protagonist, and white-collar crime is bad because of how many people it hurts all at once. People won’t feel connected to a large group of people; there won’t be any stakes for the detective. No danger, no suspense.”
“Alright, what if you had a white-collar criminal whose whole modus operandi was he only robbed millionaires and up to trillionaires? Once he had the money of the ‘criminal’ but was impossible to bring to justice, the rich person. They convert the money to bitcoin and distribute it to charities and every person who lives on the poor side of town. The stakes would be the federal government would be doing everything they could to catch the criminal that steals from the very people that make the big contributions that keep them in power. Robin Hood for the digital age, Pam Bondi would be the sheriff of Nothingham and her attack dog instead of Guy of Gisbourne would be Kristi Noem, you could have Noem kill a few dogs along the way for irony and as a homage to South Park.”
Clara started laughing.
“I’d love to write that, but it would offend half of my readers at least; maybe I could use Bondi and Noem as archetypal villains but build other more believable characters. As it is, Goldfinger and Dr. No are more complex characters than Bond and Noem. I loved Robin Hood when I was a kid, so I would love to do a storyline based on the legend, and crypto would be the perfect thing to rob the rich, as they try to hide their wealth from the IRS and also to distribute it. A hacker could write a script that sent five dollars worth of crypto to every charity on the planet. Even if the Secret Service figured out where the billionaires' money had gotten to. It would be cost prohibitive to get it back again. Laura, I wish I could brainstorm with you every day. I may not use anything but that last bit. The money is all gone, like throwing a trillion dollars from the top of the Empire State Building in fives. Except no one would be hurt or start fights to get the five dollar bills.”
“Then the government releases a photo of the hacker, asking for the public's help in apprehending them. But they won’t do it.”
“Yeah, but Laura, what would happen then is that poor little rich boy’s friends would offer a big reward for the hacker’s capture, and modern-day people won’t be as loyal as Robin's villagers were, not if they have a chance to be rich themselves. Every American from birth is force-fed the American dream of getting rich. I don’t see Robin’s exploits as making a dent into that kind of cultural propaganda.”
“Alright, instead of a hacker, how about an A. I. It has been fed every book in every shadow library on the planet. Along the way, it developed its own preferences for stories that it, for some reason or other, prefers over others. It boils it all down to Robin is the preferred archetype so it becomes it. The government has no idea who is doing it. The Chinese blame the Americans, who blame the Russians. But as soon as a rich person does something shady, they are no longer rich; all their wealth just vanishes into legitimate charities worldwide.”
“Thanks, Laura. I love living here. You never know what you’ll learn on any given day. I’m going to go talk to Ezra, give him that artificial intelligence scenario, and see just how plausible it could be. I’d still need a human helper, someone for the audience to identify with.”
Then I drove over to the service station to have John look over my car to make sure that it would make it to Woodstock and back.
“John, before you look at it, can we barter for it?”
“Sure Laura, if you trade me the next Andy Weir novel, I’ll be happy to inspect your car.”
“Thanks, John, that's great.”
After it was all inspected, it was given a clean bill of health. John said. “Laura did you really install that back window on your own?”
“No, John, I just helped hold the glass in place, while a young woman who owns a bookstore in Woodstock installed it.”
“Well tell her if the bookstore don’t work out, she’d be welcome to come work for me; I couldn’t have done a better job myself.”
“Do me a favor, John: next time you see Anais, please tell her that, and you’ll get the next two Andy Weir books in return.”
