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by Lorin Lee CaryChapter 1Pico clutched the box and pushed into the store, catching his breath as the dry, musty odor hit his nostrils. He stopped and stared at the utensils, clocks and gadgets heaped on tables, at the old furniture scattered about the room. Dusty books lined shelves. Pictures of the early days in Hardin filled one wall, signs another. "Close the door please," said Cassius. Then he looked up. "Oh, it's you." His eyes moved from friendly to cold. "Okay, okay." Pico closed the door, walked through the cluttered room and set the box on the counter. "You out of money again?" Cassius stared at him. "What you got now? Hope it's better than last time. This is an antique store, you know, not a crap shop." Pico hated those weird eyes, set so deep you could barely see them except they were so big, bug-like. Guy should be in some horror show. "It's good." He opened the box and pulled out a worn leather bag. "Jesus," said Cassius, "look at your hands shake." Bits of metal clattered as Pico emptied the contents onto the counter. "Buttons?" said Cassius. "Yeah." Pico eyed the pistols and rifles in the case behind Cassius. "Maybe Custer's." "Sure. You and every other drunk on the reservation claim you've got things belonging to George Armstrong Custer." Pink scalp showed through Cassius's thin gray hair as he leaned over and rubbed a button with a knobby finger. "Least you could do was clean ‘em." He grimaced. "A bird, right?" "Military eagle, I figure." Cassius cleared his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he muttered to himself. "Let me check something." He flipped open a book, looked at several pictures, nodded. "Where'd you get this?" he said, his tone sharp. "Just that? Or everything?" Pico gestured at the box. "All of it." Cassius's eyes narrowed and his eyebrows moved up and down. "I want to know how you come across it." "Been in the family." Pico didn't want to say more than that. The guy was peculiar about Custer. What mattered was the money. "So, how much?" Pico nodded and pulled out another pouch. Coins, paper money, pocket knives and combs cascaded onto the counter along with several bullets, shells and cartridges. "Ammo?" said Cassius. "I'll be damned." He picked up a bullet, coughed and squinted at it. "Probably not worth much." His fingers moved through the pile in front of him. "That all?" Guy almost sounded eager, and trying to hide it. "One more thing." Pico lifted the deerskin pouch with the book in it. Kept it for last, like he'd planned. "What's that?" "Book or something," Pico said, wishing the guy would hurry up. "So how much for it all?" He knew he should say a price. Start high. Maybe $100. Then come down gradual when Cassius said no. "Old buttons and such aren't worth much, and I got too many old books already. Anyway, I can't tell without seeing." Cassius pointed at the pouch. "Come on. Open it up. I haven't got all day." Pico undid the pouch and took out a package, unwrapped it and set a leather-bound book just out of Cassius's reach. "Cover's ripped, got marks all over it. See there." Cassius sneered. "Doesn't even have a title." He opened the book. "It's hand written." He lifted a magnifying glass. "I figure that makes it more valuable," said Pico. Had to be. Must be. God, he hoped it was. "Stains on the paper," Cassius said as he thumbed several pages. "Looks like some kid wrote it." "Careful. Them pages aren't all that—" Cassius glared at Pico. "Don't ever give me orders." "All I said—" "Keep quiet." Cassius examined the pinched writing, his lips moving. Pico rubbed his nose, looked again at the case of guns. Wondered if the rumors were true about Cassius being in some secret militia group. He reread a sign on the wall: "Custer Was Right." Printed in red, white and blue. He smiled inside, thinking that was the damnedest thing. Custer got wiped out. But it wasn't worth arguing. Guy could think what he wanted, long as he paid. Fast, so none of his people saw him here. They wouldn't understand how it was. "My god," Cassius gasped, then shut his mouth in a tight line. Pico frowned. Maybe the book was worth more than he thought. Pico's heart skipped a beat. More than he'd expected. He pursed his lips, wondering if he should hold out for more. Or just grab the money. "Okay," said Cassius. "You've been a good customer. I guess everyone falls on hard times, right?" He stroked his beard. "So I'll make it $175. But it'll have to be now. And that's the tops." Pico looked at him, hiding his surprise. Cassius had never done this before. He must have misunderstood. "That's not—" "God damn. You drive a hard bargain. Okay. $200. Take it or leave it." That would buy a lot of bourbon, Pico thought. "Leave it," he said. The guy went to more money too quick. Something didn't seem right. "Whata you want with this?" said Cassius. "Old book does you no good." He waved a hand toward it. "Look at it. Cover's marred, binding's in bad shape, pages dirty. But I got customers might like it anyway. You know, Easterners. Anything smacks of the Old West. We both profit if I can sell it, right? You look like you could use some new clothes too. Get a haircut, cut off that pigtail you might even look good." Pico put the book in its pouch. "Let me think on it." Cassius's crooked grin lifted one side of his mouth and made the wiry hairs of his beard poke out from his face. "Best you do. That's white man's writing you got there." Pico put the other items back into their bags. He knew Cassius was watching, those eyes like a vulture. "Tell you what," he said. "How about you buy the buttons and other stuff?" "I want the whole lot. Now." Way he said it, those bony fingers drumming away, made Pico's mouth go dry. He could use a drink. He blinked and looked down. Maybe it really was Custer stuff, like the family story said. He'd never believed it before. Might get lots of money for it, if he held out. "I got to think on it," he said, being careful not to let his hands shake. He hefted the box and left, glad to go. Pico went over to the Big Sky Bar. He set the box on the stool next to him, ran his fingers along the edges of the cardboard. Something big here. He had a feeling. How Cassius acted scared him, but this might be the chance he needed. Pico took a deep swallow, felt the warmth in his chest. Felt his head clear. He'd need help. Couldn't ask people here what the book was worth. Not if he planned to sell it to Cassius. His folks didn't like the man. "You want a refill, Pico?" The bartender asked it cautious, probably not sure he could pay. He shook his head no, his hand moving back to the box. He'd have plenty of money soon enough, if he was right. "What you got there? Family jewels?" Pico grunted. If only the guy knew. "Just something I'm sending my niece," Pico said, and wondered how he got that idea. Didn't matter. It was a good one. "She's going to college. In Ohio. First one in the family." He gulped the rest of his drink, paid and added a good tip, feeling rich already. He mailed the book to Sally Wolf from the Pack and Ship next to the bar. He'd phone her tonight and explain. She'd know what to do. Her being in college and all. Better than keeping it here. He didn't like the way Cassius had eyed him at the last. Pico got home late feeling real good. He stuck the box with the buttons and other stuff in the closet and decided to eat before he called Sally to tell her the package would be there soon. He poured himself a tall one, cut up hot dogs and onion and dumped them into a frying pan with some cooked rice and salsa. While he ate he thought about the day. About weird Cassius. But mostly about how he'd be rich. He heard a noise outside and his smile faded. He got up and opened the door, looked around but didn't see anything, figured it must have been the wind and went back in. Things went the way he hoped he'd buy a new furnace. Hell, he'd move out of the trailer into a real apartment. Maybe even a house. Pico grinned and dialed, cradling the phone in the crook of his neck as he read the number out of his address book. Phone rang and rang. After a long time a girl answered, angry. Pico explained who he was and after the girl talked for a little, well, yelled, he apologized for calling so late. Said he forgot about the two-hour time difference. Sally came on, sounding sleepy. "Is someone sick, Uncle Pico?" "No, no. I got a favor to ask." "You sure you're okay?" She paused. "It's real late and you sound kind of funny." "Well, I . . . ." He didn't want to alarm her, share his concerns about Cassius. "No, I'm fine. First, tell me about Marlington." Sally sighed. "Not now, Uncle P. I got an early class. What is it you called for?" "I sent you something." "You had to wake me up to tell me that?" "Listen. It's a book your grandpa had. I tried to sell it at that antique place in Hardin. You know, for some cash. Times are hard. But the guy, that Cassius fella, acted weird and I left. I got the idea maybe it could be worth lots, but he wasn't saying. And I didn't like how he was. I got some other stuff too. Buttons and things like that. But the book might be worth a bundle, and I don't think I should keep it here." He took a swallow of his drink. "But anyways could you, well, show it to one of them professors. I'll explain when I see you at the pow wow next month. Just see if it's—" Something bumped against the trailer. "Hold on, Sally." Pico set the phone down, his stomach fluttering. Peeked out the window, then opened the door real slow and leaned out. Glad the moon was bright. Nothing. He let out a breath. Probably a critter. He closed the door. Locked it this time. "No rush?" Sally sighed. "God, Uncle Pico. Okay, okay. I'll get back to you. I know just who to ask." |
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