Glenn Cooper - Book of Souls

Will found the spot he remembered so well, then stood there in confusion. The last time he’d been there, the entire stack had been a sea of ragged tan-colored books, the complete collection of Los Angeles County Municipal Codes, spanning seven decades. He had picked the collection because it looked pathetically long neglected and untouched.

The 1947 volume, the chosen one, wasn’t there.

None of them were there!

He urgently moved from row to row searching in vain. He swore under his breath. He started to trot through the stacks, growing increasingly upset.

There was an unmanned information desk with a telephone against one of the walls. Will picked up the phone and waited until a library assistant answered. “Yeah, I’m down in the third sublevel looking for the LA County Municipal Codes. They were down here before.” One of the watchers was listening from behind a nearby stack. “I’ll hold,” Will said. In a minute he was speaking again. “You’re kidding me, right? No, I can’t wait six weeks! Can you give me the address so I can talk to them directly? What’ll it hurt to give me the address? Thank you. I appreciate it.” He hung up, shaking his head in frustration, and pounded up the stairs.

Frazier got this whispered transmission in his ear. “He was looking for a copy of the LA County Municipal Codes. For some reason they’re not at the library anymore. He was given an address. He may be going there.”

Will ran back to his car and unfolded the rental-agency map. East Olympic Boulevard was only about three miles away, and he was relieved he wouldn’t have to haul himself big distances. He pulled out of the lot and drove down 5 ^th Street toward Alameda. In under ten minutes he had crossed the concrete-banked Los Angeles River and entered a bleak industrial terrain of single-story warehouses. Frazier and DeCorso followed at a safe distance.

He found the Olympic Industrial Center and pulled into a visitor’s space. He did not have a good feeling. It was rotten luck that his book was in a cache of volumes sent out to be digitized, a joint program between the L.A. County library system and an Internet search company. Now he had to deal with this nonsense.

When Will disappeared into the reception lobby of one of the warehouses, Frazier began to panic. He needed complete control over the situation, and now he had no eyes or ears on Piper. Across the parking lot he saw a big brown UPS truck. His mind moved fast. He dispatched the two watchers with him and told them he wanted one of them inside the warehouse in under a minute. The eager young men sprang out of the car.

The warehouse lobby was depressingly drab. A single bored receptionist sat behind a long counter. There were some plaques on the wall celebrating corporate accomplishments, but that was it. Will waited patiently for the girl to get off the phone and when she did he launched into a florid explanation of why he had to have access to one of the books they had in for scanning. She listened with noncomprehending eyes and he wondered if she spoke English until she finally said, “This is like a warehouse and scanning facility. We don’t lend out books here.”

He tried again, slowly trying to charm her into helpfulness. Her desk plate said her name was Karen. He used her name liberally, silkily, to try to make a connection, but whatever he was selling, this girl wasn’t buying.

A UPS deliveryman came in, wearing a brown shirt and shorts that seemed awfully tight. Will could see he was a muscular guy, a lifter, but after a moment’s pause thought nothing more of it. The young man waited a respectful distance away. Inside the UPS truck the man who fit the uniform better was lying among his packages, unconscious from a sleeper hold to his neck.

Will was begging now. “Look, I came all the way from New York to get this book. I know it’s not something you guys do, but I would be personally grateful.”

She stared at him icily.

He took out his wallet. “Let me make it worth your while, okay?”

“This is a warehouse. I don’t know why you’re not understanding that?” She looked past Will to the UPS man. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” the deliveryman said. “I’ve got a package for 2555 East Olympic. Is this it? I’m filling in on this route.”

“This is 2559,” she said, pointing. “It’s over there.”

A warehouse employee came in, waved to the receptionist, then pressed a white security card from his retractable belt clip against a black magnetic wall pad. The door clicked open. As the UPS man dawdled for a while before leaving, Will noticed the same type of security card sitting on the counter next to the receptionist’s keyboard with an AUTHORIZED VISITOR label. The girl looked up at Will with an exasperated are-you-still-here expression.

“Let me speak to the manager of the facility, all right?” Will demanded. Nice hadn’t worked, so he got menacing. “I’m not leaving till I speak to him. Or her. You got my drift, Karen?” This time he made her name sound like an epithet.

She nervously complied with his demand, made a call, and asked a man named Marvin to come to the desk. Will stood and waited, his arms so tightly folded across his chest he felt like he was bound by a straightjacket.

From the back of the UPS van, Frazier’s man changed his clothes, checked on his still-breathing victim, then briefed his boss via their communicators.

The receptionist was relieved to see her plant manager as if the slight, bespectacled man could protect her from the hulking menace standing at her desk. She got up to whisper something to him, and when she did, Will reached over, snatched the security card, and palmed it.

Marvin allowed Will to repeat his pleas, but the man was adamant. This facility was not open to the public. There were no procedures for accommodating his request. They weren’t authorized to locate individual books. And by the way, he added, sarcastically, wouldn’t it be easier to find another copy of the 1947 LA Municipal Codes in another library? It wasn’t like they had the only copy in existence.

Will ran out of string. The conversation was veering toward if you don’t leave, we’ll have to call the police territory. He stormed out, pocketing the security card. There was another black magnetic pad on the outside entrance. He’d be back.

Frazier watched through binoculars as Will walked back to his car empty-handed. When Will drove off, he followed, wondering, where the hell he was going now.

Will hadn’t planned on it, but he had time to kill, and when the idea came to him, it seemed right. It smacked of symmetry and closure. At a traffic light, he checked the road map again. It might take an hour to get there, but he couldn’t return to the warehouse until the evening. And then he’d be praying the scanning shop didn’t run a second shift or have a security guard. He’d let Dane sleep, but sometime in the afternoon, he’d need to call to let him know there was a delay.

Will hopped on Highway 710, with Frazier in slow pursuit, the traffic flowing like molasses. Will used the sluggardly journey to call Nancy and share his frustration. She sounded better, stronger, and that made him feel better and stronger. She had enough fortitude to egg him on.

When 710 became the Long Beach Freeway south of the 405, it dawned on Frazier where Piper was heading. He announced into everyone’s radios: “I don’t believe it. He’s going to Long Beach. Guess who’s in Long Beach, boys and girls?”

The Long Beach Chronic Care Hospital made a weak attempt at cheeriness by placing a few clay pots of colorful annuals by the entrance. Otherwise, the low, white-brick complex looked its part: an industrial depository for the hopeless and helpless. You checked in, but you never checked out.