Lawrence Block - The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza

"It was an offah we couldn't refuse," she said solemnly, and I pictured Marlon Brando as Don Corleone, holding a pistol to this Southern belle's head, urging her to swap the nickel for the portrait.

The place in Philadelphia called itself the Gallery of American and International Numismatics, and the man I spoke to gave his name as Milo Hracec, and spelled it for me. He was second in command, he explained; his boss was Howard Pitterman, which name he also spelled, and Pitterman had Saturdays off.

Hracec confirmed that the gallery did indeed own a 1913 Nickel. "It is a part of our type set of United States coinage," he said. "You know what a type set is? One example of each design. Type collecting has become popular as fewer hobbyists can afford to collect complete sets by date and mint mark. Of course that is not the foremost consideration here, because Mr. Ruslander has placed generous funds at the gallery's disposal."

"Mr. Ruslander?"

"Gordon Ruslander of the Liberty Bell Mint. You're probably familiar with their sets of medals for collectors."

I was indeed. Like the Franklin Mint, also in Philadelphia, Liberty Bell specialized in series of contemporary medals which they peddled to collectors by subscription with the intimation that the little silver discs would someday increase in value. They'd always been a drug on the resale market, and on more than one occasion I'd left sets of the medals in their owners' desks, writing them off as not worth stealing. Now, with the surge in the price of silver, the damned things had soared to more than triple their issue price in bullion value.

Ruslander, I was told, had established the Gallery of American and International Numismatics three years previously, donating his own personal collection along with a hefty chunk of cash. And the U.S. type set, in which the 1913 V-Nickel reposed, was the gallery's star attraction.

"In a type set," Hracec explained, "any coin of the type will do. But in the gallery's collection, we strive for the rarest date and mint variety attainable for that type, instead of settling for a common and readily affordable example. In 1873-4, for instance, Liberty Seated Dimes were struck with arrows flanking the date. Uncirculated specimens of the Philadelphia and San Francisco issues range from six or seven hundred to perhaps a thousand or twelve hundred dollars. Our coin is one struck at Carson City, the 1873-CC, and our specimen is superior in quality to the one which sold at a Kagin auction seven years ago for twenty-seven thousand dollars.

"Originally our V-Nickel slot was filled by a proof example of the 1885, the rarest date of the regular series. It's worth perhaps a thousand dollars, a little more than twice the price of common proofs. There was some question as to whether we would even want to have the 1913, since it was not a regularly issued coin, but when we learned the Baltimore Historical Society might let theirs go, Mr. Ruslander wouldn't rest until we had it. He happened to own a portrait by Copley that he knew they would want-"

And I got to hear about Charles Carroll of Carrollton all over again. On and on it went, and when I was done with Mr. Hracec I had to call Stillwater, Oklahoma, where I spoke with a man named Dale Arnott. Mr. Arnott evidently owned a fair portion of Payne County and ran beef cattle on his land, moving them out of the way now and then to make room for an oil well. He had indeed owned the 1913 V-Nickel, having bought it in '76 for $130,000, and his had been the one resold a year or two ago for $200,000.

"I had my fun with it," he said, "and I got a kick at coin conventions, hauling it out of a pocketful of change and tossing it to match folks for drinks. You'd like to die from the look on their faces. Way I looked at it, a nickel's a nickel, so why not toss it heads or tails?"

"Weren't you worried you'd lower its value?"

"Nope. It wasn't in the best condition to start with, you see. Oh, it's better than extra fine, but the proof surface isn't what it was when they minted it. I guess the other four are in better shape. I saw the one in the Smithsonian Institution once and it was a perfect frosty proof with a mirrorlike field, and mine was nothing like that. So I had my pleasure owning it, and then a fellow offered me a handsome profit on it, and I told him if he'd up his price to an even two hundred thousand he could own himself a five-cent piece. I could give you his name but I don't know as he'd want me doing that."

I asked if the buyer still had the coin.

"Less he sold it," Arnott said. "You in the market yourself? I could call the gentleman and find out if he wants to sell."

"I'm just a reporter, Mr. Arnott."

"Well, I was thinking that it's easy to be a reporter over the phone. I've been that in my time, and a Baptist minister and any number of lawyers. Now don't let me offend you, sir. If you want to be a reporter that's just what you are, and if you want to find out if the coin's for sale-"

"I just want to find out if he still owns it. I don't care if it's for sale or not."

"Then you give me a telephone number where you'll be for an hour or so, and I'll see what I can find out."

I gave him Carolyn's.

I made four more calls, to Washington, Boston, Cincinnati and Philadelphia. Then I called the A.N.S. again, and I called Coin World, the weekly newspaper in Sidney, Ohio. By the time I was finished my fingers had done so much walking I was beginning to worry about them. After all, my hands were unquestionably narrow-odd I hadn't ever noticed this before. And there was no denying that my index fingers were substantially longer than my thumbs.

The implications were clear enough. I had Morton's Hand, and I knew only too well where that could lead. Pain in the palm. Wrist spurs. Forearm tendinitis. And, sooner or later, the dreaded Dialer's Shoulder.

I hung up and got the hell out of there.

Igot to Carolyn's house around noon. I sat there with a cat on my lap and a cup of coffee at my elbow and did what I could to bring my hostess up to date.

I had my work cut out for me. There was a lot of water over the dam or under the bridge or wherever it goes these days, and my task wasn't rendered easier by Carolyn's headache. Another of those dreaded sugar hangovers, no doubt. Maybe the right pair of orthotics would solve everything.

"What I can't get over," she said, "is that you went to Abel's without me."

"We couldn't have both gotten in. And it was risky, and there was nothing two people could do better than one."

"And then you got home from Abel's and didn't say anything."

"I tried, dammit. I kept calling you."

" Bern, I kept calling you. Either you were out or the line was busy."

"I know. I kept calling everybody and everybody kept calling me. These things happen. It doesn't matter. We finally reached each other, didn't we?"

"Yeah, last night. And you didn't tell me zip until just now."

"It was too late last night."

"Yeah."

"And there wasn't that much to tell."

"No, not much at all. Just that you got into Abel's apartment and came home and some beautician held a gun on you and accused you of framing her brother for murder."

"That's not exactly what she said."

"I don't really care what she said exactly."

"You're pissed."

"Kind of, yeah."

"Would it help if I apologized?"

"Try it and let's see."

"Well," I said, "I'm sorry, Carolyn. We're partners, and I certainly meant to keep you in the picture, but things got out of control for a little while there. I didn't know if I'd be able to get into Abel's apartment and I just went ahead and did things on my own, figuring I'd catch up with you later. And I'm sorry."

She sat in silence for a moment. Then she said, "Quit it, Ubi," to the Russian Blue, who was scratching the side of the couch. From my lap, Archie purred with unmistakable moral superiority.