Chapter 4

Holy Shit!

The Library is a font of information ... the librarian is too. It’s my fault. I asked her where I would find information on gold coins ... and showed her the two, the newest, I’d brought for comparison and conformation. She directed me to the card catalog, got me situated and left me to my own devices ... then she called a local appraiser ... and the cops.

Studying the card catalog ... I found there existed a magazine, Coins and Their Values ... And ... The library had a copy ... in a display rack ... where anyone could look at it and read it. There were even comfy chairs to sit in whilst reading. BUT SHE DIDN’T TELL ME THAT!

I admit I was kinda scruffy looking ... I’d been up all day fixing my J&S Hawken rifle, shooting it, blowing in the muzzle to clear any residual sparks and wandering through black powder smoke which reeks of sulphur and rotten eggs. Blowing in the muzzle left a black ring around my mouth and there was no reason what so ever she should be suspicious...

Okay Okay okay ... I looked like I’d fallen off the freight train I’d used to make my escape after robbing a coin collector.

The coins ... were in the magazine ... SIXTY THOUSAND DOLLARS ... EACH. When I read that I admit I Whooped just a little and maybe danced a bit.

The appraiser was before the cop.

He identified himself, handed me his card, “Marion,” he gestured at the librarian, “said you had a couple of coins.”

He held out his hand, “May I?”

I handed them to him.

He looked, gulped and went to the library office. I could see him through the glass. He was making a call.

Enter the police.

I identified us both, admitted possession, explained the appraiser and the inquisition began.

Reasonably satisfied I was me, he returned my paperwork and commenced. I admitted possession ... again. And told him I found the coins.

“Where?” asked the cop.

“East of town,” I lied, “Public land.” Twice I lied.

“Where?” he said again.

“Public land ... and that’s all you’re getting.”

Just about then a lawyer accompanied the appraiser through the door.

“They’re authentic,” said the appraiser. He handed me the two coins.

The lawyer said, “I represent an anonymous prospective collector ... He offers One hundred fifty thousand for the pair...”

“Sold!” I said ... I knew the lawyer wasn’t done speaking but I didn’t care. The cop was beginning to look abusive.

The cop said, “Hold on there ... we want to know where...”

“None of your business,” said the lawyer.

“I can make it my business, I’m the law in this town...”

“You’re fired,” said the judge, as he came through the door. “You just made your last mistake. I’m the law in this town.”

Visible chagrin is a wonder to behold. The cop had been used to getting what he called ‘his due’ since the 8th grade. Bigger, stronger, not afraid of teachers or authority, he might have gotten his ‘comeuppance’ early in life had he not been blessed with athletic ability, a certain gift of gab...

And he was pretty.

He excelled in sports and impressed the intelligently average female of his species. Smart girls ... girls from the right side of the bell curve wanted nothing do do with him. Girls from the left couldn’t shed their panties fast enough.

Throughout college... ‘criminal justice’ as a ‘just in case’ ... he was varsity.

But he wasn’t good enough for professional football.

He joined the force.

He was used to getting his own way ... and he was thwarted.

The judge grabbed him by his figurative ear and marched him next door to the Sheriff where he was relieved of the paraphernalia of his former position ... including his official car. I wasn’t there for that.

I was at the bank with the lawyer, the appraiser, and the buyer transfering ownership and money.

Whee!

Enter Taxman.

Well ... shit! “That much?”

“Uh huh. Now!”