The Auctioneer

Chapter IV: Lapses

   The library's high walls in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology have devoured Edward into a deep solitude. The dusty old book's five long lines serve as a maze to anyone who wants to hide from the outside world. Some of them are already covered with linen. Others showing signs of dilapidation are slid into garbage sacks and set aside in the corner.

   The low lighted section of the library is rarely visited. Only a man like Edward would care of the rotting piles of old copies with torn paperbacks that mostly contain science fiction. College students refer to this area as the N-section --- which stands for the nerd.

   The desperation brought Edward to temporarily abandon any logical explanation about General Lee's pistol's resurgence. His hand strode on the spines of old books as he reads each title with his tired eyes.

   War of the Worlds, H.G. Wells.

   Journey to the Center of the Earth. Julius Verne.

   Foundation. Asimov.

   "Really, Edward?"

   Richard Banc's low baritone voice interrupted his commune with literature. Upon seeing who was behind him, Edward pulled out his hand and shrugged his shoulder to his friend. At the same time, he was embarrassed, as if he was caught red-handed at a crime scene.

   The professor, though of the same age as Edward, is instead the total opposite of him. He has no sign of the typical professor per se. Many first-year students would take him mistakenly as their own with his rugged look, paired with blue jeans and rolled-up long straight red long sleeves. He always slips with his Lebron James shoes and barely wears the much appropriate black leather.

  He and Richard are childhood friends and now both professors in the MIT – School of Humanities, Arts and Social Science. If there is someone who knows how Edward hates fiction, it was him.

   He tried to search for an excuse but found none, so Edward finally gave up the ghost. "I know, I know. It's just baffling. I can't find the end zone to it."

   Richard smiled as he pulled out a pack of unopened Marlboro Lights cigarettes. Both men find their way to the nearest exit of the deserted library. As Edward opened the airtight door, the light gust of wind blows in them. The wind gives them chills as they walk a little more and are sheltered in the back alley of the library. They puff smoke in a minute of silence. Then Edward once more dragged Richard to his misery.

   "Did you search thoroughly? What are the chances that the pistol wasn't burned?" Richard asked him in between smokes.

   Edward looked at him, dead straight to the eyes. "I saw it with my two eyes. The one they sold at the auction does not have any burnt marks. Federal government authenticated it."

   "Maybe a reproduction?" Richard counter-proposed.

   Edward shook his head. "Collectors are smart-ass. If it was, the pistol will be sent back. And Gemini is too big to soil their reputation."

   Richard scratched his long blonde hair. He can't think of anything to elucidate the matter further. But an idea crossed his mind.

   "Then maybe there is one solution left," he replied, as he puffed for the last time and extinguished the cigarette on the metal bin. "Ask the lady."

   Of course, Edward already did that. Well, almost, he said to himself. If only he can pass the bodyguards, get near her, and have a decent, civil conversation.