2. Paws and a Bookmark #5
"Have a good one." She sailed out, after scowling at the family clustered in the children's section.
Vladimir hissed, but very quietly and only after the door closed. "She not know where next generation come from?"
"One wonders." At least Mx. Patches had not voiced her opinions of children aloud this time.
The family came to the front with five fiction and folk-lore books for the kids and two regional histories for the adults.
The gentleman presented a third non-fiction title.
"Ah, I think we need to pay for this one, too.
" He sounded sheepish. "She got it into her mouth before we noticed she'd gotten away. "
Someone had gnawed the corner, soaking it well as she did. She currently gnawed a teething ring. She smiled up at him, then returned to working on the teething ring.
Simeon had to smile. "I'll let you have it for half price, since it has a little damage." He'd been about to pull it as a remainder, since it had not sold in two years. It had been sent by mistake and the publisher wouldn't take it back.
The older child picked up the chewed title and read the back. "Ooh, I can use this for the summer project for social studies. See, it's about pioneers in Iowa, and I can compare them with pioneers out here. It's exactly what I need!" His father looked less unhappy.
"... Seriously," Pedro declared as he and Stacey pushed aside the curtain and came into the main shop a few minutes later.
"Worst Spanish I've heard in a long time.
And then cursed at me because we don't have a coffee bar.
'What kind of effing book store doesn't have a coffee bar? ' was exactly what she said."
Stacey rolled his eyes. "I believe you. I heard a guy asking where he could change his money into pesos when I was coming through the airport last weekend. And complimented the lady at the information desk for speaking such good English."
"I win," Vladimir called, then yawned and went back to sleep.
The next morning, Simeon listened with one ear to Vladimir's grumbles as they disembarked from the early bus and walked through the chilly morning air.
The sun had yet to appear over the mountains.
"Need sleep. Sleep knits raveled sleeve of care," the Familiar quoted.
"Do not like morning people. Or morning people music. "
"Agree on the music." Not his kind, and not that loud.
He should not hear every predictable rhyme from five rows away.
If the kid with the music and faux-gangsta clothing ever met a real gang member, he'd be in for a painful lesson about cultural markers and group identification.
"Hope he stays out of that part of town. "
"If not, he might be the next arroyo surprise." The Familiar sounded resigned. "Are you ready for trouble, Tovarish?"
"Da. I brought extra recharge supplies, and I asked Don Romero y Gallegos to warn the others. He said he would have his pager with him, should we need help."
"I hope we do not have to bother him."
"Likewise." They rounded the corner. He stopped at the pick-up window for Pi?on Café Company and got a large with extra cream, and a small decaf Russian Caravan tea.
He poured the tea into a plastic bowl and sat on a plaza park bench as Vladimir lapped up the treat.
Morning grogginess banished, they started toward the shop.
"Tank! Come back here! Heel!"
Simeon grabbed Vladimir and hoisted him onto his shoulders, then plastered himself against the wall as a large tan dog and the two people chasing it all raced past. Only after the coast cleared and quiet returned did he resume walking. "That was mildly interesting."
"Da," the cat grumbled. "Don't like the flyer on the doors."
"Nyet." Someone had taped flyers to the shop doors.
He pulled it off the bookshop window, then unlocked the door and hurried around the counter to turn off the alarm.
He glanced at the red, black, and yellow paper.
"The usual call for a protest about capitalism and corruption of tribal truths and ways.
Same font and layout as the one calling for an end to the Spanish Market. "
"Probably used poster and sign site high school students like."
Would they attack the O?ate statue again?
Very likely. It had become a ritual of sorts.
He had no dog, cat, or other party in that fight.
His family had fled the old country to get away from those sorts of conflicts.
He stowed the recharge bag in the back, tucking Vladimir's high-fat food supplement into the little fridge along with some leftovers from last night's supper.
A little after seven Vladimir trotted into the back room. "She's here, with truck."
"Thank you." He hurried to the front and opened the door. "Good morning Ms. Fredricks."
"Good morning, Simeon, where's," she looked left and right, then down. "Good morning, Vladimir."
He waved a paw, then retreated to his bed in the back room.
"If your table overlaps, Mr. Devaca said it won't be a problem." He helped her unfold it, along with the chair, once her two boys got it out of the pickup.
"Wonderful! I see the usual people are doing the usual protest." She accepted a cardboard box from her younger son and handed it to him. "For the window. The stands are in the box, or should be."
"They are, Mama," her older son assured her. "And I'll be by a few times to make deposits and just check on things." His eyes kept moving as he spoke, watching the people coming and going in the street and on the sidewalks. A few of them sped up, avoiding his attention.
"When does your leave end, Tom? Or are you on recruiter rotation?"
"Next Wednesday, sir. No, they want good examples, not horrible warnings." He grinned, sort of.
His younger brother stuck his tongue out at Tom, then got busy with boxes. Juana shook a thick, glaze-stained finger at them, then began spreading and smoothing the cloth for the table and setting out pots. Simeon took the hint and did the same indoors.
She'd included two of her storyteller plates, large decorative pieces.
He set them on the stands with the little cards in clear view, then added two of her black-on-gray pots, and two shaded pastel pieces like bean pots.
How had she gotten the colors to do that?
He shook his head a little and adjusted the balance in the display window, then stepped outside to check on things.
"... I don't like it Mama," Tom was saying. "You should rent space inside a store, not out here."
"And you know very well why that does not work. Thank you, but Mr. Isaacson and I can deal with any trouble. I'm not going to sell here on Saturday. That's the Ojo Caliente crafts' fest, and the theme is world of colors."
Tom frowned. He had his father's height, but his mother's sturdy build and coloring. His younger brother looked more like their mother, aside from green eyes.
Junior shook his head. "Tom, I see the parking scooter coming this way," he warned.
They finished getting boxes out of the pickup, then Tom hopped in and moved the truck before the determined parking enforcement officer could hit him with a large ticket.
The guy on the scooter gave the departing truck a dirty look.
Since Juana had things under control, Simeon ducked inside once more and returned to inventory and updating his sales accounts. Vladimir snored on his basket, sprawled across it as if boneless. He made his mage's back hurt just looking at the cat.
The podcast had gone live that morning, and the number of downloads had increased. "Dobry," he murmured, then logged off the computer.
As soon as the shop opened, a young man in work-worn clothes dragged in, eyes on the floor. "Yeah, hi," he began without preamble. "I need something, I don't know what." He glanced up, then sagged, exhausted in spirit and body together.
A challenge. Simeon considered, then nodded once as he felt a very strong pull.
"This way, sir. There are two books that might interest you.
One is the biography of an early railroad worker.
He started as a gandy dancer, the men who carried the ties and rails.
" He offered it to the workman and waited.
As he read, the customer perked up. "Huh. This does sound different. And he became a successful contractor?"
"Yes, sir. He had some losses on the way, but ended up a very respected member of the community.
" Simeon led the man farther into the back, into the theology and spirituality section.
Which one ... His magic pushed him to the end of the second shelf, where a book glowed soft blue.
"Here. The first half is autobiography, the second about applying what the author learned in the first half. "
"Concentration camp survivor? Daaamn he saw some rough shit." The customer read more of the introduction, then met Simeon's eyes for the first time. "Even worse than some of the stuff around here."
Simeon returned to the main counter, customer in tow and already reading.
"Yes, sir, he did. A lot of people have benefitted from his ideas, and if you've ever heard of Jordan Peterson, the professor and writer, there's some overlap between how the two approach dealing with a not great personal situation. "
"Huh." The worn young man shifted from downcast to curious and hopeful. "Thanks. These sound different, good different."
"Twenty-three-oh-one, and they are. Sometimes it helps to read about a real person who did basic things." Simeon smiled a little and nodded to the latest political biography best seller. "As compared to the usual."
The young man paid, then glanced at the politician's smiling visage. "Ick. No thanks." He hurried out, pulling the second title from the sack and starting to read as he crossed the street.