Nobody’s Hero (Ben Koenig #2)

Chapter 37

Summers frowned. He pointed at his watch, then pointed at the closed sign again. ‘I’m shut, mate,’ he said through the glass door. ‘Come back tomorrow.’

‘Come on, man,’ Koenig replied. ‘I’ve come all the way from Boston. I’m not here tomorrow. Got some bullshit meeting in London.’

Summers checked his watch again. Like he had somewhere else to be and time was an issue.

‘I won’t be long,’ Koenig said. ‘I’m only interested in the good stuff.’

After he’d checked his watch one more time, Summers flipped the sign to open and unlocked the door. ‘I can give you twenty minutes,’ he said.

Koenig stepped inside, flipped the sign back to closed as he did. If Summers noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked around to the other side of the store counter and planted his elbows on the polished wood.

Like all memorabilia stores, it was half museum, half shop. Some of the items on display had NOT FOR SALE stickers on them. Every inch of wall space was taken up with movie posters. Old posters, new posters, signed posters. Tables filled to the brim with props, cabinets full of curiosities, and clothes racks packed with costumes. There were even old flip-down cinema seats to sit on while you took in the cinematic history on display.

It was the kind of place Koenig would have visited five or six times a month in Boston. He’d have been on first-name terms with the owner and friends with the regulars. Stores like this were more than just places to indulge your passion. They were places to hang out. Somewhere to discuss, debate, even vehemently argue about old movies, new movies, upcoming movies. Movies never made; movies that shouldn’t have been made. Actors who were hopelessly miscast; actors who’d turned down iconic roles. In his old life Koenig would have held strong opinions on all of it, and he’d have spent hours talking with like-minded people. He’d been a movie buff all his life. Sure, he loved to read, but his love of cinema was ingrained. He could no more stop loving movies than he could grow a rat tail.

‘Are you after anything in particular?’ Summers said. ‘The website was updated last night, but a couple of nice pieces came in this morning. I haven’t had a chance to put them on yet. Happy to do a cash deal if we can agree a price.’

Koenig would have liked to discuss the A Clockwork Orange clapper board Summers had behind his counter. It hadn’t been on his website, and he couldn’t see a NOT FOR SALE sticker. In ordinary times, Koenig would have spent every buck he had to take it home with him. But these were not ordinary times.

And he no longer had a home.

So instead of asking how much Summers wanted for the clapper board, he said, ‘I’m a generic collector, but I’ve made this trip as I heard you have some cool Tom Derringer memorabilia.’

‘Derringer? You mean Berenger ?’

‘I do?’

‘I think so. Tom Berenger was in Platoon and Inception. Looking for Mr Goodbar .’

‘So, who’s Tom Derringer?’

‘I don’t think he exists, mate.’ Summers frowned. ‘I thought you said you were a serious collector?’

‘I can’t imagine how I got that wrong,’ Koenig said. ‘Must be because I recently saw a movie where a derringer was used to commit a double murder. You probably saw it on the news.’

‘You a cop?’

‘I’m not a cop.’

‘Who are you then?’ Summers said.

‘Just a guy interested in the derringer that the woman at Speakers’ Corner used.’

‘I sell movie memorabilia,’ Summers said. ‘Why would I know anything about a gun?’

Koenig reached behind his back and grabbed his Fairbairn– Sykes. Held it up so Summers could see the blood on the tapered blade.

‘That one-eyed idiot gave you up, Marion,’ he said. ‘And we need to talk.’