The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections(66)

She left a twenty-dollar bill on the table and left the hotel. The rain had stopped. She walked across the street to the subway station and almost bought gum but then realized that the smell of whiskey and gum was more telling than the smell of just whiskey. So she bought peanut M&M’s and popped them in her mouth, one by one, as she walked back to the library. She had barely been gone thirty minutes. But her hands weren’t shaking anymore.

She didn’t say anything to anyone as she went back to her desk.

“Detective Yuan speaking.” He answered on the first ring.

“It’s Liesl. Liesl Weiss.”

“Hello, Liesl Weiss.”

“I’m a librarian? We met when you were investigating the disappearance of one of my staff?”

“Not a thing I would forget.”

“Right. Sorry. I was hoping we might speak again. Do you have time?”

“Nah, people keep getting murdered.”

“Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you go.”

“I’m mostly joking, Liesl.”

“It’s about the missing books.”

“Have you had lunch?” he said.

“Lunch? I guess it’s almost lunch,” Liesl said. “No, not yet.”

“That great falafel truck still parked out front?”

She looked out the window at the yellow truck.

“It’s still there.”

“You had to check and see, didn’t you? How you can walk by such a thing every day and miss it, I’ll never know.”

“You’d like to meet there?”

“Sure thing. Thirty minutes?”

“Thirty minutes.”

She didn’t like waiting; it made her feel visible. She thought she would feel less awkward if she were a person waiting for food and not a person just waiting. She wasn’t hungry but ordered herself a sandwich anyway. A line was forming behind her, the area around the yellow truck all of a sudden swarming with students. The sun was out now. It might be one of the last days of the year where it was warm enough to stand and eat a sandwich in the street.

She looked up and down the sidewalk for Yuan. Anxious that if the sandwiches arrived before he did, she would once again be standing anxiously. Two sandwiches getting cold in her hands while everyone around her chewed. The one bench near where the truck parked was available, and she inched toward it, knowing full well that even if she got the seat, she would have to give it up once the sandwiches were ready. She heard her name called and looked up at the truck but saw that it was Detective Yuan, striding toward her with a grin.

“Did you already order? Liesl Weiss, I could swear you’re beginning to like me,” he said.

“I didn’t know how much time you’d have.” She glanced up at the truck as their order was called.

“I’ll grab the sandwiches,” he said. “No hot sauce for you, right?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I suppose you haven’t brought me here to inquire after the health of my family, but before you start your grilling, I have to remind you that I don’t work in the property crime unit, and I can’t help with your missing books.”

“I don’t understand,” Liesl said. “If you can’t help, then why did you agree to meet me?”

He signaled for her to wait, heading to the truck window. He came back with hands full of the foil-wrapped sandwiches, balancing the ramekins of hot sauce on top.

“This is great falafel. I agreed to have lunch with you and to talk. I was assigned to a missing persons case, and that case is now closed.” He reshuffled and held her sandwich out to her. She kept her arms crossed.

“I need your help,” Liesl said. “As a police officer.”

“I really prefer detective,” Yuan said. “Every time you get my rank wrong, my mother is reminded that I didn’t go to medical school.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or if you’re serious,” Liesl said, finally taking the sandwich. “You didn’t come down here just to eat lunch?”

“I mostly did. But we can talk,” Yuan said.

They walked back to the bench that was somehow still empty.

“I’m with you,” Yuan said. “I don’t know how these kids do all of their eating standing up. It’s a recipe for a soiled shirt.”

“Can we talk about something besides the sandwiches?” she said, though he had just taken a ravenous first bite.

“Sure. It’s not as good today anyway.”

“Sorry you’re disappointed,” she said.

“I ordered in Arabic last time,” he said through a full mouth. “He must have made it special.”

Liesl had yet to tear open her wax paper.

“Come on,” Yuan said. “Your lunch is going to get cold.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m all of a sudden not hungry.”

He crumpled his empty paper, stained with grease and hot sauce.

“I’ll eat it,” he said. “If you’re not going to.”

She stared at the sandwich in her lap and wanted to cry. The sky had clouded over again; the weather refused to make its mind up. Detective Yuan stood and left her and her uneaten sandwich. He walked to a nearby trash bin and tossed his crumpled wax paper into it with a perfect jump shot. When the wax paper cleared the rim, he threw his arms up into the air in silent celebration, as if an arena full of spectators was cheering him on. She waited for him to come back to the bench, but he didn’t. He strode back over to the yellow truck and greeted the man taking orders as if the two had gone to summer camp together. Money changed hands and then something in a brown paper bag, and Liesl wondered if the man ever stopped eating.