I’m still trying to work out the ‘neo-Reaganian’ look. Big hair and shoulder-pads, for a start.
Pelgrane Antiquities
Hoboken
State of North Jersey
The shop clerk should have smelled of something. Soap, sweat, the Swiss food truck down the block — anything would have been fine. Instead, he had one of the most neutral scents Norm had ever not-smelled. He had to keep the clerk in sight, just to keep track.
The tall bastard moved like a ghost, too. “That is a first edition Stross,” he told Cartwright and Norm. “The signature has been authenticated, and the dust jacket is likewise the original. It is not the most noteworthy item in our little establishment, but I feel it might arouse your interest.”
“Interesting,” Cartwright drawled, the very picture of the upper-class, lead-from-behind neo-Reaganian wife she was pretending to be. “But it’s foreign. How did it manage to survive the True Gaian Crisis?”
“Foreign-written, but published in the old USA,” reassured the clerk. “Barely foreign, at that. 21st century British fiction was practically a subset of American genre writing. As to its survival?” He actually tapped his nose, just like he was out of one of these old books. It was all Norm could do to not raise an eyebrow. “Even in those strenuous times, books that had kernels of older truths in them had a way of surviving, overlooked and preserved. I’m sure that an experienced collector such as yourself could think of ways.”
“Ah. I must consult with my husband, of course.”
“Of course.”
All three retreated from the book, by mutual and unspoken consent. Norm adjusted his damned tie (checking his jammer in the process). His halfhearted suggestion that they go with unreconstructed Feds, their hands already out for bribes, had been reluctantly rejected by the team as being too likely to cause a scene. He saw the point, but these clothes itched.