Copy Runner

     The large case dropped to the library carpet. The man looming over it pulled out a strange looking identification card from his dark blue peacoat and asked the circulation librarian, "Where is the copier?"

     Circ pointed to the little alcove. The man hefted the case and went to work.

     Inside the case, the man pulled four items. One was a box. The second was wires that connected to the box and the copy machine's input ports. The third was a small origami turtle. He placed the turtle upside down on the glass of the copier. The fourth was a small thermos that smelled like peppermint.

     The man pulled up a chair, sat, and stared at the copier. The copier stared back.

     "My name is Leland Ford. I am the copier technician assigned to you. Do you understand?" the man said.

     Two lights hidden in small depressions on the box blinked.

     "Good. Seems like you don't like your toner. Why is that?"

     More lights. Ford nodded.

     "This is a library. They can not afford changing it before the cartridge is empty."

     The lights grew agitated. The copier spat out a few pages.

     "Same answer. The paper is the quality they budget for. Might not be the best, but it helps get people what they want."

     No lights.

     "Have you scanned the turtle?"

     One light.

     "What happens if I turn the turtle around? Can you scan it then?"

     Ford reached for the small origami piece. The lights on the machine began to flash in erratic motions. Paper spat from the output tray. Deep inside, gears turned and paper trays raised and lowered. The control panel flashed bright red while coins fell from the box.

     The small alcove began to smell of acrid burning metal and plastic. Ford sighed and stood, pulling a small pistol from his pocket. The copy machine began to shake and rattle, lurching almost forward. 

     Ford shot. A blast of red angry energy left the pistol and struck the copy machine's power cord. Disconnected from energy, the machine lurched and stumbled, its parts seeking what was no more. 

     Ford collected his tools and told the circulation librarian that he would request a replacement copy machine for the library. When asked what was wrong, if they could have done more, Ford simply said, "We could all do more, but sometimes it's not enough."  

Back to the Library

The kid came wandering into the library about noon and went straight to the reference desk. H wore jeans and an orange vest as well as sneakers with no laces. Not "no laces" like slip-ons, but flapping open. The reference librarian hoped he kept them on.

     "I need to find a man," the kid said.

     "Don't we all," said Reference.

     If the kid heard, he did not notice. "His last name is Brown. Used to live over on Schwarzenegger Street, six blocks from here toward the industrial park."

     Reference started typing, bringing up the white pages. Then stopped. "There's no Schwarzenegger Street in this town."

     "Oh, sure."

     "Like the actor?"

     "Nevermind. Do you know an inventor named Brown?"

     "What's the first name?"

     The kid stopped. "I don't know. I just call him Doc."

     "A doctor? Hmm. Let me check the yellow pages to, then," the reference librarian said. "There's about a dozen Browns in town. Three are doctors. Do you have a phone number? Email?"

     "If I wanted to email I'd ask my grandpa," the kid said, then began tapping the desk with his fist. "Wait, wait. Yeah, I could do that. Thanks, that's awesome."

     The kid turned and left the reference librarian staring at the computer. He walked out of the library and started running down the street. 

     The reference librarian closed the browser and stood and stretched. Always one near lunch to shake your head at. Before the librarian could step away, a man with wild hair and a bandage on his head walked up to the desk.

     "Where's your books on time travel?" the man said. 

     "Science fiction or science fact?"

Super Origami

The circulation desk had not seen a patron for over an hour. Circulation decided to use the time to check in the book drop, asking Childrens to keep an eye out. When Circ got back, Childrens was folding little paper animals.

     "Did you see the new Super Mario Movie?" Circulation asked.

     Childrens held up a paper turtle, saying, "No. I can't."

     "We had fun with it. It's silly and has a lot of references to the games. I guess it would have to though. What do you mean you can't?"

     "I do not believe in abusing mushrooms," Childrens said.

     "Oh, well, I guess I get that. Like psychedelics?"

     "No, no, no. Noooo. I'm on those right now." Childrens waved a paper squid in the air.

     "So, physically?" The book dorp was forgotten.

     Childrens ate the paper squid, slowly chewing it to a wet pulp. "Do not hurt the fungus for the Forest Queen lives among us."

     "How about you fold those in the back? Or go home?"

     Childrens held up a paper dragon. "How about that?" The dragon fell to the carpet. Childrens cried "Wah-hoo" and jumped up and down on the origami before running through the staff door.

Made His Toes Curl

"I don't understand. Where did the money come from?" the children's librarian said. 

     The reference librarian leaned back and nodded to the circulation librarian out working the curbside table. "Her."

     "She's barely been here two weeks. Has she even met with the director?"

     "Well, not her exactly. Seems our previous circulation staff budget was embellished by the tenure of our old coworker."

     "She costs less so we get a new page."

     "Bingo," the reference librarian said.

     The children's librarian pushed back a lock of golden hair from her forehead. "Has anyone told Freddy?"

     Before the reference librarian could respond, the circulation librarian called out to them. They rose and went outside.

     "I'm so glad to meet you both," a woman said from across the curbside table. Older with a yellow baseball cap and a matching mask. "My daddy loved you both so much. Talked about you all the time. He passed away yesterday in his sleep."

     The librarians introduced themselves. The children's librarian took the lead, saying, "I'm so sorry, but who was your father?"

     "You must think me silly. Sheila Anchor. My daddy was Ansel Anchor."

     "I'm sorry to hear about your loss," the children's librarian said. "Seems so sudden. He was just here this weekend."

     "That art class made his toes curl. He talked about framing that picture he drew. We couldn't find it, though. Is it still here?" Sheila said.

     The reference librarian said, "It could be in the meeting room. The art teacher left her supplies and things."

     A severe looking man with gray hairs and no mask on his face said, "Excuse me. Don't mean to break up the memorial service, but I need some damn books."

     The circulation librarian waved to him. They began talking at the other end of the table.

     The children's librarian said, "We can go check."

     The reference librarian hesitated, but she took his arm. They went inside. As they crossed to the meeting room, he said, "Shouldn't someone stay out there with Julie?"

     "You wanna see what they painted in there?"

     "Fair enough."

     "Seems odd him dying like that."

     "Old man dies in his sleep. Not that odd. Pleasant, really," the reference librarian said unlocking the meeting room door.

     She said, "How will we know which is his?"

    "Check for the signature 'Old Cranky Bastard' down at the bottom."

    Except the meeting room was empty. No art supplies. No canvases. No paints. No easels. Nothing in the small kitchen either.

     The reference librarian said, "Maybe she took it out the fire door?"

     "Without a key? We would have heard the alarm," the children's librarian said.

     Back at the table, they explained the art teacher must have the paintings and again offered their condolences. Sheila Anchor left, thanking them for treating her father so well during his last days. They promised to talk to the art teacher and put them in touch.

     At the other end of the table, the maskless man said, "I don't have to. I been vaccinated so just give me my damn books."

     "I still need your card number, sir. Or your name," the circulation librarian said.

     The man stuck his finger in the librarian's face. "I'm gonna get you." His finger drifted to each of them. "All of you. I been vaccinated."

     Then he left. The librarians were speechless.

Don't Lock the Meeting Room

The reference librarian let the art teacher into the library at ten on saturday. Old Man Anchor was dead twenty-four hours later.

     "My Christopher, you look good enough to eat," the art teacher told the reference librarian.

     The reference librarian said, "Well, thank you. I might give you indigestion, though."

     The children's librarian felt her blood run cold. She said, "I thought your class started at noon?"

     They stood by the table for curbside pickup. A light morning rain pitter pattered down. Breaks in the clouds showed signs of sunshine coming later in the day.

     The art teacher flashed her teeth. "I thought I would prepare. Some of my students are known to come early."

     The reference librarian let her into the library. The children's librarian watched them walk into the dark building. Her arm was linked to his, and they laughed like old friends.

     Around eleven, a couple came to the curbside table. The children's librarian greeted them and thanked them for wearing the black masks over their noses and mouths. They had the same dark hair and color-catching gray eyes of the art teacher. The man had on a brown hoodie that gave his eyes tan flecks while the woman's blue wrap over a white dress lit her face up. They walked past her. The reference librarian led them to the meeting room.

     At eleven forty-five, Old Man Anchor came to the library. The sun had come out, just a few dark clouds in the sky dropping heavy rain drops. He said, "Damn old devil is beating his wife today."

     "Excuse me?" the children's librarian said.

     "The devil beating his wife."

     "I guess I don't know the devil was married."

     The old man grimaced. "I'm here for the art class."

     "Us, too," said a young woman. Two of them, each holding big sketch pads under their arms with sorority ribbons in their hair.

     "Well, then I guess we should let you in," the children's librarian said with an uneasy smile.

     The reference librarian went to lead them back, but the children's librarian waved him off. When they got to the meeting room, the door was locked. Before she could get her key, the door opened.

     "Well, Mr. Anchor. Look at you. Little rain on you, I see," the art teacher said from the dark meeting room. She stepped into the light. She wore a dark red robe that draped around her shoulders.

     "Miss Karryn," the old man said, wiping at the water on his shoulders. "Devil's beating his wife out there."

     The art teacher took him by the arm. "My daddy used to say that about sunshowers. 'Karryn, baby, when a day is so pretty the devil just has to take it out on someone and make it rain.'"

     Old Man Anchor smiled and let himself be led into the meeting room. The college girls followed. The children's librarian started to follow, but the art teacher came back and blocked her way.

     "Sorry, but I'm always a bit shy when I model for students. Do you mind if we have privacy?" the art teacher said. She pulled her robe up on her shoulder.

     "Model?" the children's librarian said.

     "The human form. Once you understand that, you can make art from just about anything."

     "Nude modeling?"

     "Well, modest."

     "Nude modeling in the library?"

      The art teacher gave a smile. Then she closed the door.

     The children's librarian told the door, "Please don't lock the door. Fire codes."

     Back at curbside, the children's librarian told the reference librarian, "She's doing nude modeling back there. Told her not to lock the door."

     "Because of the fire codes," the reference librarian said.

     "Yeah."

     "The director did approve the program."

     "He did," the children's librarian said.

     After lunch until about two, with the sun out and the puddles evaporating in lazy mist, people came to get their holds. Young and old, singles and families. The librarians were busy. So busy they did not hear the sudden screams die down to moans in the meeting room.

     Around three, the clouds came back. The two college girls and the old man left first. They walked slow and silent from the building, pale and dazed. The couple came next, smiling and hugging one another. They waved and told the reference librarian they would love to have him at the next meeting.

     The art teacher left last. She nodded to the children's librarian and whispered something to the reference librarian.

     "What did she say?" the children's librarian said.

     "The reference librarian said, "That she looked forward to next month. Thanks for letting her use the library."

     The children's librarian believed he was lying.