Read Online No Hope for Gomez! by Graham Parke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Graham Parke
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conversation down so I could work on it later.
Blog entry: Dr. Hargrove lived in a small, semidetached house, the state of which made me assume it was rented. It didn’t look bad exactly, but you could tell only the bare minimum had been done as far as maintenance was concerned. I liked it though; it had a homey feel to it. A certain coziness. One side of the house was shielded from the sidewalk by a hedge and some bushes, and this is where I hid out. Neither Dr. Hargrove nor any passers-by would be able to spot me.
I followed her shadow as it moved across the blinds. Every once in a while she’d peek out, only to not spot me and quickly move away again. I toyed with the idea of ringing the doorbell to tell her how well it was going, how inconspicuous I was being, but opted against it.
Blog entry: Waited for Dr. Hargrove to go to bed. Waited another two hours after lights out. Headed home.
No stalkers that night.
16.
Blog entry: Tried to hurry through the next day but time wouldn’t move along. Even though I kept busy.
In the afternoon a shady character entered the store and browsed around in the back, somewhere to the left. I knew for a fact there were no antiques back there because I went there to look for Hicks once, and all I found were boxes of administrative papers (which I’ve since asked Hicks to move to the storage room).
Blog entry: Decided to mosey-on-over and check this guy out – pretended to be searching for some old claims forms.
“Oh, hello,” I said, spotting the guy in a dark corner. “Didn’t see you there. Find anything to your liking?”
The guy turned with a start and crumpled a piece of paper away into one of his pockets. “What?” he said. “Oh, yes. Yes indeed.” His eyes flitted about. “I was just admiring your… eh… boxes of 1987 import tax declaration rejections.”
“Were you now?”
He nodded excitedly. “Very much so. I would like to… eh… purchase them. If they are complete and in mint condition, of course. May I examine them closer?”
“You want to buy my administration?”
“Maybe, maybe.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t know there was much of a market for import tax declaration thingies.”
“Oh, there isn’t,” the guy said. “Not in general. But these are quite old, you see. And import tax rules changed significantly in February of 1988, making mint condition declaration rejections from 1987 instantly desirable.”
“I see.”
“Yes, especially the addition of… eh… article 17, subsection D of Volume 2 of the Revenue and Customs Integrated Tariff. It sealed in the value of 1987 rejections, as you can imagine.”
“Most definitely.” I glanced at the boxes he was now hovering over.
“See here,” he said, taking the top sheet from the nearest box. “See how this faded blue line runs along the left side of the form, but not the right?”
“Yes, now you mention it. Is that significant?”
“Probably not, no.” He shook his head. “Can’t imagine why it would be. Just something I noticed.” He put the sheet back. “But this!” he said, taking a sheet from another box, “this is!” He studied the yellowed piece of paper carefully. “Most interesting,” he mumbled. “Most interesting indeed.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of the guy. He was weird, definitely, but seemed to know his stuff. “So,” I said, “you’re a collector of old tax forms then?”
“A collector of old tax forms?” He mulled this over. “No,” he said at last. “I think that would be too broad a term.” He shook his head. “My interest in forms is entirely limited to 1987 import tax declaration rejections, as I seem to remember stating earlier.”
“Ah. But what about 1986 rejections? Surely they’re even more desirable?”
He scrunched up his nose as if he’d been exposed to a particularly offensive smell. “1986?” he cringed. “1986? I can’t stand forms from 1986! Nor can my fellow 1987 import tax
Blog entry: Dr. Hargrove lived in a small, semidetached house, the state of which made me assume it was rented. It didn’t look bad exactly, but you could tell only the bare minimum had been done as far as maintenance was concerned. I liked it though; it had a homey feel to it. A certain coziness. One side of the house was shielded from the sidewalk by a hedge and some bushes, and this is where I hid out. Neither Dr. Hargrove nor any passers-by would be able to spot me.
I followed her shadow as it moved across the blinds. Every once in a while she’d peek out, only to not spot me and quickly move away again. I toyed with the idea of ringing the doorbell to tell her how well it was going, how inconspicuous I was being, but opted against it.
Blog entry: Waited for Dr. Hargrove to go to bed. Waited another two hours after lights out. Headed home.
No stalkers that night.
16.
Blog entry: Tried to hurry through the next day but time wouldn’t move along. Even though I kept busy.
In the afternoon a shady character entered the store and browsed around in the back, somewhere to the left. I knew for a fact there were no antiques back there because I went there to look for Hicks once, and all I found were boxes of administrative papers (which I’ve since asked Hicks to move to the storage room).
Blog entry: Decided to mosey-on-over and check this guy out – pretended to be searching for some old claims forms.
“Oh, hello,” I said, spotting the guy in a dark corner. “Didn’t see you there. Find anything to your liking?”
The guy turned with a start and crumpled a piece of paper away into one of his pockets. “What?” he said. “Oh, yes. Yes indeed.” His eyes flitted about. “I was just admiring your… eh… boxes of 1987 import tax declaration rejections.”
“Were you now?”
He nodded excitedly. “Very much so. I would like to… eh… purchase them. If they are complete and in mint condition, of course. May I examine them closer?”
“You want to buy my administration?”
“Maybe, maybe.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t know there was much of a market for import tax declaration thingies.”
“Oh, there isn’t,” the guy said. “Not in general. But these are quite old, you see. And import tax rules changed significantly in February of 1988, making mint condition declaration rejections from 1987 instantly desirable.”
“I see.”
“Yes, especially the addition of… eh… article 17, subsection D of Volume 2 of the Revenue and Customs Integrated Tariff. It sealed in the value of 1987 rejections, as you can imagine.”
“Most definitely.” I glanced at the boxes he was now hovering over.
“See here,” he said, taking the top sheet from the nearest box. “See how this faded blue line runs along the left side of the form, but not the right?”
“Yes, now you mention it. Is that significant?”
“Probably not, no.” He shook his head. “Can’t imagine why it would be. Just something I noticed.” He put the sheet back. “But this!” he said, taking a sheet from another box, “this is!” He studied the yellowed piece of paper carefully. “Most interesting,” he mumbled. “Most interesting indeed.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of the guy. He was weird, definitely, but seemed to know his stuff. “So,” I said, “you’re a collector of old tax forms then?”
“A collector of old tax forms?” He mulled this over. “No,” he said at last. “I think that would be too broad a term.” He shook his head. “My interest in forms is entirely limited to 1987 import tax declaration rejections, as I seem to remember stating earlier.”
“Ah. But what about 1986 rejections? Surely they’re even more desirable?”
He scrunched up his nose as if he’d been exposed to a particularly offensive smell. “1986?” he cringed. “1986? I can’t stand forms from 1986! Nor can my fellow 1987 import tax
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