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The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections(77)

Author:Eva Jurczyk

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.

“Baklava, if you’re not hungry for falafel,” he said, handing her the bag.

“I’m just not hungry,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’ve been drinking. You should eat.” He held the bag out until she took it from him.

She thanked him. Didn’t ask how he knew about the whiskey. She ate her baklava instead, setting the still-wrapped sandwich on the bench beside her. It was good, the baklava. Smelling of rosewater and dripping with honey.

“Not much of a market for stolen rare books is my understanding,” he said.

“You’re looking into the thefts?” she said.

“I’ve asked some colleagues to weigh in on the thefts,” he said. “Out of personal interest. I like books. Though I’m more of a Grisham man myself.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning away so the degree of relief on her face couldn’t be read.

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