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snoopy369
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Of the Peanuts Gallery
Apr 2004
time: 23:35
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A few hours later, Thursday, June 4, at the Random House Exhibit
Bill Bryson, Erik Larson, and Joseph Ellis sat at one side of the exhibit, discussing the events of the day.
“Wow, that was weird,” said Joseph. “Tom was like a friend … and he dies, just like that.”
“Yeah … Orson must have been pretty crazy to want to kill him,” said Erik. “I mean, Tom may be a … pain in the butt … but he’s not mean enough to be killed … is he?”
“Well, he did piss off an awful lot of people. Perhaps Orson just went past his breaking point…”
“But what if we were wrong? I mean, nobody actually saw the murder …” said Joseph.
“Well, you can never be sure. But majority rules, and all that,” said Erik.
“You mean plurality, Erik,” corrected Bill. “But yes, you’re right. It was the decision, and that’s final. And speaking of votes, how could you vote for me? You know I was right here the whole time!”
“Yeah, well, um, right. See, I wasn’t really paying that much attention …”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t kill anyone. I’m practically the nicest guy at RH!”
“Well … I dunno, I just had to say something, and … your name slipped …” Erik was really getting hot under the collar.
“Hmm, I guess the decision was made, anyway, and you’re fine, Bill. So let’s stop the bickering,” sighed Joseph. “Anyway, what’s up for this afternoon?”
“Well, I will be off by myself at the signing booth. I’ll probably lose an arm signing Devil in the White City … only a few hundred thousand copies in the building, probably,” boasted Erik.
“Yeah, whatever. I’ve had a few dozen best-sellers. You can never go wrong with a Bryson, that’s what people say. Anyway, I’ll be here. I don’t sign until tomorrow.”
“Well, I’ll be here to … keep you company. Tomorrow’s the history luncheon, but today it’s all Random House.”
China Mièville, Dave Barry, and John Irving are sitting at the other end of the exhibit, talking amongst themselves.
“Man, that was a bad morning,” said China. “Tom wasn’t exactly a cool guy, but nobody deserves that …”
“And what about Orson? I mean, how could they not think George did it? Orson is such a nice guy, and George Carlin is just a destructive psychopath,” raged John.
“Well, I think Orson was just as psycho as George, and then some. It’s always the quiet ones, after all,” said Dave. “And after all he was a religious nut … known to be the fifth most likely killer of small animals. And large ones, for that matter.”
“Orson was a bit whacked out,” said China. “I mean, those shadow books were practically proof of his nuttiness …”
“Whatever … I just want to make sure someone is with me any time I’m near the Hyperion table. I don’t want to be alone with that whacko.”
At the Penguin Putnam Pavilion ...
Robert Parker sits down, and realizes there’s nobody nearby. The two people he talked to four hours ago are both dead, and he’s not really sure why. He decides being alone isn’t smart right now, so he wanders over to the Hyperion table.
At the Harper-Collins Area
Joyce Carol Oates, Jonathan Safran Foer, and Elmore Leonard are standing around, avoiding looking at each other.
“You … you just don’t know a person,” Jonathan said. “I mean, he might have been a crazy religious weirdo, but … he was a nice guy, even to me. And it must have taken some effort.”
“You’re not kidding,” said Elmore. “But … for him to kill Tom? That’s just nuts …”
“I just hope this is over now. I couldn’t stand to imagine we killed the wrong person,” Joyce said. “I mean, that George character isn’t exactly savory either …”
“Yeah, well, who knows. I just know that Orson is a weirdo and the soda was a clear identifier. And, he was by himself. Who else had a real chance to do it?” said Jonathan.
“Sure, whatever. Anyway, you guys up for another shot at who can dump more copies of a worthless book they didn’t write on unsuspecting booksellers?” asked Joyce.
“Um, yeah. I’m not going anywhere today anyway,” said Elmore. “Saturday is my signing day, if I remember right.”
“Yeah, I think so also. Anyway, I’ll be around. I want to see a few of the other exhibits,” said Joyce.
“Well, if you think it’s safe … I’m still not sure. I’ll stay here with Elmore,” said Jonathan.
At the Time Warner annex ...
“How COULD you guys! You condemned a quite possibly innocent man to death, on scant evidence! You are fools and deranged madmen!” David Sedaris couldn’t believe what was happening. He had vigorously refused to condemn anyone to die, but only he, Orson, and Robert had disagreed with the vote. “He disliked soda, and so he killed a man? Why didn’t he kill you then? Or me? We ALL had soda. John and Dave Barry had like two, Joseph had three or something like that …”
“Well, we’re not going to stand around and wait to be killed. After all, any of us could be next, if we don’t catch that killer. You, me, George … I just hope we got the right one, and if we didn’t we’ll just keep going.” Alice was steamed, also … for a different reason.
“But you might be wrong … how can you kill an innocent person? How can you live with that guilt on your hands?”
“Well, you did read my book, didn’t you? I have quite the dark side. I’m willing to do whatever it takes, whatever, to keep myself and those who I love safe. Don’t get in my way, funny man.”
“Oh … kay … I’ll just stand over here. For that matter, let’s say I just head over to the signing booth, where I’ll be this afternoon …”
“Yeah, whatever.”
At the Hyperion booth …
Robert Parker ran into George Carlin.
“Hey George, isn’t this so … strange?”
“Yeah, totally weird, Bob. I mean, who could imagine Orson as a murderer?”
“I don’t … know. Certainly not me. I mean, he was arguing a bit with Tom, yes, but … it never came to that. I’m … concerned, that it might have been someone else.”
“You mean me, I guess. Or Bill. But I guess you don’t really mean me, since you’re here.”
“Well, yeah, I guess. I just think … I dunno. I’m not really sure it was either of you. You’re a weird one, but not a violent one. And Bill … he’s just an old softie, like Orson. I think it’s someone … more sinister.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment, I think. But I’d watch out for that Bill. He’s a bit of a softie, perhaps, but … you know what they say about the quiet ones.”
“Yeah, yeah. That was the reasoning with Orson too … but I don’t buy it. Oh, heya Neil. How are you doing?”
“Yeah, well, I’m a bit down at the moment. Tom was a friend, and Orson was a peer bar none. Not having either of them around is … odd.”
“Well, at least we’re … safer, now. Hopefully,” said George.
“Yeah. Safe … well, I’m off to the signing booth. Perhaps I’ll meet a few fans that didn’t hear about the murder …” Neil walked off, slowly.
At the Simon and Schuster Table ...
“Tom, that was a nice opening speech …” Ann begins.
“Yeah, like anyone’s going to remember it …” Tom Wolfe was feeling a bit upstaged.
“Well, I’m sure someone will … want to block out their memories, I’m sure …” said Hunter. “I mean, it’s like Las Vegas or something. Whatever happens here, stays here.”
“You’re just obsessed with that place, Hunter,” jabbed David McCullough. “Look, what happened, happened. Orson killed Tom, and we gave him what he deserved. End of story.”
“Yeah, well, it could have been me, or any of us,” said Tom. “I mean, what if the killer doesn’t like the name Tom?”
“Nah, that’s unlikely. Who’s ever heard of a killer who took to first names? And I know killers …” said Ann.
“Well, as long as we got it right …” said David.
“You and I both know that we didn’t. Everyone here voted for someone else. George is the killer, plain and simple. I’m not getting within ten feet of him,” said Hunter.
“George … hmm. George, maybe. Or John …” said Ann. “It could be almost anyone … I think we need to get into the head of the killer. Think like the killer. Who would have killed Tom Clancy? Who …”
“Okay, you go, girl,” said David. “Anyway, I am going to stand here and not go anywhere near that Random House booth. Bill Bryson was giving me a funny look, and I don’t like the cut of his jib.”
“I’ll be right here,” said Ann. “Unless I need to get a soda, in which case I’ll be right … hmm, actually maybe that’s a better place to think. He was killed over …”
EEEK!
“What was that, Ann?” asked Tom.
“Another … another …”
George Pelecanos was lying on his back, with a knife protruding from his ribs. His hand was clenched around the knife.
“And that’s not the worst part,” said Ann. “It was a BUTTER knife!” She was pretty shocked. Hunter ran to the telephone again, and David walked her back to the booth.
After they regained their senses, the authors came together again to discuss the events, and quickly realized it wasn’t a suicide. Well, probably not, anyway. There’s no way to be sure. But just for safety, they decided to vote again, anyway.
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16-03-2005 23:56
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