“Do you know what dis is, Gleep?”
As a matter of fact, I didn’t. From what I could see, all it was some kind of picture book . . . and a shoddily made one at that. What it didn’t look like was anything valuable. Certainly nothing that would warrant the kind of attention we had been getting.
Nunzio tossed the book back onto the floor and glanced around nervously.
“This is over my head,” he murmured. “I can’t . . . Gleep, you keep an eye on this stuff. I’ll be right back.
I’ve gotta get the Boss . . . and Guido! Yea. He knows about this stuff.”
Admittedly perplexed, I watched him go, then studied the book again.
Very strange. There was clearly something in this situation that was escaping my scrutiny.
I rubbed my nose a few times in a vain effort to clear it of the smell of ink, then hunkered down to await my pet’s arrival.
“Comic books?”
Skeeve was clearly as perplexed as I had been.
“The ‘valuable shipment’ we’re guarding is comic books?”
“That’s what I thought, Boss,” Nunzio said. “Screwy, huh? What do you think, Guido?”
Guido was busy prying open another case. He scanned the books on top, then dug a few out from the bottom to confirm they were the same. Studying two of them intently, he gave out with a low whistle.
“You know what these are worth. Boss?”
Skeeve shrugged.
“I don’t know how many of them are here, but I’ve seen them on sale around the Bazaar at three or four for a silver, so they can’t be worth much.”
“Excuse me for interruptin’,” Guido said, “but I am not referrin’ to yer everyday, run-of-the-mill comic. I am lookin’ at these, which are a horse from a different stable.”