Plotting in the Library

It was dark. The library was closed for the night. It should have been quiet inside. But it wasn’t. Sounds could be heard if you walked closely beside the north side of the building.

It was Monday night. Earl was taking his dog for a walk, as he did every night. She (her name was Louise) was an energetic dog that require a great deal of exercise. Their Monday night walk took them past the library. There was a path there that leads to a trail in the woods. As they walked past the building on this one particular night, Louise stopped to take an extra long sniff at a damp looking spot on the foundation of the library. While Earl was waiting for her to finish, he heard a male voice, boldly declaring, “I think that the best way to rob that store is to create a diversion. I’m thinking that I should have one of my, that is Bob’s friends knock some objects off of the shelf, making a loud sound. What do you think? I value your opinions on this matter.”

 Some muttering followed. The specific words could not be detected, but the other speakers seemed in general approval of what the man had said. Earl could not believe what he was hearing. But then, when he turned 70, he had started to have auditory hallucinations – like people calling his name when there was no one nearby, and some phantom knocking on his door. He figured these illusions may have come from too much LSD when he was in his teens in the 1960s.  This could be what he was picking up now.

Earl had pretty much forgotten about this experience until the Friday that followed, when he read the local newspaper. Apparently a high-end jewellery store about a block away from the library had been robbed that Tuesday. There weren’t many details given, but he did instantly connect this robbery with what he had heard Monday night outside the library. 

Next Monday

           Next Monday Earl and Louise stopped at the same part of the library at roughly the same time. He dropped a couple of biscuits on the ground so she would want to stay there a bit. It worked. He heard the same voice asking another question of his audience.

           “So anyone know a fence? Bob needs to have one.” The answer came quickly, loaded with sarcasm.” Yeah, there is one in my backyard, and I know that it needs painting. Do you want to help?” There were laughs all around.

           “No not that kind of fence. There is a need here to turn the ill-gotten gains of the theft into cash. Any ideas?”

           The voice of the earlier sarcastic voice spoke up again. “You should have thought of that before planning the robbery.” Slight laughter ensued

“I can’t think of everything. I am not a criminal genius” More light laughter was heard.

There was then a period of quiet. ‘They must be thinking of a way to get money from the jewellery,’ Earl thought.

           He pulled on Louise’s leash, and the two left the scene. Earl believed now that this was some sort of gang, who could somehow break into the library at night to plot their crimes. And Bob, the one asking the questions, must be their gang leader.

           Earl asked himself, ‘What should I do about this? If I had a cell phone with me, I could call 911. But by the time we get home, they may have left. And I will be thought of as some kind of weird old man, a crank.’

The Next Day at the Station

The next day Earl thought that he should go down to the police station and report what he had heard on the two Monday nights. This was not something that he felt he could do over the phone. He had to do it in person. He took Louise with him for support.

The officer at the desk listened to Earl carefully, having to ask him several times to ‘speak up’. He was then told to sit and wait, and to keep his dog near him, perhaps sitting on his lap. The officer then went over to the chief’s office and knocked on the door.

The two of them waited, Louise on his lap, for maybe about twenty minutes. Earl was waved over to talk to the chief. Although he could tell that the police chief was somewhat sceptical at first, eventually he won him over to his way of thinking: conspiratorial. They set out their plans for the following Monday night. They wanted Earl to be there to recognize the voice of the leader of the nighttime library gang.

Next Monday Night: Earl's Own Account

Next Monday night Louise and I headed over to the library at the usual time, accompanied by five officers. The chief had talked to the chief librarian, who was shocked by what they told her. “Not in my library!” she was heard to say. She gave the police a key to the backdoor. Louise and I were to stay outside, just in case there was violence. I did not have to be told that twice.

I waited for about ten minutes, then I heard the opening of the door to the room. This was followed by a sharp notification of “Don’t move. This is the police. Which one of you is Bob.” This was met with silence. I guess that Bob did not want to own up. I was confident that the police could check his identification, so that he would not get away with his crime.

Then I heard one of the officers, a woman, explain the story as they had come to hear it, of the plan to knock over objects on the shelf before the theft, and of looking for a fence to give Bob, and perhaps the whole gang, money.

Then there was great laughter. I heard the one I thought of as Bob, give a loud reply. “Officers, we are not criminals. We are a group of writers. The story you told is one of mine, that the group was helping me with. I was going to read the current version of the story tonight, and hand out copies so the others could read along. Then they would give me their reaction. Here is a copy.

Then there was quiet again, presumably as one of the officers read the story. It turned out to be the female officer, as I could hear her laugh. She then walked towards the window, and told me to go through the back door and come up to the room and meet the writers. She then stressed that none of them were called ‘Bob’.

After I made my way up to the room, and opened the door, I tried to look as contrite as possible. To my complete surprise, I was greeted with applause. And the person I had known as Bob (his name was actually Ed) told me that I had the kind of imagination that would make for a good writer. Would I want to join their group?

Their back story (I learned that expression from them) was that they had needed a place to meet, but did not want to be disturbed by family, television, and computer games. They had a friend, a co-conspirator, who worked at the library, who had secretly supplied them with a key to one of the back doors. They did not want to reveal her name unless they really had to. She was a member of their writers’ group.

In the end Louise and I would come meet with them Monday nights. At first I just made comments and suggestions concerning what the others had written. After a few weeks, I started writing my own stories, something I hadn’t done since I was a teenager.