(1969) The Seven Minutes Read Free

Already Jadway’s our biggest seller.’
    ‘Wrap it up. You’ve sold me.’ Kellog had his wallet out. ‘Here’s a ten. Can you change a ten?’
    ‘Sure thing.’
    Kellog waited as Ben Fremont rang up the sale, made change, then placed the receipt and the copy of The Seven Minutes in a striped paper bag.
    ‘I’m sorry I was such a tough customer,’ Kellog said apologetically.
    Fremont smiled as he handed the striped bag across the counter. ‘I like a discerning customer. I don’t mind being challenged. Keeps me on my toes. And don’t worry about the book. It’ll help your wife get on her feet fast, believe me. Good day.’
    The second that he was out in the sunlight once again, Kellog slid his hand inside his sport jacket and flipped the lever on the box beneath his armpit. Hastily he headed in the direction of the waiting Ford coupe, and as he did so he hoisted the striped paper bag above his head. Immediately Ike Iverson stepped out of the car, carrying a similar bag, and strode over to join him in front of the jewelry shop.
    As they met, Kellog asked, ‘How did Eubank do in the back seat?’
    ‘Came in loud and clear,’ said Iverson. ‘Sa-ay, you were in there long enough.’
    ‘Those literary conversations take a little doing,’ said Kellog with a wink. He shook his purchase. ‘But it’s in the bag. Duncan’ll be happy. Well, we’d better start comparing.’
    Kellog removed his copy of The Seven Minutes from the striped bag. He opened the book, found the loose end paper at the front of the book, located his pen, and carefully signed it with his initials and the date. When he finished, Iverson was beside him, also holding a copy of The Seven Minutes.
    ‘Ready? Let’s get it over with,’ said Iverson. ‘Same jacket and
    title, right?’
    ‘Check.’
    ‘Same publisher, publication date, copyright, correct?’
    ‘Check.’
    ‘Same number of printed pages, right?’
    ‘Exactly, check.’
    ‘Let’s compare the marked passages in my book with the same pages in the book you just bought.’
    ‘Okay,’ said Kellog.
    Working quickly, the two men compared a half-dozen pages.
    “The same,’ concluded Iverson. ‘Well, Otto, the books are identical, agreed?’
    ‘Agreed.’
    ‘Guess we’d better pay Mr Fremont another visit.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Kellog, returning his book to the bag.
    ‘Otto, don’t forget your Fargo unit.’
    Kellog reached into his sport jacket, found the switch beside the microphone of his portable Fargo F-6Q0 intelligence unit. He pushed the lever. ‘It’s on.’
    Briskly, striding in step, the two returned to Fremont’s Book Emporium and entered it.
    Once inside, Kellog saw that Ben Fremont was still behind the counter next to the cash register, busy pouring a Coke into a large paper cup. Kellog led the way, with Iverson right behind him.
    Fremont had just brought the soft drink to his lips when he recognized Kellog. ‘Why, hello again -‘
    ‘Mr Fremont,’ said Kellog,’ - you are Ben Fremont, proprietor of Fremont’s Book Emporium, aren’t you?’
    ‘What do you mean ? Of course I am. You know that.’
    ‘Mr Fremont, we’ll have to introduce ourselves officially. I am Sergeant Kellog, assigned to the Vice Bureau of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Office.’ He held out his badge, then returned it to his pocket. ‘My partner here is Officer Iverson, also of the Sheriff’s Vice Bureau.’
    The bookseller appeared bewildered. ‘I -I don’t get it,’ he said, setting his Coke down hard and spilling it. ‘What’s going on with - ?’
    ‘Ben Fremont,’ said Kellog, ‘we are placing you under arrest for violation of Section 311.2 of the California Penal Code. The Code states that every person who knowingly offers to distribute any obscene matter is guilty of a misdemeanor. Under Section 311a, “obscenity” means that to the average person, applying contemporary community standards, the predominant appeal of the work in question, taken as a whole, is