Free Finders Keepers by Stephen King Page B

doesn’t do much business—but it takes longer than that to find big-money clients and establish trust.”
    Lots of buts, Morris thought, but there were no buts before.
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œWhy don’t you try me on those notebooks around the turn of the twenty-first century, if you still have them? Even if I did have a call list of private collectors right now, today, not even the nuttiest of them would touch anything so hot.”
    Morris stared at him, at first unable to speak. At last he said, “You never said anything like that when we were planning—”
    Andy clapped his hands to the sides of his head and clutchedit. “We planned nothing ! And don’t you try to lay this off on me! Don’t you ever! I know you, Morrie. You didn’t steal them to sell them, at least not until you’ve read them. Then I suppose you might be willing to give some of them to the world, if the price was right. Basically, though, you’re just batshit-crazy on the subject of John Rothstein.”
    â€œDon’t call me that.” His temples were throbbing worse than ever.
    â€œI will if it’s the truth, and it is. You’re batshit-crazy on the subject of Jimmy Gold, too. He’s why you went to jail.”
    â€œI went to jail because of my mother. She might as well have locked me up herself.”
    â€œWhatever. It’s water under the bridge. This is now. Unless you’re lucky, the police are going to be paying you a visit very soon, and they’ll probably arrive with a search warrant. If you have those notebooks when they knock on your door, your goose will be cooked.”
    â€œWhy would they come to me? Nobody saw us, and my partners . . .” He winked. “Let’s just say that dead men tell no tales.”
    â€œYou . . . what? Killed them? Killed them, too ?” Andy’s face was a picture of dawning horror.
    Morris knew he shouldn’t have said that, but—funny how that but kept coming around—Andy was just being such an asshole.
    â€œWhat’s the name of the town that Rothstein lived in?” Andy’s eyes were shifting around again, as if he expected the cops to be closing in even now, guns drawn. “Talbot Corners, right?”
    â€œYes, but it’s mostly farms. What they call the Corners is nothing but a diner, a grocery store, and a gas station where two state roads cross.”
    â€œHow many times were you there?”
    â€œMaybe five.” It had actually been closer to a dozen, between1976 and 1978. Alone at first, then with either Freddy or Curtis or both.
    â€œEver ask questions about the town’s most famous resident while you were there?”
    â€œSure, once or twice. So what? Probably everybody who ever stops at that diner asks about—”
    â€œNo, that’s where you’re wrong. Most out-of-towners don’t give a shit about John Rothstein. If they’ve got questions, it’s about when deer season starts or what kind of fish they could catch in the local lake. You don’t think the locals will remember you when the police ask if there have been any strangers curious about the guy who wrote The Runner ? Curious strangers who made repeat visits? Plus you have a record , Morrie!”
    â€œJuvenile. It’s sealed.”
    â€œSomething as big as this, the seal might not hold. And what about your partners? Did either of them have records?”
    Morris said nothing.
    â€œYou don’t know who saw you, and you don’t know who your partners might have bragged to about the big robbery they were going to pull off. The police could nail you today , you idiot. If they do and you bring my name up, I’ll deny we ever talked about this. But I’ll give you some advice. Get rid of that .” He was pointing to the brown paper bag. “That and all the rest of the notebooks. Hide them somewhere. Bury them! If you do that, maybe you can