Six Serial Plates Passed Through The Door He Had Locked

Cora answered Warren's demand with two short questions.

What agreement supported the $9,000 charge? What was the other commitment?

He sent no agreement. He called the second question “outside the scope.”

By eight Friday morning, Nadine had told the auction office she would not approve a single cabinet without a clear ownership file. Warren's hosting fee depended on those six lots. So did his chance to stand beside them on Sunday and talk.

At eight thirty, he agreed to release the machines.

He could still put any money claim in writing for later review. He agreed that none of my listed property would be held for it. Cora made sure the pickup paper said that much and no more.

“Don't sign a blank line,” she told me. “Don't settle the whole partnership at a loading door.”

The movers cost $480. Storage at their locked warehouse cost $160 for the week. I paid both before I went to the shop.

Nadine met me in the alley. She wore old walking shoes and carried six sheets on a clipboard.

“You're an appraiser,” I said. “You didn't have to come haul things.”

“I'm coming to identify things. The fellows with the straps can haul.”

Warren stood inside the open loading door.

“Look at this production,” he said. “Could've talked it out.”

“We can start with River Queen,” Nadine said.

He looked at her clipboard, then at the movers.

One of the movers asked who would direct the loading.

Warren pointed at himself. “I've moved games for twenty years.”

I held up the condition sheets. “These are mine. I'll show you the loose pieces before anything tilts.”

The mover looked at the pickup list, then at me.

“Which one first, ma'am?”

It was a small question. I had to swallow before I could answer it. For the first time since Thursday, someone in that building had asked me what should happen next.

“Careful with that one. It's worth twelve thousand.”

“Then we'll be careful,” I said.

I put on my green shirt. It had been thrown across a box of dirty rags. The open line at the cuff still waited for its missing switch.

We took photographs of each cabinet in place, each serial plate, each back panel, and each loaded machine. I checked the feet and loose parts. Nadine called out the numbers. One mover read them back.

“RQ-1842.”

“RQ-1842, confirmed.”

Warren made a soft laugh.

“She likes her little numbers.”

Nadine turned a page.

“They keep me from appraising the wrong property.”

On Moon Orchard, a brass plate had gone dull enough to hide its last digit. Warren pointed at it.

“That could be a different machine.”

Nadine crouched beside the cabinet.

“The right side has a long walnut patch. Same grain fork as the pickup photo.”

I held my phone beside the wood. Two dark lines bent around a pale knot, like water around a stone.

We cleaned the plate with a soft cloth. The one appeared.

MO-0731.

“Different dirt,” Nadine said. “Same cabinet.”

Warren walked toward the office.

I finished the condition check on County Fair. Prairie Rocket needed its loose coin box bagged. Copper Comet's backbox bolts went in an envelope taped to the cabinet. Night Ferry came last because its legs had to clear a narrow turn.

I lifted the glass to secure its loose score card before the movers tilted it.

A yellow sheet lay beneath the card.

At first I thought it was one of Warren's auction estimates. Then I saw PAID DEPOSIT stamped across the top.

I stopped touching it.

“Nadine.”

She came over.

The sheet was a duplicate sales invoice, number 409. Its date was Tuesday. Its list held all six of my serial numbers.

The buyer was Ben Tully. The price was $36,000. Deposit received: $12,000. Balance due Saturday at pickup: $24,000.

Below that, Warren had written: Seller guarantees clear ownership. No other sale pending.

“Photograph it where it is,” Nadine said.

I did. Then I called Cora.

Warren returned while she was still on the line.

“Put that down,” he said.

“Your invoice was inside my machine.”

“It's a quote.”

Nadine pointed at the paid stamp.

He reached toward the paper. I stepped back without pulling it away, and Nadine set her clipboard between us.

“Let's have your lawyer handle the copy,” she said.

He looked at the movers, both waiting in the doorway.

“You're killing a good deal,” he told me.

I took a full scan for Cora, then placed the original on his office counter. We recorded where we left it.

The final release listed six cabinets, my tools, and one green work shirt. Warren signed. I signed. Nadine witnessed the count.

By noon, the truck doors were closed.

My phone rang before I could climb into the cab. Cora had reached the number printed on the invoice.

“Mr. Tully wants to speak with you,” she said. “He's already booked a truck for Saturday.”