Rye Willis’s youngest brother got his job at Best Buy ’cause of his name. Folks figured with a name like Merlin, he had to be some kind of wizard. As a matter of fact, all the Willises are pretty talented, one way or another, from Rye, who can make a magical brew outta damn near anythin’ edible, to San Antonio Willis, who can fiddle the birds outta the trees. Merlin’s a wizard with anythin’ electronic. He hadn’t been workin’ at BB six months when he had computers down cold. You’d never know it to look at him, either. He looks like the captain of the high school football team or some state police rookie. He’s also a cracker-jack salesman ’cause he tries to find out what you need somethin’ for ’fore he tries to sell it to you.
“Merlin,” I said, as I handed him the pi’ture Reverend Moody’d give me. “What can you do with this?”
He looked it over. “I could scan it into the computer and give each of these good ol’ boys a surfboard; or put Vanna White in the lineup; or dress ’em all in Federation uniforms and move ’em to the bridge of the Enterprise.” He handed me back the pi’ture.
“What I had in mind was more like a re-run of this pi’ture, an’ a dozen or so eight-by-ten head shots of the guitar player.”
Merlin pretended to sniff. “Waste of my talent. The drugstore in West Wheeling could do that for you.”
“I need ’em today. I’m willin’ to pay ten bucks.”
Merlin held out his hand. I give him back the pi’ture an’ a ten-dollar bill from my wallet. Then I played video games on one of his demo machines while he did what he does to fill my order. He uses a computer an’ color printer instead of a photo-processin’ rig. He printed out a eight-by-ten of the whole pi’ture, then played with it on his computer screen ’til he had a blow-up of just Devon. Without bein’ axed, he put a frame around the face an’ Wanted under it. “What’s he wanted for, Homer?”
“Maybe you’d better make that missin’,” I said. It weren’t a bad idea. I gave him the particulars—missin’ since, an’ whatnot, an’ he added them to the bottom with the sheriff’s phone number in case anybody wanted to make a report. Then he printed out a dozen of the posters, an’ a couple plain eight-by-tens. He wished me luck on my manhunt, an’ finished up with, “Don’t be a stranger, Homer. I’m gettin’ in a dozen new PCs next week and some dynamite new games. I could make you a real sweet deal.”
I allowed as I’d give it some serious thought.
An’ I aim to.