Bora was a book supplier, trusted employee, and a welcome coffee companion. He was outgoing and intelligent, pitching interesting intellectual battles with my co-founding business partner, Ethan, and I over political issues of the time. He was compensated handsomely for the books he provided us. It was because of the trust we had developed in him that we came to an arrangement whereby Bora, while on duty in the shop, would make a list of books he had in storage, but that we were lacking on the shelves. He would then bring those books in on his next shift, putting them out on consignment labeled in red pen - essentially filling holes in our inventory. It was expressed firmly that he could not put one of his books out on the floor if one of ours was there. For this service he received 50 percent of the selling price of the book. We programmed the cash register to create a specific category for Bora's books, to make accounting for them simpler.
My first inkling of a wheel falling off the wagon came when a long-time customer dropped by, mentioning he had driven past the store a few nights before, noting that it was 1:15 a.m. and saw that the recently acquired neon OPEN sign was still on, and the door open, with Bora busy putting books on the shelves. This news came to me as a bit of a surprise, as we were only officially open until midnight. I decided to have a look around the shelves.
To my surprise, I found many titles in duplicate in the Science-Fiction section, with one belonging to the store, and the other, priced lower in red, belonging to Bora. I moved on to the Literature and Philosophy sections, where I made similar findings. In fact, there was not a genre that had been left untouched. If I asked you which copy of Hans Kung's Does God Exist you would buy if you had 2 identical copies, you'd probably say the one that costs less, if they were in similar condition. Maddeningly, Bora had priced all of the books he put out to favour his copy. Bastard!
I spent the rest of the day combing through the collections, removing every red-marked book. I contacted Ethan, explained our predicament, expecting some insight or wisdom, but found only bafflement and frustration. Ethan seemed upset with my discovery, but grew angry with me for having taken all Bora's books off the shelves. "Can't we just continue until January, so that we can get through the Christmas season?" he asked. "We'll owe him so much money, Bora will own the bookstore by then," I said, reminding him of the perilous condition of our cash flow of late.
The next morning, Ethan was working and I called him from home. I pointed out to him that it was important for me to confront Bora myself if he came by, and asked Ethan to call me should he arrive. He called me about an hour later, and when I walked through the door, Ethan gestured to the back room.
I could see from the way Bora looked at me that he wished me dead. He looked down his long romanesque nose, head held high, trying to maintain his dignity, his black eyes squinting to register his disgust with my presence. He made slow, methodical movements to check the stacks of his books I had neatly and carefully arranged on the table in the back room for him to remove from the premises. About 3700 books in all, amounting to about 1/3 of our inventory. I hadn't missed any - they were all there. He began the slow retrieval of his books, loading his car to the ceiling. By mid-afternoon they were all gone, and that was the last we saw of Bora.
My first inkling of a wheel falling off the wagon came when a long-time customer dropped by, mentioning he had driven past the store a few nights before, noting that it was 1:15 a.m. and saw that the recently acquired neon OPEN sign was still on, and the door open, with Bora busy putting books on the shelves. This news came to me as a bit of a surprise, as we were only officially open until midnight. I decided to have a look around the shelves.
To my surprise, I found many titles in duplicate in the Science-Fiction section, with one belonging to the store, and the other, priced lower in red, belonging to Bora. I moved on to the Literature and Philosophy sections, where I made similar findings. In fact, there was not a genre that had been left untouched. If I asked you which copy of Hans Kung's Does God Exist you would buy if you had 2 identical copies, you'd probably say the one that costs less, if they were in similar condition. Maddeningly, Bora had priced all of the books he put out to favour his copy. Bastard!
I spent the rest of the day combing through the collections, removing every red-marked book. I contacted Ethan, explained our predicament, expecting some insight or wisdom, but found only bafflement and frustration. Ethan seemed upset with my discovery, but grew angry with me for having taken all Bora's books off the shelves. "Can't we just continue until January, so that we can get through the Christmas season?" he asked. "We'll owe him so much money, Bora will own the bookstore by then," I said, reminding him of the perilous condition of our cash flow of late.
The next morning, Ethan was working and I called him from home. I pointed out to him that it was important for me to confront Bora myself if he came by, and asked Ethan to call me should he arrive. He called me about an hour later, and when I walked through the door, Ethan gestured to the back room.
I could see from the way Bora looked at me that he wished me dead. He looked down his long romanesque nose, head held high, trying to maintain his dignity, his black eyes squinting to register his disgust with my presence. He made slow, methodical movements to check the stacks of his books I had neatly and carefully arranged on the table in the back room for him to remove from the premises. About 3700 books in all, amounting to about 1/3 of our inventory. I hadn't missed any - they were all there. He began the slow retrieval of his books, loading his car to the ceiling. By mid-afternoon they were all gone, and that was the last we saw of Bora.
