Now, as Kelp opened the door and climbed down to the pavement, carrying a brown shopping bag, Murch said to him, “What was it attracted you to this thing? In particular, I mean.”
“The fact that it was empty,” Kelp said. “We don’t have to unload any paper.”
Murch nodded. “Well,” he said, “it’ll do.”
“There was an International Harvester I saw,” Kelp told him, “with a nice racing stripe on it, but it was full of model cars.”
“This one’ll do,” Murch said.
“If you want, I’ll go back and get that one.”
“No,” Murch said judiciously, “this one will do just fine.”
Kelp looked at Dortmunder and said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever met such an ingrate in my life.”
“Let’s go,” Dortmunder said.
Dortmunder and Kelp and Victor and Herman got up into the back of the truck, and Murch closed the van doors after them. Now the interior was pitch-black. Dortmunder felt his way to the side wall and sat down, as the others were already doing. A second later, the truck lurched forward.
The worst moment was the bump coming out of the parking lot. After that, Murch moved them along pretty smoothly.
In the dark, Dortmunder wrinkled his nose and sniffed. “Somebody’s been drinking,” he said.
Nobody answered.
“I can smell it,” Dortmunder said. “Somebody had a drink.”
“I can smell it, too,” Kelp said. From the sound of his voice, he was just across the way.
Victor said, “Is that what that is? A funny smell, almost sweet.”
Herman said, “Smells like whiskey. Not Scotch, though.”
“Not bourbon either,” Kelp said.
“The question is,” Dortmunder said, “who’s been drinking?” Because it was a very bad idea to drink while out on a job.
“Not me,” Kelp said.
Herman said, “That’s not my style.”
There was a little silence, and suddenly Victor said, “Me? Heck, no!”
Dortmunder, said, “Well, somebody’s been drinking.”
Herman said, “What do you want to do, smell everybody’s breath?”
“I can smell it from here,” Dortmunder said.
“The air is full of it,” Kelp said.
All at once Herman said, “Wait a second. Wait a second, I think I know… Just wait a second.” From the scrambling sound, he was getting to his feet, moving along the wall. Dortmunder waited, squinting his eyes in the darkness but still unable to see a thing.
A thudding. Herman: “Oops.”
Victor: “Ow!”
Herman: “Sorry.”
Victor (garbled a bit, as though he had fingers in his mouth): “That’s okay.”
Then there was a hollow drumming sound, and Herman laughed. “Sure!” he said, obviously pleased with himself. “You know what it is?”
“No,” Dortmunder said. He was getting very irritated that the drinker wouldn’t own up to what he’d done and starting to suspect it was Herman, now trying to distract them all from the question with a lot of foolishness.
Herman said, “It’s Canadian!”
Kelp sniffed loudly and said, “By God, I think you’re right. Canadian whiskey.”
More hollow drumming, and Herman said, “This is a fake wall. Up here behind the cab, it’s a fake wall. We’re in a goddam smuggler’s truck!”
Dortmunder said, “What?”
“That’s where the smell’s coming from, back there. They must have broken a bottle.” Dortmunder said, “Smuggling? Prohibition’s over.”
“By golly, Herman,” Victor said excitedly, “you’ve stumbled on something important!” Never had he sounded more like an FBI man.
Dortmunder said, “Prohibition’s over.”
“Import duties,” Victor explained. “That isn’t directly the Bureau’s responsibility, that’s Treasury’s department, but I do know a bit about it. There are outfits like this strung all across the border. They smuggle Canadian whiskey into the States and American cigarettes up into Canada, and they make a pretty profit in both directions.”
“Well, I’ll be,” said Kelp.
“Uncle,” Victor said, “where exactly did you get this truck?”
Kelp said, “You’re not in the Bureau any more, Victor.”
“Oh,” Victor said. He sounded slightly confused. Then he said, “Of course not. I was just wondering.”
“In Greenpoint.”
“Of course,” Victor said musingly. “Down by the piers.”
There was another thud, and Herman cried, “Ouch! Son of a bitch!”
Dortmunder called, “What happened?”
“Hurt my thumb. But I figured out how to get it open.”
Kelp said, “Any whiskey in there?”
Dortmunder said warningly, “Wait a minute.”
“For later,” Kelp said.
A match flared. They could see Herman leaning through a narrow partition in the front wall, holding the match ahead of himself so they could make him out only in silhouette.
“Cigarettes,” Herman said. “About half full of cigarettes.”
Kelp said, “True?”
“Swear to God.”
“What brand?”
“L and M.”
“No,” Kelp said. “I’m not mature enough for them.”
“Wait, there’s some others. Uhhh, Salem.”
“No. I feel like a dirty old man when I try to smoke a Salem. Springtime fresh and all, girls in covered bridges.”
“Virginia Slims.”
“What?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s May’s brand,” Dortmunder said. “I’ll take some of them with me.”
Kelp said, “I thought May got them free at the store.”
“That’s right, she does.”
“Ow,” Herman said, and the match went out. “Burned my finger.”
“You better sit down,” Dortmunder told him. “You’re choppin’ up your hands pretty good for somebody’s gonna open some locks.”
“Right,” Herman said.
They rode along in silence awhile, and then Herman said, “You know, it really stinks in here.”
Kelp said, “Everything happens to me. I looked at this truck, it said ‘paper’ on the side, I figured it would be nice and clean and neat.”
“It really smells bad,” Herman said.
“I wish Murch wouldn’t jounce so much,” Victor said. He sounded small and distant.
Dortmunder said, “How come?”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Wait,” Dortmunder urged him. “It’s only a little farther.”
“It’s the smell,” Victor said miserably. “And the jouncing.”
“I’m beginning to feel that way, too,” Kelp said. He didn’t sound healthy.
Now that the idea had been suggested, Dortmunder too was starting to feel queasy. “Herman,” he said, “maybe you ought to rap on the front wall, signal Murch to stop a minute.”
“I don’t think I can get up,” Herman said. He too was sounding very unhappy.
Dortmunder swallowed. Then he swallowed again. “Just a little longer,” he said in a strangled voice and kept on swallowing.
Up front, Murch drove along in blissful ignorance. He was the one who’d found this place, and he’d worked out the fastest and smoothest route to reach it. Now he saw it, up ahead, the tall green fence around the yard, surmounted by the sign reading, “Lafferty’s Mobile Homes — New, Used, Rebuilt, Repaired.” He slowed to a stop in the darkness just beyond the main entrance, got out of the truck, walked around to the back, opened the doors, and they shot out of there like they’d been locked in with a lion.