Oh, it was quite a party. Besides the eggnog, there was straight bourbon, or beer in the refrigerator, and a big jug of Gab Hearty Burgundy exactly like the stuff Dortmunder had drunk at the shopping center the other night. Christmas music played on the phonograph, Herman X and Foxy and Greenwood and Doreen danced from time to time, and Stan Murch and Fred Lartz and Wally Whistler sang along with some of the more well-known songs, such as "Jingle Bells" and "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen," and "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer." May and Thelma Lartz and Maude Chefwick were putting together a nice buffet supper in the kitchen, and generally people were having a real nice time. Also, most of the guests had showed up with a gift, and from the size and shape of those gifts, now under the poor excuse for a tree, Dortmunder suspected most of them were bottles of bourbon, so the party couldn't be considered a dead loss. All in all, Dortmunder would have to describe the occasion, and even himself, as damn near cheerful.
Over came Munch and Fred Lartz and Wally Whistler, grouping themselves around Dortmunder in his chair, Murch explaining, "We need a fourth, and you're it. All together now. Good King Wen-ces-las–"
Dortmunder knew about half the words, but it hardly mattered. He mumbled along in his throat, his usual singing style, and the other three belted the tune back and forth among them like a medicine ball, occasionally fumbling it enough to make nearby conversations falter. Joy and good cheer flowed like floodwaters through the apartment, and Dortmunder grinned around his eggnog cup and let the flood float him away.
The next album was orchestral music, so the glee club wandered off to refresh its drinks. Kelp came by with a new cup of eggnog for Dortmunder, then hunkered down next to his chair and said, "Nice party."
"Not bad," Dortmunder agreed.
"Listen, do you mind a little discussion for a minute?"
Dortmunder looked at him, uncomprehending. "A little discussion? About what?"
"Chauncey," Kelp said.
Dortmunder closed his eyes. "And just when I was sort of feeling good," he said.
Kelp patted his arm. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I wouldn't break in on the party spirit and all that, but I got an idea, and it means Porculey doing a copy after all, and if you think it's as good an idea as I do then he ought to start right away."
Dortmunder's eyes opened, the better for frowning. "A copy? Porculey said it wouldn't work."
"It'll work with my idea," Kelp told him. "Can I give it to you?"
"You might as well," Dortmunder said, "but my guess is it stinks."
"Just wait," Kelp said, and leaned close to murmur in Dortmunder's ear. Dortmunder listened, his head cocked a bit, his eyes watching his guests moving and talking and dancing and singing all over his apartment, his left hand holding his eggnog cup and his feet up on the old hassock in front of his chair.
At first he seemed pessimistic, but then he looked a bit surprised, and then almost amused, and finally he seemed to be considering the situation, thinking it over. Kelp finished, rocked back on his heels, grinned at Dortmunder's profile, and said, "Well? Whadaya think?"
"Jesus," Dortmunder said. "It's almost dumb enough to work."
"Do I tell Porculey go ahead?"
"Jesus."
"Think about it, Dortmunder." Kelp's excitement was so intense his fingers were jittering.
"I am thinking about it."
"Do I tell him go ahead?"
Slowly Dortmunder nodded, then slowly nodded again. "Yes," he decided. "Let's give it a shot."
"Way to talk!" Kelp told him, and jumped to his feet. "I got a feeling about this one," he said. "Something tells me this is gonna be our finest hour."
Second thoughts could be seen gathering on Dortmunder's face, but at that point May called from the dining-room doorway, "Feedbag's on!" Pointing across the room at Dortmunder, she said, "You stay right there, John, I'll bring you a plate."
"And another eggnog," Kelp said, his hand out for the cup. "Swig that down."
So Dortmunder swigged it down, and he was brought a plate heaped high with steaming food, plus a fresh cup of eggnog, and the living room filled up with people holding plates of food in one hand and drinks in the other, trying to figure out how to pick up their fork.
"To the founder of the feast!" Kelp suddenly cried out. "John Dortmunder!"
"Aw, come on," Dortmunder said, but a full-bodied cheer drowned him out. And then goddam Stan Murch had to start singing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," despite "Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem" currently emanating from the phonograph, and everybody else had to join in, and Dortmunder had to sit there like a fool, the hot dish burning his lap, and get sung at.
After which everybody put their plates and glasses and cups and beer cans down and applauded their own singing or something, and turned bright cheery eyes on Dortmunder, who realized he was expected to say something. He looked around and his eye fell on Kelp's sparkling face.
He lifted his fresh eggnog. "God help us," Dortmunder said, "every one."
Chapter 5
Andy Kelp had friends everywhere, even in the Police Department. Shortly after the New Year, he called a police friend named Bernard Klematsky. "Hi Bernard," he said. "It's me, Andy Kelp."
"Well, hello, Andy. Calling to confess?"
Kelp chuckled. "Always the kidder," he said. "Lemme buy you a drink when you come off."
"Why?"
"I wanna pick your brains."
"In that case," Bernard said, "you can buy me spaghetti with clam sauce. At Unfredo's. Ten-thirty."
"I'll be there," Kelp promised, and he was, but Bernard was fifteen minutes late. "Over here," Kelp called, when Bernard at last arrived, and waved at him across the half-empty restaurant from his table in the corner.
It took a while for Bernard to disencumber himself of his fur hat, his silk scarf, his leather gloves and his wool overcoat, storing them all on the hanger-jangly metal rack by the front door, and then he stood revealed as an average-appearing fellow of thirty-something, with bushy black hair, a rather long and fleshy nose, a rumpled dark blue suit with a rumpled dark blue necktie, and the indefinable air about him of a teacher of… mathematics. A lay teacher, in a parochial school. He came over to the table, rubbing his hands together for warmth, saying, "Cold out tonight."
"You mean you want a drink and spaghetti."
"A Rob Roy straight up would be a very nice thing." Kelp caught the eye of Sal the waiter, ordered the Rob Roy, and said, "And another bourbon and soda."
"You wanna order?"
"We might as well," said Bernard. "I'll have the escalope limone and spaghettini on the side, with clam sauce."
"Aw, Bernard," Kelp said, giving him a reproachful look. Bernard didn't care. He was very happy to be indoors in the warm. Smiling at Kelp, he said, "What about the wine? A nice Verdicchio?"
"Bernard, you're holding me up."
"Whoever heard of a cop holding up a robber?"
"Everybody," Kelp said, and told Sal the waiter, "I'll have the chicken parmigiana, spaghetti on the side with the red sauce, and we'll take the Verdicchio."
Sal the waiter went away, and Bernard shook his head, saying, "All that tomato."
"I like tomato. Can we talk now?"
"Wait'll I been bribed," Bernard said. "What've you been up to lately, Andy?"