The phone rang the fourth time.
"Around twenty-five a month," he said, his smile becoming a bit forced. "But it's worth it for the convenience."
Fifth time.
"Oh, of course," she said. "And not to miss any important calls."
Sixth.
Greenwood chuckled realistically. "Of course," he said, "they aren't always as reliable as you'd like."
Seven.
"Isn't that the way with people nowadays," she said. "Nobody wants to do an honest day's work for an honest day's pay."
Eight.
"That's right."
She leaned closer to him. "Is that a tic in your eyelid? The right eye."
Nine.
He jerked a hand to his face. "Is it? I get that sometimes, when I'm tired."
"Oh, are you tired?"
Ten.
"No," he said quickly. "Not in particular. Maybe the light in the restaurant was a bit too dim, I might have been straining my-"
Eleven.
Greenwood lunged at the phone, yanked the receiver to his head, shouted, "What is it?"
"Hello?"
"Hello yourself! What do you want?"
"Greenwood? Alan Greenwood?"
"Who's this?" Greenwood demanded.
"Is that Alan Greenwood?"
"God damn it, yes! What do you want?" He could see from the corner of his eye that the girl had risen from the sofa, was standing looking at him.
"This is John Dortmunder."
"Dort-" He caught himself, coughed instead. "Oh," he said, much calmer. "How are things?"
"Fine. You available for a piece of work?"
Greenwood looked at the girl's face while thinking of his bank accounts. Neither prospect was pleasing. "Yes, I am," he said. He tried a smile at the girl, but it wasn't returned. She was watching him a bit warily.
"We're meeting tonight," Dortmunder said. "At ten. You free?"
"Yes, I think I am," Greenwood said. Not happily.
9
Dortmunder walked into the O. J. Bar and Grill on Amsterdam Avenue at five minutes to ten. Two of the regulars were having a game at the bowling machine, and three more were remembering Irish McCalla and Betty Page at the bar. Behind the bar stood Rollo, tall, meaty, balding, blue-jawed, in a dirty white shirt and dirty white apron.
Dortmunder had already set things up with Rollo on the phone this afternoon, but he stopped at the bar a second as a courtesy, saying, "Anybody here yet?"
"One fellow," Rollo said. "A draft beer. I don't think I know him. He's in the back."
"Thanks."
Rollo said, "You're a double bourbon, aren't you? Straight up."
Dortmunder said, "I'm surprised you remember."
"I don't forget my customers," Rollo said. "It's good to see you back again. You want, I'll bring you the bottle."
"Thanks again," Dortmunder said and walked on down past the memory trippers and past the two doors with the dog silhouettes on them and the sign on one door POINTERS and on the other door SETTERS and past the phone booth and through the green door at the back and into a small square room with a concrete floor. None of the walls could be seen because practically the whole room was taken up floor to ceiling with beer cases and liquor cases, leaving only a small opening in the middle big enough for a battered old table with a green felt top, half a dozen chairs, and one bare bulb with a round tin reflector hanging low over the table on a long black wire.
Stan Murch was sitting at the table, half a glass of draft beer in front of him. Dortmunder shut the door and said, "You're early."
"I made good time," Murch said. "Instead of goin' all the way around on the Belt, I went up Rockaway Parkway and over Eastern Parkway to Grand Army Plaza and right up Flatbush Avenue to the Manhattan Bridge. Then up Third Avenue and through the park at Seventy-ninth Street. At night you can make better time that way than if you went around the Belt Parkway and through the Battery Tunnel and up the West Side Highway."
Dortmunder looked at him. "Is that right?"
"In the daytime that way's better," Murch said. "But at night the city streets are just as good. Better."
"That's interesting," Dortmunder said and sat down.
The door opened and Rollo came in with a glass and a bottle of something that called itself Amsterdam Liquor Store Bourbon - "Our Own Brand." Rollo put the glass and the bottle down in front of Dortmunder and said, "There's a fellow outside I think is maybe with you. A sherry. Want to give him the double-o?"
Dortmunder said, "Did he ask for me?"
"Asked for a fellow name of Kelp. That the Kelp I know?"
"The same," Dortmunder said. "He'll be one of ours, send him on in."
"Will do." Rollo looked at Murch's glass. "Ready for a refill?"
"I'll string along with this for a while," Murch said.
Rollo gave Dortmunder a look and went out, and a minute later Chefwick came in, carrying a glass of sherry. "Dortmunder!" he said in surprise. "It was Kelp I talked to on the phone, wasn't it?"
"He'll be here in a minute," Dortmunder said. "You know Stan Murch?"
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
"Stan's our driver. Stan, this is Roger Chefwick, he's our lockman. Best in the business."
Murch and Chefwick nodded to each other, mumbling words, and Chefwick sat down at the table. "Will there be many more of us?" he said.
"Just two," Dortmunder said, and Kelp came in, carrying a glass. He looked at Dortmunder and said, "He said you had the bottle."
"Sit down," Dortmunder invited. "You all know each other, don't you?"
They did. Everybody said hello, and Kelp poured bourbon into his glass. Murch took a tiny sip of beer.
The door opened and Rollo stuck his head in. "There's a Dewar's and water out here that asked for you," he said to Dortmunder, "but I don't know about him."
Dortmunder said, "Why not?"
"I don't think he's sober."
Dortmunder made a face. "Ask him if he calls himself Greenwood," he said, "and if he does send him on in here."
"Right." Rollo looked at Murch's beer. "You all set?" he said.
"I'm fine," Murch told him. His glass was still one-quarter full, but the beer didn't have any head any more. "Unless I could have some salt," he said.
Rollo gave Dortmunder a look. "Sure," he said and went out.
A minute later Greenwood came in, a drink in one hand and a salt shaker in the other. "The barman said the draft beer wanted this," he said. He looked high, but not drunk.
"That's me," Murch said.
Murch and Greenwood had to be introduced, and then Greenwood sat down and Murch sprinkled a little salt into his beer, which gave it back some head. He sipped at it.
Dortmunder said, "Now we're all here." He looked at Kelp. "You want to tell the story?"
"No," said Kelp. "You do it."
"All right," Dortmunder said. He told them the story, and then he said, "Any questions?"
Murch said, "We get a hundred fifty a week until we do the job?"
"Right."
"Then why do it at all?"
"Three or four weeks is all we'd get out of Major Iko," Dortmunder said. "Maybe six hundred apiece. I'd rather have the thirty thousand."
Chefwick said, "Do you want to take the emerald from the Coliseum or wait till it's on the road?"
"We'll have to decide that," Dortmunder said. "Kelp and I went over there today and it looked well guarded, but they might be even more security-conscious on the road. Why don't you go over tomorrow and see how it looks to you?"
Chefwick nodded. "Fine," he said.
Greenwood said, "Once we get this emerald, why turn it over to the good Major at all?"
"He's the only buyer," Dortmunder said. "Kelp and I have already been through all the switches we might want to pull."
"Just so we're flexible in our thinking," Greenwood said.
Dortmunder looked around. "Any more questions? No? Anybody want out? No? Good. Tomorrow you all drift over to the Coliseum and take a look at our prize, and we'll meet back here tomorrow night at the same time. I'll have the first week's living expenses from the Major by then."