Greenwood said, "Couldn't we make it earlier tomorrow night? Ten o'clock breaks into my evening pretty badly."
"We don't want it too early," Murch said. "I don't want to get caught in that rush hour traffic."
"How about eight?" Dortmunder said.
"Fine," said Greenwood.
"Fine," said Murch.
"Perfectly all right with me," said Chefwick.
"Then that's it," said Dortmunder. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "We'll meet back here tomorrow night."
Everybody stood. Murch finished his beer, smacked his lips, and said, "Aaaahhh!" Then he said. "Anybody want a lift anywhere?"
10
It was ten minutes to one of a weeknight, and Fifth Avenue across from the park was deserted. An occasional cab showing its off-duty sign rolled south, but that was about it. A spring drizzle was leaking out of the black sky, and the park across the way looked like the middle of a jungle.
Kelp rounded the corner and headed up the block for the embassy. He'd left the cab on Madison Avenue, but with the misty rain oozing inside his coat collar he was beginning to think he'd been overcautious. He should have had the cab drop him at the embassy door and to hell with cover. He'd concerned himself with the wrong kind of cover, a night like this.
He trotted up the embassy steps and rang the bell. He could see lights behind the first-floor windows, but it took a long while for someone to come open the door, and then it was a silent black man who motioned Kelp in with long slim fingers, shut the door after him, and led him away through several opulent rooms before finally leaving him alone in a bookcase-lined den with a pool table in its middle.
Kelp waited three minutes, standing around doing nothing, and then decided the hell with it. He got the rack from under the table, racked up the balls, selected a cue, and began to play a little rotation with himself.
He was just about to sink the eight when the door opened and Major Iko came in. "You're later than I expected," he said.
"I couldn't find a cab," Kelp said. He put down the cue, patted various pockets, and came up with a crumpled sheet of lined yellow paper. "This is the stuff we need," he said and handed the Major the sheet of paper. "You want to give me a ring when it's ready?"
"Stay a moment," the Major said. "Let me look this over."
"Take your time," Kelp said. He went back to the table and picked up the cue and sank the eight ball. Then he walked halfway around the table and dropped the nine and - on ricochet - the thirteen. The ten was already gone, so he tried for the eleven, but it glanced off the fifteen and wound up in bad position. He hunkered down, shut one eye, and began to study various lines of sight.
The Major said, "About these uniforms-"
"Just a minute," Kelp said. He sighted a little more, then stood, aimed carefully, and shot. The cue ball bounced off two cushions, grazed the eleven, and rolled into the pocket.
"Hell," Kelp said. He put the cue down and turned to Iko. "Anything wrong?"
"The uniforms," the Major said. "It says here four uniforms, but it doesn't say what kind."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot." Kelp pulled some Polaroid prints from another pocket. They showed guards at the Coliseum from various angles. "Here's some pictures," Kelp said, handing them over. "So you'll know what they look like."
The Major took the prints. "Good. And what are these numbers on the paper?"
"Everybody's suit size," Kelp said.
"Naturally. I should have realized." The Major tucked the list and prints into his pocket and smiled crookedly at Kelp. "So there really are three other men," he said.
"Sure," Kelp said. "We weren't gonna do it just the two of us."
"I realize that. Dortmunder forgot to tell me the names of the other three."
Kelp shook his head. "No, he didn't. He told me you tried to pump him on that, and he said you'd probably try with me too."
The Major, in sudden irritation, said, "Damn it, man, I ought to know who I'm hiring. This is absurd."
"No, it isn't," Kelp said. "You hired Dortmunder and me. Dortmunder and me hired the other three."
"But I need to check them out," the Major said.
"You already talked this over with Dortmunder," Kelp said. "You know what his attitude is."
"Yes, I know," said the Major.
Kelp told him anyway. "You'll start makin' up dossiers on everybody. You make up enough dossiers, you'll attract attention, maybe tip the whole thing."
The Major shook his head. "This goes against my training," he said, "against everything I know. How can you deal with a man if you don't have a dossier on him? It isn't done."
Kelp shrugged. "I don't know. Dortmunder says I should pick up this week's money."
"This is the second week," the Major said.
"That's right."
"When are you going to do the job?"
"Soon as you get us the stuff." Kelp spread his hands. "We weren't just sittin' around for a week, you know. We earned our money. Go to the Coliseum every day, sit around and work out plans every night, we've been doin' that for a week now."
"I don't begrudge the money," the Major said, though it was clear he did. "I just don't want it to drag on too long."
"Get us the stuff on that list," Kelp said, "and we'll get you your emerald."
"Good," said the Major. "Shall I see you to the door?"
Kelp glanced longingly at the pool table. "Would you mind? I'm sort of set up for the twelve, and then there's only two more balls after that."
The Major seemed both surprised and irritated, but he said, "Oh, very well. Go ahead."
Kelp smiled. "Thanks, Major." He picked up the cue, sank the twelve, sank the fourteen, took two shots to sink the fifteen, and finished off by sinking the cue ball on a three cushion rebound. "There," he said and put up the cue.
The Major let him out, and he stood ten minutes in the rain before he got a cab.
11
The New York Coliseum stands between West 58th Street and West 60th Street facing Columbus Circle on the southwest corner of Central Park in Manhattan. The Coliseum faces the park and the Maine Monument and the statue of Columbus and Huntington Hartford's Gallery of Modern Art.
On the 60th Street side, midway along the beige brick wall, there is an entrance surmounted by a large chrome number 20, and 20 West 60th Street is the address of the Coliseum staff. A blue-uniformed private guard is always on duty inside the glass doors of this entrance, day and night.
One Wednesday night in late June, at about three-twenty in the morning, Kelp came walking eastward along West 60th Street wearing a tan raincoat, and when he was opposite the Coliseum entrance he suddenly had a fit. He went rigid, and then he fell over, and then he began to thrash around on the sidewalk. He cried, "Oh! Oh!" several times, but in a husky voice that didn't carry far. There was no one else in sight, no pedestrians and no moving automobiles.
The guard had seen Kelp through the glass doors before the fit started, and knew that Kelp had not been walking as though drunk. He had in fact been walking very calmly until he had his fit. The guard hesitated a moment, frowning worriedly, but Kelp's thrashing seemed to be increasing, so at last the guard opened the door and hurried out to see what he could do to help. He squatted beside Kelp, put a hand on Kelp's twitching shoulder, and said, "Is there anything I can do, Mac?"
"Yes," Kelp said. He stopped thrashing and pointed a.38 Special Colt Cobra revolver at the guard's nose. "You can stand up very slow," Kelp said, "and you can keep your hands where I can see them."
The guard stood up and kept his hands where Kelp could see them, and out of a car across the street came Dortmunder and Greenwood and Chefwick, all dressed in uniforms exactly like the one the guard was wearing.
Kelp got to his feet, and the four marched the guard into the building. He was taken around the corner from the entrance and tied and gagged. Kelp then removed his raincoat, showing yet another uniform of the same type, and went back to take the guard's place at the door. Meanwhile Dortmunder and the other two stood around and looked at their watches. "He's late," Dortmunder said.