The Hot Rock

1

Around the table in the back room at the O. J. Bar and Grill sat Murch and Kelp and Chefwick. Murch was drinking beer and salt and Kelp was drinking straight bourbon, but since it was barely midafternoon Chefwick was not drinking his usual sherry. Instead he was having a Diet-Rite Cola, and he was nursing it. Greenwood was out in the bar, showing Rollo how to make a vodka sour on the rocks, and Rollo was watching with a skeptical frown and managing to remember none of the details.

The three in the back room had been silent five or six minutes when Murch suddenly said, "You know, I've been thinking about it."

"That's a mistake," Kelp said. "Don't think about it. It'll give you a rash."

"I've been sitting here," Murch persisted, "and I've been trying to think what could possibly go wrong this time. Like maybe they moved the bank since yesterday. Like somebody that works there embezzled the emerald."

Chefwick said quietly, "I agree with Kelp. I think you should stop thinking about it at once. Or at least stop talking about it."

Murch said, "But they don't sound right. There's nothing I can think of that sounds like the kind of snafu that happens to us. I'm almost ready to believe Dortmunder is actually going to walk through that door over there with the emerald in his hand." Murch pointed at the door, and it opened, and Greenwood walked in with the vodka sour in his hand. He blinked mildly at the finger Murch was pointing at him and said, "Somebody calling me?"

Murch stopped pointing. "No," he said. "I was just saying I was optimistic, that's all."

"Mistake," Greenwood commented and sat down at the table. "I very carefully left this evening open," he said, "on the assumption we'd all be sitting around this room tonight working out the next caper."

"Don't even say that," said Kelp.

Greenwood shook his head. "If I say it, it might not happen," he said. "But what if I'd called some beautiful and willing young lady and arranged to cook dinner for her at my place tonight? What then, Kelp?"

"Yeah," said Kelp. "You're right."

"Exactly." Greenwood tasted his vodka sour. "Mmm. Very good."

"This is a nice place," Murch agreed. "It's kind of far from my neighborhood, though, to just drop in. Though if I'm on the Belt anyway, or Grand Central, why not." He sipped at his beer and added a little salt.

Kelp said, "What time is it?" but as Chefwick looked at his watch Kelp added quickly, "Don't tell me! I don't want to know."

Greenwood said, "If he does get picked up, if Dortmunder does, we'll have to spring him, of course. The way you guys sprang me."

"Naturally," said Chefwick, and the other two nodded agreement.

"Whether he's got the stone or not, I mean," Greenwood said.

"Sure," said Kelp. "What else?"

Greenwood sighed. "When my dear mother told me to settle down to a steady job," he said, "I really doubt this is what she had in mind."

Murch said, "You think we'll ever really get that stone? Maybe God wants us to go straight, and this is kind of a gentle hint."

"If five jobs for the same emerald is a gentle hint," Kelp said bitterly, "I don't want Him to shout at me."

"Still," said Chefwick, studying his Diet-Rite Cola, "it has been interesting. My first helicopter ride, for instance. And driving Tom Thumb, that was rather pleasant."

"No more interesting jobs," Murch said. "If it's all the same to everybody, I want things dull from now on. All I want is that door should open and Dortmunder should walk in with the emerald in his hand." He pointed at the door again, and it opened again, and Dortmunder walked in with an empty glass in his hand.

Everybody stared at him. Dortmunder stared at the finger pointing at him, then moved out of its line of fire and walked around the table to the vacant chair and the bourbon bottle. He sat down, poured bourbon into his glass, and took a swallow. Everybody watched, unblinking. The silence was so pure he could be heard swallowing.

He looked around at them. His face was expressionless, and so were theirs. Then Dortmunder smiled.