The Road To Ruin

51

THEY SAT AROUND ANOTHER terrific old-country dinner from the kitchens of Tiny, but nobody felt much like eating. “Everything’s completely outa whack,” Tiny commented, frowning at his food.

“It looks to me,” Stan said, “like we’re gonna find out if these IDs we got from whatsisname are gonna stand up.”

Kelp said, “I’ve been trying not to think about that.”

“If only we could get outa here,” Stan said.

Well, forget that. Not only did the law have the entire compound shut down tight, but the media was out there like seven-year locusts, just waiting to photograph and question anything that moved. Up till now, the only upside was that three reporters so far had been hospitalized after getting a little too close to the electric fence; apparently, it did pack a mean wallop.

“And tonight,” Tiny grumbled, “we were gonna be outa here. I’m gonna be alone on the gate, the coast is clear, we’re home free. We drive the cars out, we come back and drive the rest of them out, stash them in the place, go home. Josie’s expecting me in the morning.”

“Well, now she isn’t,” Kelp said. “This kidnapping thing is all over the news.”

“I’m getting very irritated,” Tiny said.

Stan said, “You know, I’m beginning to realize. That electric fence is just as good at keeping people in as it is keeping people out.”

“We all noticed that,” Tiny told him.

Kelp said, “I wonder how John’s doing.”

Tiny snorted. “Dortmunder? Don’t worry about Dortmunder, worry about us. He’s outa here.”