Why Me?

44

Every half hour Dortmunder phoned May, who was staying home from work so she could listen to an all-news radio station ("You give us twenty-two minutes, we'll give you the world," they threatened). Dortmunder would have preferred to be his own listening post, but down here in the telephone company conduit, far beneath the mighty metropolis, there was no such thing as radio reception. As for TV, forget it.

"There's trouble in Southeast Asia," May told him at ten-thirty.

"Uh-huh," Dortmunder said.

"There's trouble in the Middle East," she said at eleven o'clock.

"That figures," he said.

"There's trouble in the Cuban part of Miami," she announced at eleven-thirty.

"Well, there's trouble everywhere," Dortmunder pointed out. "There's even a little right here."

"They have positively identified the thief who stole the Byzantine Fire," she said at noon. "It was just a bulletin, interrupted the trouble in baseball."

Dortmunder's throat was dry. "Hold it," he said, and swigged some beer. "Now tell me," he said.

"Benjamin Arthur Klopzik."

Dortmunder stared across the conduit at Kelp, as though it was his fault. (Kelp stared back, expectant, alert.) Into the phone, Dortmunder said, "Who?"

"Benjamin Arthur Klopzik," May repeated. "They said it twice, and I wrote it down."

"Not Craig Anybody?"

"Who?"

"Benjamin—" Then he got it. "Benjy!"

Kelp could stand no more. "Tell me, John," he said, leaning forward. "Tell me, tell me."

"Thanks, May," Dortmunder said. It took him a second to realize the unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling in his cheeks was caused by a smile. "I hate to sound really optimistic, May," he said, "but I have this feeling. I just think maybe it might be almost possible that pretty soon I'll be able to come up out of here."

"I'll take the steaks out of the freezer," May said.

Dortmunder hung up and just sat there for a minute, nodding thoughtfully to himself. "That Mologna," he said. "He's pretty smart."

"Wha'd he do? John?" Kelp was bouncing up and down in his eagerness and frustration, slopping beer out of the can onto his knees. "Tell me, John!"

"Benjy," Dortmunder said. "The little guy the cops wired."

"What about him?"

"He's the guy Mologna says boosted the ring."

"Benjy Klopzik?" Kelp was astonished. "That little jerk couldn't steal a paper bag in a supermarket."

"Nevertheless," Dortmunder said. "Everybody's after him now, right? Because of being wired."

"They want him almost as bad as they want you," Kelp agreed.

"So the cops announce he's the guy lifted the ruby ring. He won't come back and say no, it wasn't me. So that's the end of it."

"But where is he?"

"Who cares?" Dortmunder said. "The Middle East, maybe. The Cuban part of Miami, maybe. Maybe the cops killed him and buried him under Headquarters. Wherever he is, Mologna's pretty damn sure nobody's gonna find him. And that's good enough for me." Reaching for the phone, grinning from ear to ear, Dortmunder said, "That's plenty good enough for me."