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“Want to talk to you,” he said. “Something you’ll be interested in.”
“We can talk here,” I said. “Do I know you?”
“No. I guess we can talk here at that. Not much of a crowd, is there? I guess they do better on weekends.”
“Generally,” I said, and because it was that sort of a place, “Do you come here often?”
“First time.”
“Interesting. I don’t come here too often myself. Maybe once or twice a month. But it’s interesting that we should run into each other here, especially since you seem to know me and I don’t seem to know you. There’s something familiar about you, and yet-”
“I followed you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We coulda talked in your neighborhood, one of those joints on Seventy-second where you hang out, but I figure the man’s gotta live there. You follow me? Why shit where the man eats, that’s the question I ask myself.”
“Ah,” I said, as if that cleared things up.
Which it emphatically did not. You doubtless understand, having come into all this in roundabout fashion, but I had not the slightest idea what this man wanted. Then the bartender materialized before us and I learned that what my companion wanted was a tall Scotch and soda, and after that drink had been brought and my own wineglass replenished I learned what else he wanted.
“I want you to get something for me,” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“See, I know who you are, Rhodenbarr.”
“So it would seem. At least you know my name, and I don’t know yours, and-”
“I know how you make your money. Not to beat against the bush, Rhodenbarr, but what you are is a burglar.”
I glanced nervously around the room. His voice had been pitched low and the conversational level in the bar was high, but his tone had about it the quality of a stage whisper and I checked to see if our conversation had caught anyone’s interest. Apparently it had not.
I said, “Of course I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I suggest you cut the shit.”
“Oh,” I said, and took a sip of wine. “All right. Consider it cut.”
“There’s this thing I want you to steal for me. It’s in a certain apartment and I’ll be able to tell you when you can get in. The building’s got security, meaning a doorman around the clock, but there’s no alarm system or nothing. Just the doorman.”
“That’s easy,” I said, responding automatically. Then I gave my shoulders a shake-shake-shake. “You seem to know things about me,” I said.
“Like what you do for a living.”
“Yes, just that sort of thing. You should also know that I work alone.”
“I didn’t figure to go in there with you, kid.”
“And that I find my own jobs.”
He frowned. “What I’m doing is handing you a piece of cake, Rhodenbarr. I’m talking about you work an hour and you pick up five thousand dollars. That’s not bad for an hour’s work.”
“Not bad at all.”
“You do that forty hours a week, just go and figure the money you’d make.”
“Two hundred thousand a week,” I said promptly.
“Whatever the hell it comes to.”
“That’s what it comes to, all right. A
“Whatever.”
“Or a week in the summer and a week in the winter. That’s probably the best way to do it. Or I could take my vacation in the spring and fall to avail myself of low off-season rates. Though I suppose the savings wouldn’t be significant if I was earning ten million dollars a year. Hell, I’d probably start blowing the bucks left and right. Flying first class. Taking cabs all the time. Buying the Mondavi zinfandel by the case instead of a niggling bottle at a time, and of course you save ten percent by the case but it’s not a true savings because you always find yourself drinking more than you would otherwise. You’ve probably noticed that yourself. Of course the pressure might get to me, anyway, but then I’d have those two weeks of vacation to let it all out, and-”
“Fu
“Just nerves.”
“If you say so. You done talking for a minute? I want you to do this thing for me. There’s something I need and it’s a cinch for you to get it for me. And my price is fair, don’t you think?”
“That depends on what you want me to steal. If it’s a diamond necklace worth a quarter of a million dollars, then I’d have to say five thousand is coolie’s wages.”
His face moved into what I suppose was meant as a smile. It failed to light up the room. “No diamond necklace,” he said.
“Fine.”
“What you’ll get for me is worth five grand to me. It’s not worth nothing to nobody else.”
“What is it?”
“A box,” he said, and described it, but I’ve told you that part already. “I’ll give you the location, the apartment, everything, and for you it’s like picking up candy in the street.”
“I never pick up candy in the street.”
“Huh?”
“Germs.”
He waved the thought away with one of his little hands. “You know what I mean,” he said. “No more jokes, huh?”
“Why don’t you get it yourself?” He looked at me. “You know the apartment, the layout, everything. You even know what you’re looking for, which is more than I know and more than I want to know. Why don’t you keep the five thousand in your pocket?”
“And pull the job myself?”
“Why not?”
He shook his head. “Certain things I don’t do,” he said. “I don’t take out my own appendix, I don’t cut my own hair, I don’t fix my own plumbing. Important things, things that need an expert’s touch, what I do is I go and find an expert.”
“And I’m your expert?”
“Right. You go through locks like grease through a goose. Or so I’m told.”
“Who told you?”
An elaborate shrug. “You just never remember where you hear a thing these days,” he said.
“I always remember.”
“Fu
So we walked up and down the street, and though we didn’t pick up any candy we did work everything out. We settled our terms and established that I would keep my schedule flexible for the next week or so. It wouldn’t go more than that, he assured me.
He said, “I’ll be in touch, Rhodenbarr. Next time I see you I’ll give you the address and the time and everything you gotta know. Plus I’ll have your thousand in front.”
“I sort of thought you might let me have that now.”
“Haven’t got it on me. You never want to carry heavy cash on the street at night. All these muggers, these junkies.”
“The streets aren’t safe.”
“It’s a jungle.”
“You could let me have the address now,” I suggested. “And the name of the man who won’t be home when I crack his crib. Give me that much time to check things out.”
“You’ll have all the time you need.”
“I just thought-”
“Anyway, I don’t happen to have the name or address at the moment. I told you about my memory, didn’t I?”
“Did you?”
“I coulda sworn I did.”
I shrugged. “It must have slipped my mind.”
Later that night I spent some time wondering why I’d agreed to do the job. I decided I had two motives. The money was first, and it was certainly not trivial. The certainty of five thousand dollars, plus the security of having the job already cased, outweighed the two-in-the-bush of setting up a job cold and then having to haggle with a fence.
But there was more to it than money. Something about my shmoo-shaped friend suggested that it would be unwise to refuse him. It’s not that there was anything in particular I feared would happen to me if I told him to go roll his hoop. It just seemed unlikely to be a good idea.
And then there was curiosity. Who the hell was he? If I didn’t know him, why did he seem so damned familiar? More important, how did he know about me? And what was his little game all about in the first place? If he was a pro, recognizing me as another pro, why were we circling each other like tropical birds in an involved mating ritual? I didn’t necessarily expect ever to learn the answers to all these questions, but I felt they might turn up if I saw the thing through, and I didn’t have any other work I was dying to do, and the money I had in reserve wouldn’t last forever, and…