Why Me?

Half an hour later, stepping back to admire a just-completed pyramid of te

40

It was raining. Eleven p.m. Dortmunder emerged from the side-street manhole into a gusty, chilly rain, slid the round cover back into place, and took refuge in the nearest storefront doorway. There were no pedestrians. A lone car squished by. Wind currents eddied in the storefront, flicking tiny cold raindrops in his face.

It was nearly five minutes before a Lincoln Continental with MD plates pulled to a stop at the curb out there. Dortmunder crossed the sidewalk, entered the dry warmth of the car, and Kelp said, "Sorry I took so long. Tough to find a car on a night like this."

"You could of found a car," Dortmunder told him, as Kelp eased the Lincoln forward to the nearest traffic light. "You just had to hold out for an MD."

"I trust doctors," Kelp said. "They're ease-loving people, they know all about pain and discomfort. When they buy a car, they want the best and they can afford the best. You say what you want, I'll stick with doctors."

"All right," Dortmunder said. Now that the chill was leaving his bones, now that he was begi

The traffic light turned green. Kelp said, "Where is this movie?"

"Down in the Village."

"Okay." Kelp turned right, drove downtown to Greenwich Village, turned left on 8th Street, and parked just shy of the theater, whose marquee advertised "American Premiere—A Sound of Distant Drums." That was the movie May had told Dortmunder she intended to see tonight, telling him about it last night, making small talk while Dortmunder's hand had soaked in the Palmolive Liquid. A call to the theater from their ghost telephone earlier this evening had told them the last show would break at eleven-forty.

And so it did. Begi

May was among the last to come out. She stood for a moment under the marquee, hesitating, looking this way and that. Kelp said, "What's she up to?"

"She knows what she's doing," Dortmunder said. "She'll just walk around a while, so we see has she a tail."

"Of course she has a tail," Kelp said. "Probably half a dozen. Some pal of Tiny's. The cops. The Terrorists' Cooperative."

"You're very cheery," Dortmunder said.

Outside there, two nondescript men also stood under the marquee, apparently indecisive as to what to do now that the world of the cinema had been replaced by the world of rain. But then May finally moved on, heading down the block away from Kelp and Dortmunder, and after a minute both dawdling men strolled off in that direction as well, having nothing to do with one another, or with May, or with anything.

"Two," Kelp said.

"I see them."

"If they only knew."

"Don't talk."

"What she's carrying, I mean."

"I know what you meant."

Kelp waited till May and her two new friends were all out of sight in the spritzing darkness, then started the Lincoln and oozed away from the curb. In midblock they passed the two men, who were having some difficulty remaining unaware of one another, and a bit farther on they passed May, walking along like a person with nothing to think about but movies.

Astonishingly, the light at the corner was green. Kelp zipped around to the right, pulled in at the curb, left the engine ru

May appeared, walking purposefully but not hurriedly. She turned right, continued to walk, and the instant the corner building cut her off from the view of the following men she made a brisk dash for the car. Dortmunder shoved open the rear door, May hopped in, and Kelp accelerated, turning the next corner before switching on the headlights.

"What a night!" May said, when Kelp eased enough on the throttle so she could peel herself off the seatback. "I knew this was you when I saw the MD plates."

Kelp tossed Dortmunder a quick triumphant grin: "See? It's my trademark." Looking in the rearview mirror he said, "Nobody behind us."

May was studying Dortmunder like a mother hen. "How are you, John?"

"Fine."

"You look all right," she said doubtfully.

"I haven't been gone that long, May."

"Have you been eating?"

"Sure I been eating."

"We had a pizza before," Kelp said. He turned another corner—on a red light, illegal in New York City—and lined out uptown.

"You need more than pizza," May said.

Dortmunder didn't want to talk about his dietary habits: "You brought the stuff?"

"Sure." She handed over a small brown paper bag, the kind you carry a sandwich in.

Taking the bag, Dortmunder said, "Both things?"

"You don't have to do that, John."

"I know I don't. I want to. Is it in here?"

"Yes," she said. "They're both there."

Kelp said, "How was the movie?"

"Good. It was about the evils of European influence in Africa in the last part of the nineteenth century. Very interesting soft-focus camera work. Lyrical."

"Maybe I'll go see it," Kelp said.

Dortmunder kneaded the brown paper bag in his hands. "There's something else in here."

"Socks," she said. "I figured, a night like this, you'll need dry socks."

Kelp said, "I don't dare drop you off at your place, May. But within a block, okay?"

"Sure," she said. "That's just perfect." Touching Dortmunder's shoulder, she said, "You'll be all right?"

"I'll be fine," he said. "Now that I finally know what I'm doing."

"Make sure nobody recognizes you," she said. "It's dangerous for you two to be out and around."

"We've got ski masks," Kelp said. "Show her."

Dortmunder took the two ski masks out of his coat pocket and held them up. "Very nice," May said, nodding at them.

"I want the one with the elks," Kelp said.

41

May unlocked the apartment door and walked into a living room full of cops. "For heaven's sake," she said. "If I'd known there was a party I'd have stopped and bought some cookies."

"Where've you been?" said the biggest, angriest, most rumpled plainclothesman.

"To the movies."

"We know that," said another one. "After the movies."

"I came home." She squinted at the clock on top of the TV set. "The movie got out at twenty to twelve, I took a cab, and now it isn't even midnight."

The cops looked a bit uncertain, then pretended they hadn't looked uncertain at all. "If you're in contact with John Archibald Dortmunder—" the big angry rumpled plainclothesman started, but May interrupted:

"He doesn't use his middle name."

"What?"

"Archibald. He never uses the Archibald."

"I don't care," said the cop. "You see what I mean? I don't give a fart."

Another of the cops said, "Harry, take it easy."

"It's getting me down, that's all," the big angry rumpled cop said. "Blitzes, stakeouts, crashing around, everybody on double shift. All over one goddam stumblebum with sticky fingers."

"Everybody," May told him solemnly, "is i

"The hell they are." The cop moved his shoulders around, then said to the other cops, "All right, let's go." Glaring at May, he said, "If you're in contact with John Archibald Dortmunder, you tell him he'll be a lot better off if he gives himself up."