Bad News

Kelp blinked, looked glazed, and said, “Arnie?”

“But we’re not all old friends,” Arnie corrected himself, looking at the other two. “John Dortmunder, introduce me to your pals.”

“This is Arnie,” Dortmunder said, “and that’s Stan and that’s Tiny.”

“And how do you do? I won’t offer to shake hands,” Arnie said, to general relief, “because I know some people got feelings about germs, in fact, I got feelings about germs myself, for very good reasons, which we needn’t go into,” he said, to general relief, “except believe me, I know, my experiences have not all been su

Dortmunder recovered first. “Yeah, this is it, Andy’s got the key to the rear door.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kelp said, “I do, don’t I?” Reaching in his pocket, he waggled eyebrows at Dortmunder behind Arnie’s back: What’s with Arnie? Dortmunder rolled his eyes and shook his head: Don’t ask.

Kelp unlocked the rear doors of the van and opened the left one, to shield the loot from pedestrians. Arnie leaned forward to peer in, then paused and sniffed and said, “Scrod. Wait a minute, halibut. Wait a minute, perch.”

Dortmunder said, “Arnie, we aren’t selling you fish.”

Arnie nodded over his shoulder at Dortmunder. “Oh, I know,” he said. “I’m just trying out my new nose. The pills have this side effect, they improve my sense of smell, which, given me, you know, is a mixed blessing. Hold on, lemme see what we got here.”

“Sure,” Dortmunder said.

Arnie climbed into the van and started whistling. Unless it was Schoenberg, it was off-key.

“A little of your friend here,” Tiny said, “goes a long way.”

Stan said, “I’m ready for him to go a long way. I’ll help him pick out the route.”

“This is the improved version,” Dortmunder assured them.

“Actually, John,” Kelp said, “he is better than he was. Different anyway.”

“He’s being treated by a doctor,” Dortmunder explained.

Tiny said, “Yeah? No doctor ever stood me a round.”

“Everybody knows my feelings about doctors,” Kelp said, and Arnie backed out of the van, still whistling. Then he stopped whistling, nodded at everybody, and said, “What you got there is your basic mixed bag in there.”

Tiny said, “It all come from one place.”

“Maybe,” Arnie acknowledged, “but before that, it all come from all over the place.”

Dortmunder explained, “The guy was a collector.”

“You said it,” Arnie agreed. “Okay, some of this I can move to antiques guys upstate, some has to go out of the country and come back in to be museum-worthy, and some we’ll have to melt down for whatever. In any event, it should be nice. Worth the detour.”

“How much?” Dortmunder asked.

“Eventually, it could be nice,” Arnie told him. “You know me, John Dortmunder, I give top dollar. Even now when people can maybe stand to be around me, at least for a little while, even now, when maybe I wouldn’t have to give top dollar no more, even now, the habit is so strong, and my new pleasantness is so intense, even now I give top dollar.”

“Okay,” Dortmunder said.

“But not today,” Arnie said. “And by the way, I got no use for the van.”

“Not the van,” Kelp said. “I gotta return the van.”

Arnie nodded. “I take it, Andy Kelp,” he said, “you are the driver of the van.”

“Sure,” Kelp said.

“I’m go

Stan said, “What about today?”

“Today,” Arnie said, “I can give you four G, on account.”

Tiny said, “On accounta what?”

“On accounta that’s how much cash I got upstairs,” Arnie explained. “So come along, Andy Kelp, come upstairs, I’ll give you that address and the cash and I’ll show you some new incompletes, they’ll knock your eyes out. I got one from a hospital, you won’t believe it, the picture’s their ER’s new waiting room.”

“Uh,” Kelp said.

Dortmunder beamed. “Yeah, Andy Kelp,” he said, “go on up with the new Arnie, we’ll wait here.”

“Or,” Arnie said, “you could all come up for herbal tea.”

“No, that’s okay,” Stan said, “we gotta keep an eye on the van.”

“That’s right,” Arnie agreed. “So long, then. Come along, Andy Kelp.”

Kelp, with one last mutinous look over his shoulder, followed Arnie into the building.

Tiny said, “This is really a changed individual?”

“I’m not sure,” Dortmunder admitted. “You know, there’s like a jacket, and you can get the jacket in blue or you can get the jacket in green? I think this is Arnie green, but somehow it’s still Arnie.”

“It is true,” Tiny said, “the downside of this profession is, some a the people you gotta associate with.”

Kelp hurtled out of the building. “I told him I had an appointment with my accountant,” he explained. “Gather close, I’ve got this cash here.”

Stan said, “Is it okay to touch?”

“Yeah, it was in a plastic bag when he gave it to me,” Kelp said, and pulled a plastic bag out from under his windbreaker. “Just lemme . . .”

For the next minute or two, while New Yorkers all around them passed on by, minding their own business, Kelp pulled bills out of the plastic bag and distributed them. “There we are,” he said at the end, “a grand apiece.”

Dortmunder had already pocketed his. “So,” he said, “I finally get my thousand dollars. May is go

46

By Wednesday, Little Feather couldn’t stand it anymore. The last thing that had happened was Monday, when Fitzroy and Irwin went off to dissolve the partnership with the other three, after which the DA’s investigator, a very pleasant woman with unfortunate hips, had come for the hair sample, which Little Feather had palmed and presented with the aplomb of Blackstone the magician himself, while Marjorie Dawson had stood there pop-eyed, ashen with fear. Then the investigator went away, bearing the ringer hair sample in another plastic bag, tagged and dated and even more official than a notification from Publishers Clearing House, and after that, nothing.

Well, it would be at least a week before the lab would produce the DNA results, so there was nothing to do on that side except wait. But what about Fitzroy and Irwin? Not a word. Tuesday and today, both, Little Feather had left messages for Fitzroy at the Four Winds motel, but no response. What was going on? What was happening? By Wednesday, Little Feather couldn’t stand it anymore.

When Fitzroy and Irwin had left Monday morning, pla

So what happened? Who was still standing? Why didn’t anybody get in touch with Little Feather and bring her up to speed on this thing?

Another frustration was not having a car. She was not only tired of taxis; she couldn’t afford many more of them. She was going to be very rich any minute now, but at the moment, she was ru

Which meant Little Feather was mostly stuck in this strange dwelling, all alone, with no idea what was going to happen next, or when, or if she was in the gravy or in the soup, or what in hell was going on. By Wednesday, she couldn’t stand it anymore.