Free Good Behavior by Donald E. Westlake Page A

slapping his palm against the bar. “It’s red sky . All this red star crap, it’s like you’re talking about the Russian army.”
    â€œWell, I’m not talking about the Russian army,” the first regular told him. “It happened I was in the Navy. I was on P-U boats.”
    This stopped all the regulars cold for a second. Then the second regular, treading cautiously, said, “Whose Navy?”
    Dortmunder, down at the end of the bar, raised a hand and got the attention of Rollo the bartender, who’d been standing there with his heavy arms folded over his dirty apron, a faraway look in his eyes as the regulars’ conversation washed over him. Now, he nodded at Dortmunder and rolled smoothly down the bar to talk to him, planting his feet solidly on the duckboards, while behind him the Navy man was saying, “ The Navy! How many navies are there?”
    Rollo put meaty elbows on the bar in front of Dortmunder, leaned forward, and said, “Between you and me, I was in the Marines.”
    â€œOh, yeah?”
    â€œWe want a few good men,” Rollo assured him, then straightened up and said, “Your friends didn’t show yet. You want the usual?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œAnd the other bourbon’s gonna be with you?”
    â€œRight.”
    Rollo nodded and went back down the bar to get out a tray and two glasses and a murky bottle with a label reading Amsterdam Liquor Store Bourbon —“Our Own Brand.” Meantime, a discussion of the world’s navies had started up, with references to Admiral Nelson and Lord Byrd, when, in a pause in the flow of things, a fourth regular, who hadn’t spoken before this, said, “I think, I think , I’m not sure about this, but I think it’s ‘Red ring around the moon, Means rain pretty soon.’ Something like that.”
    The second regular, the Russian army man, banged his beer glass on the bar and said, “It’s red sky. You got a ring around the brain , that’s what you got.”
    â€œEasy, boys,” Rollo said. “The war’s over.”
    Everybody looked startled at this news. Rollo picked up the tray with the bottle and glasses on it and brought it back to Dortmunder, saying, “And who else is coming?”
    â€œThe beer and salt.”
    â€œOh, yeah, the big spender,” Rollo said, nodding.
    â€œAnd the vodka and red wine.”
    â€œThe monster. I remember him.”
    â€œMost people do,” Dortmunder agreed. He picked up the tray and carried it past the regulars, who were still talking about the weather or something. “The groundhog saw his shadow,” the Navy man was saying.
    â€œRight,” the third regular said. “Six weeks ago yesterday, so that was six weeks more winter, so yesterday he come out again , you follow me so far?”
    â€œIt’s your story.”
    â€œSo it was sunny yesterday,” the third regular said, “so he saw his shadow again, so that’s another six weeks of winter.”
    There was a pause while people worked out what they thought about that. Then the fourth regular said, “I still think it’s ‘Red ring around the moon.’”
    Dortmunder continued on back past the bar and past the two doors marked with dog silhouettes labeled POINTERS and SETTERS and past the phone booth with the string dangling from the quarter slot and through the green door at the back and into a small square room with a concrete floor. None of the walls could be seen, because the room was filled all the way around, floor to ceiling, with beer and liquor cases, leaving only a small bare space in the middle, containing a battered old table with a stained green felt top and half a dozen chairs. The only illumination was from one bare bulb with a round tin reflector hanging low over the table on a long black wire.
    Dortmunder liked being first, because whoever was first got to sit facing the door. He sat