Free The Hot Rock by Donald Westlake Page B

price of one.”

    “What do we heist?”

    “Greenwood.”

    Murch said, “Hah?”

    “Greenwood,” Dortmunder repeated, and Rollo came in with Chefwick’s sherry. He went out again and Dortmunder said, “Greenwood’s price is we bust him out. His lawyer tells him there’s no way to beat the rap, so he’s got to beat a retreat instead.”

    Chefwick said, “Does that mean we’re going to break into jail?”

    “In and back out,” Kelp said.

    “We hope,” Dortmunder said.

    Chefwick smiled in a dazed sort of way and sipped at his sherry. “I never thought I’d be breaking into jail,” he said. “It raises interesting questions.”

    Murch said, “You want me to drive, huh?”

    “Right,” said Dortmunder.

    Murch frowned and drank a whole mouthful of beer.

    Dortmunder said, “What’s wrong?”

    “Me sitting in a car, late at night, outside a jail, gunning the engine. I don’t feature it. It don’t raise any interesting questions for me at all.”

    “If we can’t work it out,” Dortmunder said, “we won’t do it.”

    Kelp said to Murch, “None of us wants to go into that jail for more than a minute or two. If it looks like years, don’t worry, we’ll throw it over.”

    Murch said, “I got to be careful, that’s all. I’m the sole support of my mother.”

    Dortmunder said, “Doesn’t she drive a cab?”

    “There’s no living in that,” Murch said. “She just does that to get out of the house, meet people.”

    Chefwick said, “What sort of jail is this?”

    “We’ll all go out there, one time or another, take a look at it,” Dortmunder told him. “In the meantime, this is what I’ve got.” He began to spread out on the table the contents of the three manila envelopes.

Chapter 5
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    Kelp was shown to a different room this time, but he said, “Hey! Hold on just a minute.”
    The ebony man with the long thin fingers turned back in the doorway, his face expressionless. “Sir?”

    “Where’s the pool table?”

    Still no expression. “Sir?”

    Kelp made motions like a man operating a cue. “The pool table,” he said. “Pocket billiards. The green table with the holes in it.”

    “Yes, sir. That’s in a different room.”

    “Right,” said Kelp. “That’s the room I want. Lead me to it.”

    The ebony man didn’t seem to know how to take that. He still had no expression on his face, but he just stood there in the doorway, not doing anything.

    Kelp walked over to him and made shooing motions. “Let’s go,” he said. “I feel like dropping a few.”

    “I’m not sure —”

    “I’m sure,” Kelp told him. “Don’t you worry about it, I’m positive. Just you lead me there.”

    “Yes, sir,” said the ebony man doubtfully. He led the way to the room with the pool table in it, shut the door after Kelp, and went away.

    The one ball being blind after the break, Kelp decided to play straight pool this time. He dropped twelve balls with only four misses and was taking aim at the one at last when the Major came in.

    Kelp put the cue down on the table. “Hi, Major. Got another list for you.”

    “It’s about time,” said the Major. He frowned at the pool table, and he seemed irritated by something.

    Kelp said, “What do you mean, about time? Less than three weeks.”

    “It took less than two weeks last time,” the Major said.

    Kelp said, “Major, they don’t guard coliseums the way they guard jails.”

    “All I know is,” said the Major, “I have so far paid out three thousand three hundred dollars in salaries, not counting the costs of materials and supplies, and so far I have nothing to show for it.”

    “That much?” Kelp shook his head. “It sure mounts up, doesn’t it? Well, here’s the list.”

    “Thank you.”

    The Major sourly studied the list while Kelp went back to the table and sank the one ball, leaving the nine and the thirteen. He missed a try for the nine but wound up with perfect position on the thirteen.