Free The Burglar Who Counted the Spoons (Bernie Rhodenbarr) by Lawrence Block Page A

the life you’re cut out for, and it suits you perfectly. Your bookstore, your cat, your charming little apartment—”
    “Bernie Rhodenbarr, this is your life.”
    “Well, isn’t it?”
    “It’s the one I’ve been living,” I said, “taking it a day at a time. And for the most part I like things the way they are. But it’s not as though marriage is something I absolutely rule out, and with the right person—”
    “Stop right there, Bernie.”
    “Okay.”
    “I’m not the right person. More to the point, you’re not the right person.”
    “I’m not?”
    “Oh, for some woman, maybe, but not for me. I went to your bookshop because my friend Chloe said she thought I might like you.”
    “I don’t think I know anybody named Chloe.”
    “She wandered into your store sometime last month. She didn’t buy anything.”
    “That really narrows it down.”
    “She’s pretty, she’s got dark hair, she’s about my height but thinner. She said you didn’t get upset when she put a book back and bought it on Kindle.”
    Light dawned. “She has a tattoo on her upper arm.”
    “That’s her. I would never get a tattoo, but hers is nicer than most.”
    “I couldn’t tell what it was. I mean I could tell it was a tattoo, duh, but I couldn’t see enough of it to make out the image.”
    “It’s a lizard.”
    “A lizard.”
    “A gecko, actually. It’s supposed to look as though it’s crawling up toward her shoulder.”
    “To whisper in her ear,” I said, “and sell her auto insurance. See, I make you laugh. That’s important, Janine. Chloe thought you might like me, and it looks as though she was right.”
    “Oh, Bernie.”
    Oh, Bernie. There are a number of ways to deliver that line, and she picked the one that meant Oh, Bernie, if only I’d waited for you to fall asleep we wouldn’t have to have this conversation.
    “After I talked with Chloe,” she said, “I walked past your bookshop. It must have been around three o’clock in the middle of the week and you were all by yourself in an empty store.”
    “Just me and my adorable cat.”
    “And I could see what Chloe meant.”
    “When she said you would like me?”
    “When she said you were cute.”
    “But I guess you kept on walking.”
    “Well, I was on my way to a meeting, Bernie. I just took a two-block detour to check you out.”
    “And you thought, by God, Chloe’s right.”
    “Yes and no. A little bell rang.”
    “You opened the door? I thought—”
    “Not that bell, silly. The one that rings inside me when a guy is, well—”
    “Cute.”
    “Right. And it was still echoing when I heard the warning buzzer. ‘Not husband material.’ ”
    “How could you tell? I mean, how did the buzzer know to buzz?”
    “It’s intuitive, and I’ve learned to trust my intuition. So yes, I kept on walking.”
    “And this afternoon you came back for another look.”
    “I was pretty sure you weren’t a marriage prospect,” she said, “but I was in the neighborhood and it only seemed sensible to make sure.”
    “And you came in and started a conversation about my cat.”
    “It’s a good opener.”
    “It is, and you’re not the first person to think of it, but it did get us off to a nice start. And you realized I might be husband material after all.”
    “No.”
    “But—”
    “I decided you were cute,” she said, “which I’d already established, and I also decided that you were hot. So I decided to sleep with you.”
    “Just like that?”
    “Well, hadn’t you already made the same decision? I could tell the way you were checking me out. So I got you to ask me to dinner—”
    “You never had a dinner date in the first place,” I said. “The phone call was a ruse. Or did you even bother punching in a number? I bet you were just talking into a dead phone.”
    “No, I was talking to Chloe, actually.”
    “I suppose you told her you were going to sleep with me.”
    “Well,” she said, “I was right, wasn’t I? But I