Free What's The Worst That Could Happen by Donald Westlake

“On the plane.”

Chapter 15
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    “The thing is,” Dortmunder said.
    “Washington,” May suggested.

    “That’s it. That’s it right there.”

    They were walking home from the movies in the rain. May liked the movies, so they went from time to time, though Dortmunder couldn’t see what they were all about, except people who didn’t need a lucky ring. When those people in the movies got to a bus stop, the bus was just pulling in. When they rang a doorbell, the person they were coming to see had to have been leaning against the door on the inside, that’s how fast they opened up. When they went to rob a bank, these movie people, there was always a place to park out front. When they fell off a building, which they did frequently, they didn’t even bother to look, they just held out a hand, and somebody’d already put a flagpole sticking out of the building right there; nice to hold onto until the hay truck drives by, down below.

    Dortmunder could remember a lot of falls, but no hay trucks. “Washington,” he said.

    “It’s just a city, John,” May pointed out. “You know cities.”

    “I know this city,” Dortmunder told her, pointing at the wet sidewalk between his feet. “In New York I know what I’m doing, I know where I am, I know who I am. In Washington I don’t know a thing, I don’t know how to go, to do this, to do that, I don’t know how to talk there.”

    “They talk English in Washington, John.”

    “Maybe,” Dortmunder said.

    “What you need,” May said, “is a partner, somebody who knows that place, can help you along.”

    “I dunno, May. What do I give him? Half the ring?”

    “This Fairbanks is very rich,” May pointed out. “A place he lives, there’s got to be other stuff around. Look how much you got from his place on the Island.”

    “Well, that’s true,” Dortmunder said. “But on the other hand, who do I know in Washington? Everybody I know is from around here.”

    “Ask,” May suggested.

    “Ask who?”

    “Ask everybody. Start with Andy, he knows a lot of people.”

    “The thing about Andy,” Dortmunder said, as May unlocked them into their apartment building, “is he likes knowing people.”

    They went up the stairs in companionable silence, Dortmunder thinking about a nice glass of bourbon. Spring rains are warm, but they’re still wet.

    May unlocked them into the dark apartment. Switching on the hall light, Dortmunder said, “Andy isn’t here. Think of that.”

    “Andy isn’t here all the time.”

    “He isn’t?”

    May concentrated on relocking the door. Dortmunder said, “You want some bourbon? A beer?”

    “Tea,” she said. “I’ll make it.” Probably something she’d picked up in one of the magazines she was always reading.

    “I’ll stick to bourbon,” Dortmunder decided. “And I’ll make it.”

    They headed to the kitchen, switching on lights along the way, and Dortmunder made himself a bourbon on the rocks that just looked warm; even with the ice cubes floating around in there, you knew that drink would warm your insides.

    May was still waiting on her tea. “I’ll be in the living room,” Dortmunder said, and left the kitchen, then turned back to say, “Here he is. I told you, remember?”

    Not looking up from her tea, May called, “Hi, Andy.”

    Andy, just entering, shut the hall door and called, “Hi, May.”

    Dortmunder headed again for the living room, saying to Andy, “You might as well come along.”

    “Long as I’m here.”

    “That’s it.”

    Andy was carrying some kind of leather shoulderbag with a flap, like a scout on horseback in a western movie. Dortmunder wasn’t positive he really wanted to know what was inside that bag, but he was pretty sure he’d be finding out. In the meantime, Andy shifted this bag around on his shoulder, indicating it was fairly heavy, and said, “I’ll just get a beer first.”

    Dortmunder thought. He looked at the glass in his own hand. Rising with