Small Felonies - Fifty Mystery Short Stories by Bill Pronzini

trouble."
    He turned, cringing. "Who—who are you?"
    "Officer Stanislausky of the Special Citizen's Patrol," I said. "It's my job to watch this affluent neighborhood to make sure nobody heists iron belonging to the taxpayers."
    "I—I wasn't going to steal this car."
    "You were looking for a place to take a nap, maybe?"
    "I just got a thing for Lancelots, that's all."
    "That I can appreciate," I said. "But the fact remains, you're caught red-handed. I'm duty-bound to take you in."
    "Give me a break, mister," the kid said. "I got a widowed mother to support, and if I'm arrested I'll lose my job."
    "A widowed mother?"
    "And a baby sister," he said.
    "Well," I said, "that's a different story," even though I had used such a story myself on occasion. But he looked like a decent kid, just a little mixed up in his thinking.
    "You mean, you'll let me go?" he said.
    "Why not? I once supported a widowed mother, too."
    "Thanks, mister—thanks!"
    "You'll never try to heist another car?"
    "Never!"
    "Then you're now released on probation," I said, and let go of his shoulder. He gave me a weak grin, backed off two steps, then turned and ran down the driveway and out of sight along the oak-walled sidewalk.
    I looked at the house to see if anyone had been aroused, but it was still dark and quiet. Then I looked at the Lancelot. The palms of my hands began to itch again, and I felt a weakness in the pit of my stomach. I began to shake. The Lancelot was so sleek, so beautiful—
    And all at once I realized that I hadn't stopped the kid only for humanitarian reasons, that I had intervened partly because he was about to heist the Lancelot, my Lancelot. I knew then that I had to have it. I couldn't control myself any longer, the urge was too strong. Some men are born to write books and some to shape the destinies of the world; I was born to heist cars. There is no denying the inevitable.
    The kid had left his bent coat hanger in the wing window. I touched it, almost nostalgically, and began to maneuver it. The old magic was still in my fingers. The door opened soundlessly under my hand and I slipped in behind the wheel. I ran my palms over the soft leather upholstery. Honest Jack was going to love this baby. Honest Jack had an eye for fine quality. He did not give new identities to anything but the best from both sides of the Atlantic.
    I leaned down under the dash and began to cross the ignition wires. I didn't need a light—a craftsman works mainly by touch alone. As soon as I had her hot-wired, I would get out and roll the Lancelot into the street. Then—
    The door was suddenly jerked open and the brilliant white light of a flash beam filled the Lancelot's interior. I sat up, blinking, and heard a sharp authoritative voice say, "Hold it right there. Put your hands where I can see them."
    I put my hands where he could see them. The flashlight lowered slightly, and beyond the hazy glare was a big guy in a pair of pajamas. In his other hand he held an automatic. It was very steady. He said, "So you were trying to steal my car, eh?"
    I sighed resignedly. Under the circumstances there was no point in trying to bluff it out; the proverbial egg was all over my face. "I couldn't control the urge," I said. "I have never been able to control the urge."
    "In other words you're a professional car thief?"
    "Reformed professional car thief—until just now."
    "I thought so," the guy said. "I saw the way you got rid of that kid and the quick, smooth way you opened the car."
    In spite of the situation I felt a touch of pride. "How did you know something was going on out here?" I asked him.
    "I was raiding the refrigerator," he answered, "and I happened to look through the kitchen window when the kid started up the drive. I got my gun and went out through the back door and by that time you were here talking to him. I knew you weren't what you claimed to be, so I just hid in the shrubbery to see what you were up to."
    I sighed again. Would the local police and