waiting rustics and held the envelope out in front of himself, flap open, so everybody could see the money wadded inside. “OK?”
Kelly said, “Where’s Chuck?”
“Resting.”
Bohker reached for the envelope, but Dortmunder said, “Not yet, cuz,” and tucked the envelope inside his shirt.
Bohker glowered. “Not yet? What are you playing at, fella?” “You’re gonna drive Andy and me to your house,” Dortmunder told him, “and we’re gonna pack, and then you’re gonna drive us to the bus depot, and when the bus comes in, I’ll hand you this envelope. Play around, I’ll make it disappear again.”
“I’m not a vengeful fella,” Bohker said. “All I care about is I get my money back.”
“Well, that’s one difference between us,” Dortmunder said, which Bohker maybe didn’t listen to hard enough.
Bohker’s station wagon was one of the few cars left in the parking lot. Bohker got behind the wheel, his cousin Kelp beside him, and Dortmunder got in back with the old newspapers and cardboard cartons and fertilizer brochures and all the junk, and they drove off toward town. Along the way, Bohker looked in the rearview mirror and said, “I been thinking about what happened back there. You didn’t take the money at all, did you?”
“Like I said.”
“It
was
Chuck.”
“That’s right.”
Kelp twisted around to look over the back of the seat and say, “John, how did you figure out it was him? That was goddamn genius.”
If Kelp wanted to think what had happened was genius, it would be better for Dortmunder to keep his thought processes to himself, so he said, “It just come to me.”
Bohker said, “You had to mousetrap Chuck like you did or he’d have just denied it forever.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I owe you an apology,” Bohker said, being gruff and man to man about it.
“That’s OK,” Dortmunder told him.
“And there’s no reason you fellas have to move out.”
“Oh, I think we’re ready to go, anyway,” Dortmunder said. “Aren’t we, Andy?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Kelp said.
As Bohker turned the station wagon in to the driveway at his house, Dortmunder said, “Does that glove compartment lock?”
“Yeah, it does,” Bohker said. “Why?”
“I tell you what we’ll do,” Dortmunder told him. “We’ll lock this envelope in there for safekeeping, and you give me the key off the ring, and when we get on our bus, I’ll give it back to you. On account of I know you don’t trust me.”
“Now, that’s not fair,” Bohker said defensively, parking beside his house. “I apologized, didn’t I?”
“Still,” Dortmunder said, “we’ll both be happier if we do it this way. Which key is it?”
So Bohker took the little key off his key ring, and he and Kelp watched Dortmunder solemnly lock the envelope away in the crowded, messy glove compartment, and an hour and 45 minutes later, on the bus to Buffalo, Kelp turned in his seat and said, “You did, didn’t you?”
“Sure, I did,” Dortmunder agreed, taking wads of Bohker’s money out of his pants pockets. “Treat me like that, threaten me with
troopers.
”
“What’s cousin Bohker looking at in that envelope?” “Fertilizer brochures.”
Kelp sighed, probably thinking about family complications.
“Still, John,” he said, “you can hardly blame the guy for jumping to conclusions.”
“I can if I want,” Dortmunder said. “Besides, I figured I earned this, with what he put me through. That stuff, what’s-it. Anguish, you know the kind. Mental, that’s it. Mental anguish, that’s what I got,” Dortmunder said, and stuffed the money back into his pockets.
T HE D ORTMUNDER W ORKOUT
W HEN D ORTMUNDER WALKED INTO THE O.J. B AR & G RILL ON Amsterdam Avenue that afternoon, the regulars were talking about health and exercise, pro and con. “A healthy regime is very important,” one of the regulars was saying, hunched over his beer.
“You don’t mean ‘regime,’” a second regular told
Kelly said, “Where’s Chuck?”
“Resting.”
Bohker reached for the envelope, but Dortmunder said, “Not yet, cuz,” and tucked the envelope inside his shirt.
Bohker glowered. “Not yet? What are you playing at, fella?” “You’re gonna drive Andy and me to your house,” Dortmunder told him, “and we’re gonna pack, and then you’re gonna drive us to the bus depot, and when the bus comes in, I’ll hand you this envelope. Play around, I’ll make it disappear again.”
“I’m not a vengeful fella,” Bohker said. “All I care about is I get my money back.”
“Well, that’s one difference between us,” Dortmunder said, which Bohker maybe didn’t listen to hard enough.
Bohker’s station wagon was one of the few cars left in the parking lot. Bohker got behind the wheel, his cousin Kelp beside him, and Dortmunder got in back with the old newspapers and cardboard cartons and fertilizer brochures and all the junk, and they drove off toward town. Along the way, Bohker looked in the rearview mirror and said, “I been thinking about what happened back there. You didn’t take the money at all, did you?”
“Like I said.”
“It
was
Chuck.”
“That’s right.”
Kelp twisted around to look over the back of the seat and say, “John, how did you figure out it was him? That was goddamn genius.”
If Kelp wanted to think what had happened was genius, it would be better for Dortmunder to keep his thought processes to himself, so he said, “It just come to me.”
Bohker said, “You had to mousetrap Chuck like you did or he’d have just denied it forever.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I owe you an apology,” Bohker said, being gruff and man to man about it.
“That’s OK,” Dortmunder told him.
“And there’s no reason you fellas have to move out.”
“Oh, I think we’re ready to go, anyway,” Dortmunder said. “Aren’t we, Andy?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Kelp said.
As Bohker turned the station wagon in to the driveway at his house, Dortmunder said, “Does that glove compartment lock?”
“Yeah, it does,” Bohker said. “Why?”
“I tell you what we’ll do,” Dortmunder told him. “We’ll lock this envelope in there for safekeeping, and you give me the key off the ring, and when we get on our bus, I’ll give it back to you. On account of I know you don’t trust me.”
“Now, that’s not fair,” Bohker said defensively, parking beside his house. “I apologized, didn’t I?”
“Still,” Dortmunder said, “we’ll both be happier if we do it this way. Which key is it?”
So Bohker took the little key off his key ring, and he and Kelp watched Dortmunder solemnly lock the envelope away in the crowded, messy glove compartment, and an hour and 45 minutes later, on the bus to Buffalo, Kelp turned in his seat and said, “You did, didn’t you?”
“Sure, I did,” Dortmunder agreed, taking wads of Bohker’s money out of his pants pockets. “Treat me like that, threaten me with
troopers.
”
“What’s cousin Bohker looking at in that envelope?” “Fertilizer brochures.”
Kelp sighed, probably thinking about family complications.
“Still, John,” he said, “you can hardly blame the guy for jumping to conclusions.”
“I can if I want,” Dortmunder said. “Besides, I figured I earned this, with what he put me through. That stuff, what’s-it. Anguish, you know the kind. Mental, that’s it. Mental anguish, that’s what I got,” Dortmunder said, and stuffed the money back into his pockets.
T HE D ORTMUNDER W ORKOUT
W HEN D ORTMUNDER WALKED INTO THE O.J. B AR & G RILL ON Amsterdam Avenue that afternoon, the regulars were talking about health and exercise, pro and con. “A healthy regime is very important,” one of the regulars was saying, hunched over his beer.
“You don’t mean ‘regime,’” a second regular told
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