Jimmy the Kid Read Free

you can anyway read a book.”
    Dortmunder thought of saying several things about furs, but he didn’t. The traffic light was green. “Maybe,” he said, and tossed the paperback behind him, and drove on.
    2
    S TAN M URCH MADE his call from a diner pay phone. “Maximilian’s Used Cars, Miss Caroline speaking.”
    â€œHi, Harriet. Max there?”
    â€œTo whom am I speaking, please?”
    â€œThis is Stan.”
    â€œOh, hi, Stan. One moment, please, Max is explaining the guarantee to a dissatisfied customer.”
    â€œSure,” Murch said. The phone booth was inside the diner, but it had a window that overlooked the blacktop parking lot, and Jericho Turnpike beyond. A dozen cars winkled in the thin October sunlight. The car Stan had in mind, an almost-new white Continental, a definite cream-puff, was parked almost in front of him. The driver had staggered in just a few minutes ago, drunk out of his mind even though it was barely two o’ clock in the afternoon, and was now sprawled in a booth in the rear of the diner, occasionally spilling black coffee on himself. All things considered, Murch told himself, I’m doing that bird a favour. He shouldn’t be driving in his condition.
    â€œYah?”
    Murch, who had been leaning against the side of the booth and brooding at the Continental, now stood upright and said, “Max?”
    â€œYah. Stan?”
    â€œSure. Listen, Max, you still interested in good recent acquisitions?”
    â€œYou mean where I got to do my own paper?”
    â€œThat’s the kind.”
    â€œThat’s a little tricky, Stan. Depends on the vee-hickle.”
    â€œA creampuff white Continental. Like new.”
    â€œYou’re reading me my ad out of Newsday .”
    â€œWhat do you think, Max?”
    â€œBring it over, we’ll have a look.”
    â€œRight,” Murch said, and was about to hang up when another vehicle made the turn from Jericho Turnpike into the diner’s parking lot. It was a car carrier, with four Buick Rivieras on it: a powder blue, a maroon, and two bronzes. “Wait a second,” Murch said.
    â€œHah?”
    â€œJust hold on.”
    The car carrier growled up to the diner, puffing diesel exhaust out of a pipe at the top of the cab, and came at last to a shuddering stop. The driver, a stout fellow in a brown leather jacket, climbed down to the blacktop as though both his legs had fallen asleep, and then stood there yawning and scratching his crotch.
    â€œStan? You there?”
    â€œWait a second,” Murch said. “Just a second.”
    The driver, done with his yawning and scratching, walked over to the diner entrance, leaving Murch’s sight for a few seconds. Murch turned around and looked through the phone booth’s interior window. He watched the car carrier driver amble across to the rear part of the diner and sit in the next booth to the sprawled driver of the Continental. Neither of them could see the parking lot from where they were.
    â€œStan?”
    â€œListen, Max,” Murch said. “You interested in more, maybe? Other cars, maybe?”
    â€œI’m always interested in top quality, Stan, you know that.”
    â€œSee you soon,” Murch said. Hanging up, he left the booth and the diner and strolled over to the car carrier. About to climb up into the cab, he glanced over at the Continental, sorry to have to leave it behind. Oh, well, four was better than one.
    Or …
    Hmmmm. Murch moved away from the cab and considered the entire length of the car carrier. It was made to carry six automobiles, three on top and three on the bottom, but it only had two in each part. The rear spaces were unoccupied, top and bottom.
    Hmmmmm. Murch walked around to the rear of the vehicle and considered it carefully. A kind of heavy metal tailgate was up across the back, with looped chains at both ends. Wouldn’t that tailgate double as a ramp if it were