Why Me? Read Free Page B

him he’d been right; she was quite upset, much more nervous about this adventure than she’d earlier let on.
    â€œEverything’s fine, Irene,” he assured her, as he stepped into the house, turned, paused, blinked, and the bottom fell out of his throat. He stared through the archway into the living room at two tall slender men in topcoats and dark suits who were getting to their feet from the flower-pattern armchairs and walking this way. The younger one had a moustache. The older one was holding out his wallet, showing identification, saying, “FBI, Mr. Skoukakis. Agent Zachary.”
    â€œI confess,” Georgios Skoukakis cried. “I did it!”
    5
    May was sitting in the living room, squinting through cigarette smoke and doing the quiz in the latest Cosmopolitan . Dortmunder shut the door and she squinted across the room at him, saying, “How’d it go?”
    â€œOkay. Nothing special. How was the movie?”
    â€œNice. It was about a hardware store in Missouri in 1890. Beautiful shots. Terrific period feeling.”
    Dortmunder didn’t share May’s enthusiasm for movies; his question had been merely polite. He said, “The owner came in while I was in the store.”
    â€œNo! What happened?”
    â€œI guess he was the owner. Him and two other guys. Came in for a minute, fooled around, left. Didn’t even turn the lights on.”
    â€œThat’s weird.” She watched him empty bracelets and rings out of his pockets onto the coffee table. “Some nice stuff.”
    â€œI got you something.” He handed her the watch. “You press the button on the side.”
    She did so: “Nice. Very nice. Thank you, John.”
    â€œSure.”
    She pressed the button again. “It says ten after six.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œHow do I set the time?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Dortmunder said. “I didn’t see any instructions. It was the display model.”
    â€œI’ll figure it out,” she said. She twiddled the button, then pressed it again. Clouds of cigarette smoke enveloped her head from the eighth-of-an-inch butt in the corner of her mouth. She put the watch down, took another crumpled cigarette from the pocket of her gray cardigan, and lit it from the ember she removed from her lower lip.
    Dortmunder said, “You want anything?”
    â€œNo, thanks, I’m set.”
    Dortmunder went away to the kitchen and came back with a bourbon and water and a small white plastic bag. “Figure out the watch?”
    â€œI’ll look at it later.” She had been frowning at the quiz again, and now she said, “Would you say I am very dependent, somewhat dependent, slightly dependent, or not at all dependent?”
    â€œThat depends.” On one knee, he scooped the loot from the coffee table into the plastic bag. “I’ll take this stuff over to Arnie in the morning.”
    â€œAndy Kelp called.”
    â€œHe’s got some kind of machine on his phone.”
    â€œHe says please call him in the morning.”
    â€œI don’t know if I want to keep talking to a machine forever.” He tied shut the top of the plastic bag, put it on the coffee table, picked up the watch and pressed the button. Pink LED digits said 6:10:42:08. He twiddled the button, pressed it again: 6:10:42:08. “Hm,” he said.
    May said, “I’ll put slightly dependent.”
    Dortmunder yawned. Putting the watch down, he said, “I’ll look at it in the morning.”
    â€œI mean,” May said, “nobody’s not at all dependent.”
    6
    Malcolm Zachary loved being an FBI man. It gave a certain meaningful tension to everything he did. When he got out of a car and slammed the door, he didn’t do it like just anybody, he did it like an FBI man: step, swing, slam, a fluid motion, flex of muscle, solid and determined, graceful in a manly sort of way. Malcolm Zachary got out of