Metzger's Dog by Thomas Perry Read Free Book Online

I can call him up any time I feel like it—in the middle of the night, of course.”
    Chinese Gordon wondered how long it would take Immelmann to realize that he’d have to be awake to call the number, or that the second call had been placed by an operator. He hoped it would take at least twenty-four hours.
             
    C HINESE G ORDON DROVE THE VAN past the campus gate, and the uniformed parking service man gave a nod. It was four-thirty in the afternoon, and Chinese Gordon had known the man wouldn’t look carefully enough at the ULA parking sticker to notice that it was three strips peeled off another vehicle and pasted on. At this hour the traffic was all in the exit lane, and the parking men were beginning to relax.
    Chinese Gordon drove up the narrow street past a row of ten-story dormitories and into the parking structure. He pulled into a space marked “Service Vehicles Only” and left the motor running while Kepler and Immelmann applied magnetic signs to the sides and rear door of the van. When Chinese Gordon had insisted on a yellow revolving emergency light on top of the van, Kepler had said, “But Chinese, it’s ridiculous. The signs say ‘Klondike Air Conditioning Service.’” Chinese Gordon had replied, “Have you ever seen a repair truck without one of those?” Immelmann had agreed, so now he stepped on the front bumper and applied the finishing touch, a big yellow light in the center of the roof above the windshield.
    “Not yet,” said Chinese Gordon. “The ceiling’s too low. We’ll never get out of the ramp.”
    “Oh,” said Immelmann, and climbed back in the van.
    Chinese Gordon drove out of the parking ramp and stopped to let Immelmann slide the light into its brackets. Kepler glanced at his watch, a big Rolex with a face like a gauge from an airplane cockpit. “Four thirty-nine.”
    “Good,” said Chinese Gordon. “We’ll be parked outside the building at five when they all go home, so the night security will think we’ve been around all day.”
    “You’re a clever man, Chinese,” said Kepler.
    “Devious,” said Immelmann, squinting his eyes and pondering. “Odd that you should be such a jackass in other ways.”
    “It’s one of the mysteries,” Kepler agreed.
    “Get down now,” said Chinese Gordon. “We’re coming to the Social Sciences Building.” Immelmann and Kepler moved to the back of the van and crouched on opposite sides of the back door. Kepler sat back with his feet across the box covering the barrel of the M-39, glanced at his watch again, and said, “Four forty-six.”
    Immelmann lay down flat as though to go to sleep. He sighed and said, “You know, nobody gives a shit if it’s four twenty-eight or four ninety-seven. Being with you two has been something of a religious experience for me.”
    “Oh?” said Kepler.
    “It proves that God, in His bounty and generosity, always creates more horses’ asses than there are horses to attach them to.”
    “Amen,” said Kepler, popping open a beer can.
    Chinese Gordon got out of the van and placed the red-and-white-striped sawhorse in front of the grille. He was pleased with it, even though the paint wasn’t completely dry—it looked so official and businesslike, but it served no purpose. He buckled his tool belt and then placed a second sawhorse behind the van. He walked into the Social Sciences Building and began stalking the hallways. He’d been here two days before, but that had been just a preliminary trip to get a general idea of how to penetrate the building. Now he was here to study the rooms. The time to find out where somebody kept something valuable was the end of the day, when they locked it up. He knew nobody would pay attention to him because he had already assumed his disguise, a gray work shirt with a label that said “Dave” sewn over the pocket.
    He knew exactly what he was searching for, so he wasted no time looking into classrooms and departmental offices. It would be a place