Why Me? by Donald E. Westlake Read Free Book Online

“If I get that machine …”
    The phone rang twice and a girl answered: “Hello?” She sounded young and pretty. All girls who sound young sound pretty, which has led to some unfortunate later discoveries in this life.
    Dortmunder said, “Uhhh— Is Andy there?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œDid I dial wrong? I’m looking for Andy Kelp.”
    â€œNo, I’m sorry, I— Oh!”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYou mean Andy !”
    So it wasn’t a wrong number, it was a dummy. Here was this girl in Kelp’s apartment, answering Kelp’s phone, and it was taking her a long long time to realize the call was for Kelp. “That’s right,” Dortmunder said. “I mean Andy.”
    â€œOh, I guess he didn’t turn it off,” she said.
    Then Dortmunder knew. He didn’t know what, exactly, not yet, but in a general sort of way he knew . And it wasn’t this girl’s fault, it was Kelp’s fault. Naturally. Apologizing to the girl in his head for his previous bad thoughts about her, he said, “Didn’t turn what off?”
    â€œSee, I just met Andy last night,” she said. “In a bar. My name’s Sherri?”
    â€œAren’t you sure?”
    â€œSure I’m sure. Anyway, Andy told me about all these wonderful telephone gadgets he had, and we went to his place and he showed them to me, and then he said he’d show me the phone-ahead gadget. So he put this little box on his phone, all set up with my home phone number, and then we came over here to my place to wait for somebody to call him, because then it would ring here instead of there, and he wouldn’t miss any calls.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œBut nobody ever called.”
    â€œThat’s a shame,” said Dortmunder.
    â€œYeah, isn’t it? So then he left this morning, but I guess he forgot to take the box off his phone when he got home.”
    â€œHe called me this morning.”
    â€œI guess he can call out, but if you call in it gets transferred here.”
    â€œYou live near him?”
    â€œOh, no, I’m way over here on the East Side. Near the Queensboro Bridge.”
    â€œAh,” said Dortmunder. “And any time I happen to dial Andy Kelp’s phone number, his phone won’t ring, but yours will, way over there by the Queensboro Bridge.”
    â€œGee, I guess that’s right.”
    â€œHe probably won’t hear that phone of yours when it rings, will he? Not even if you open your windows.”
    â€œOh, no, he couldn’t possibly.”
    â€œThat’s what I figured,” Dortmunder said. Very very gently, he hung up.
    10
    Chief Inspector Francis Xavier Mologna (pronounced Maloney) of the New York City Police Department and Agent Malcolm Zachary of the Federal Bureau of Investigation loved one another imperfectly. They were of course on the same side in the war between the forces of order and the forces of disorder, and they would of course cooperate fully with one another whenever that war might find them both engaged on the same field of battle, and they did of course deeply admire one another’s branch of service in this war as well as respect one another individually as long-term professionals. Apart from which, each thought the other was an asshole.
    â€œThe man’s an asshole,” Mologna told Leon, his nigger faggot secretary, when the latter entered the former’s office to announce the arrival of the aforesaid.
    â€œA reigning asshole,” Leon agreed. “But he’s in my office and he’d rather be in yours, and I too would rather he was in yours.”
    â€œA rainin asshole? Is that one of your disgustin faggot perversions?”
    â€œYes,” said Leon. “Shall I send him in?”
    â€œIf he’s still there,” Mologna said hopefully.
    He was still there. In fact, at that very instant, in the outer office, Agent Zachary was saying, “The man’s