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

an asshole, Bob,” to his partner, Freedly.
    â€œBut still we have to cooperate with him, Mac,” Freedly said.
    â€œ I know that. I just want to go on record with you, off the record, that the man’s an asshole.”
    â€œAgreed.”
    Leon opened the connecting door, smiled coquettishly at the two FBI men, and said, “Inspector Mologna will see you now.”
    At his desk Mologna grumbled, “I’ll never be able to see that asshole,” then smiled and heaved to his feet and presented his hand and his beer belly and his beaming face in the direction of Zachary and Freedly as they entered. Hands were shaken as Leon exited, shutting the door.
    Zachary gestured at the windows behind Mologna’s desk. “Magnificent view.”
    It was. “Yes, it is,” Mologna said.
    â€œBrooklyn Bridge, isn’t it?”
    It was. “Yes, it is,” Mologna said.
    So much for small talk. Zachary took one of the brown leather chairs facing the desk (Freedly took the other) and said, “So far as we can tell, the Greeks don’t have it.”
    â€œOf course they don’t,” Mologna said, dropping back into his padded high-back swivel chair. “I said so this mornin. Hold on just a minute.” And he pressed a button on his intercom, then looked at the door.
    Which opened. Leon said, “You want me?”
    â€œYou might as well take notes.”
    â€œI’ll get my little pad.”
    Zachary and Freedly exchanged a glance. There was something funny about that secretary.
    Leon entered, shut the door, sashayed to his little chair in the corner, prettily crossed his legs, perched his notebook on the upper knee, poised his pen, and looked expectantly at everybody.
    â€œAs I was sayin,” Mologna said (Leon did quick squiggly shorthand), “I said this mornin—”
    Zachary said, “You’ll copy to me, won’t you?”
    â€œâ€”the— What?”
    Zachary nodded at Leon. “The notes of the meeting.”
    â€œCertainly. Leon? Copy for the FBI.”
    â€œOh, absolutely,” Leon said.
    Leon and Mologna exchanged a glance.
    Zachary and Freedly exchanged a glance.
    Mologna said, “ As I was sayin, I said this mornin this ruby ring wasn’t taken by any of your foreign political types. It’s—”
    â€œThat appears,” Zachary said, “to be true at least in the case of the Greek Cypriot underground. We have good penetration in most of their organizations, and the word to us is, they don’t have it.”
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been sayin.”
    â€œWhich leaves the Turks and the Russians.”
    â€œAnd the Armenians,” Freedly added.
    â€œThank you, Bob, you’re absolutely right.”
    â€œIt also leaves,” Mologna said, “a nice homegrown burglar, ancestry as yet undetermined.”
    â€œOf course,” Zachary said, “there is always that possibility. At the Bureau—and I’ve discussed this now with sog—and our feeling—”
    Mologna said, “Sog?”
    â€œSeat of Government,” Zachary explained. “That’s what we call the main Bureau headquarters in Washington.”
    â€œSeat of Government,” Mologna echoed. He and Leon exchanged a glance.
    â€œAbbreviated, S, O, G, pronounced sog. And our feeling is, the likelihood still remains upmost for a politically motivated removal.”
    â€œTheft.”
    â€œTechnically, of course, it is a theft.”
    â€œWith a thief,” Mologna said.
    â€œFrankly,” Zachary said, “I hope—and I’m sure the Bureau hopes—you turn out to be right.”
    â€œAll the fellas down there at sog.”
    Zachary frowned a bit. Was Mologna being sardonic? It didn’t seem possible, from a man with such a bad Long Island accent and such a big, big stomach. “That’s right,” he said. “And it would be much simpler and easier if in fact