Read Online Get Real by Donald E. Westlake - Free Book Online

said, “But only one of you guys goes. We don’t want everybody running into the men’s room together, it isn’t that kind
     of joint.”
    Doug said, “Understood. We’ll probably go tonight. I take it you won’t be there?”
    “Absolutely not,” Dortmunder said.
    Doug looked around at his creative team. “Is there anything else?”
    Felder looked unsatisfied. He said, “Any more settings?”
    “Manny,” Doug said, “I don’t think so. Just generic Manhattan streets, apartments.” To the others he said, “You all live in
     apartments, right? In Manhattan?”
    Again they exchanged troubled looks. This time, reluctantly, Stan said, “I live in Canarsie.”
    “But that’s wonderful!” Doug said, and Ombelen too lit up in a way that the name “Canarsie” doesn’t usually evoke.
    Stan said, “You can’t use it, it’s just where I live, it doesn’t have nothing to do with nothing.”
    “But you come to Manhattan for the heists,” Doug said, eyes bright with pleasure. “Stan, you commute!”
    “Yeah, I guess. I never thought of it like that.”
    “But that’s good,” Doug said. “Gives us another demographic. The burglar who commutes to his job.”
    “I like it,” Ombelen said. “I could do some very nice visuals with that.”
    Doug peered at them all with his freshest, most bright-eyed face. “Anything else? Any little details I should know?”
    “I don’t think so,” Dortmunder said. “In fact, I know so. No.”
    “Well, this has all been very good,” Doug said, and actually rubbed his hands together. “We’re moving along here. I’ll be
     back in touch when we’ve got something to show you. And meanwhile, see if you can decide what exactly you’re gonna steal.
     That’s Manny’s other setting, and he’ll need to know it pretty early.”
    “One little favor,” Felder said.
    They looked at him. Dortmunder said, “Yeah?”
    “Nothing too dark, okay?” Felder spread his hands, looking for understanding and assistance around here. “Somewhere where
     we can see what you’re doing.”
    Kelp laughed, mostly in amazement. “You know,” he said, “usually, everything we do, what we’re trying for is just the reverse
     of that.”

12
    D OUG FELT BUOYANT all the way uptown from Varick Street, cheered by the meeting with
The Roscoe Gang
(tentative), cheered by the way Roy Ombelen and Manny Felder had immediately seen the potential, and cheered by Babe’s genial
     manner when he’d left them. Then, the instant he stepped into the office, he sensed something was wrong, and all his mellow
     mood was instantly flushed away.
    What was it? The atmosphere was somehow not its usual self; his antenna tingled with it. He headed straight down the hall
     toward Lueen, to ask her what had broken down and how much it would spoil his day, but then he saw, in the production assistants’
     room, Marcy and Edna and Josh, the three nonwriters, all huddled together, whispering, apparently in a state of shock.
    Writers whispering together; never a good sign. Entering their room, Doug said, as though cheerfully, “Hello all. What’s up?”
    The three young faces that turned to him were bleak. Marcy said, “It’s Kirby Finch.”
    Kirby Finch was the younger son of the family running the farmstand, a strapping handsome boy, nineteen, known to the viewers
     as a fun-loving cutup. This year he’d be finding a girlfriend, a warm little G-rated romance to keep the audience numbers
     up. Doug said, “What about Kirby Finch? There wasn’t an accident, was there?”
    “Worse,” Josh said. His eyes were wide, and his voice seemed to be coming from an echo chamber.
    “He says,” Marcy explained, “he doesn’t want to do all that stuff with Darlene Looper.”
    Josh said, “He just saw next week’s script, and he says he won’t do it.”
    “Oh, come on,” Doug said. “Kirby
shy
? I don’t buy it.”
    Marcy said, “It isn’t that, Doug.” She seemed reluctant to spell out what the