Read Online Jimmy the Kid by Donald E. Westlake - Free Book Online

want.”
    â€œFine,” Murch said. The light turned green and he headed up Tenth Avenue.
    Dortmunder brooded for forty blocks, as Tenth Avenue changed its name to Amsterdam Avenue and its language to Spanish, but as they crossed Eighty-sixth Street he finally sat up, looked out at the world, and said, “Where we going?”
    â€œUp to Ninety-sixth,” Murch said, “and over to Central Park West, and then down. After that I’ll take you home.”
    â€œWhat’s the idea?”
    Murch shrugged, and seemed slightly embarrassed. “Well, you never know,” he said.
    â€œYou never know what?”
    â€œIn the book, the car goes to Central Park West.”
    Dortmunder stared at him. “You think the Caddy’s going to be on Central Park West because the car in the book was on Central Park West?”
    Murch showing increasing discomfort. “I figured,” he said, “what the hell, it won’t cost us anything. Besides, in the book the kid’s coming in for special speech therapy, right? So this kid, in the Caddy, he’s got to be coming in to see some specialist like that, too, and Central Park West is full of those guys.”
    â€œSo’s Park Avenue,” Dortmunder said. “So’s a lot of other places, all over town.”
    â€œIf you don’t want to do it,” Murch said, “it’s okay with me. I just figured, what the hell.”
    Dortmunder looked at the sign for the cross street they were passing: Ninety-fourth. “You want to go to Ninety-sixth, and then down?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œWell, we’re here already, so go ahead.”
    â€œIt probably won’t come out to anything,” Murch said, “but the way I figured, what—”
    â€œYeah, I know,” Dortmunder said. “You figured, what the hell.”
    â€œThat’s the way I figured,” Murch said, and made the turn on Ninety-sixth Street. They travelled two blocks to Central Park West, turned right again, and headed south, with the park on their left and the tall apartment buildings on their right. They travelled south for twenty-five blocks, Murch looking more and more awkward and Dortmunder feeling more and more fatalistic, when all of a sudden Murch slammed on the brakes and shouted, “Son of a bitch !”
    A cab behind them honked, squealed its brakes, and twisted on around them with various words shouted out into the air. Dortmunder looked where Murch was pointing, and he said, “I just don’t believe it.”
    The Caddy. Silver-grey, whip antenna, Jersey plate number WAX 361. Parked in a bus stop, big as life. When Murch drove slowly by, the chauffeur was sitting behind the wheel in there reading a tabloid newspaper. His hat was off.
    Murch found a space in front of a fire hydrant in the next block. He was grinning all over his face when he switched the engine off and turned to say to Dortmunder, “I just had a hunch, that’s all. I figured, what the hell, and I just had a hunch.”
    â€œYeah,” Dortmunder said.
    â€œYou get things like that sometimes,” Murch said. “It’s just a hunch you get, they come on you sometimes.”
    Dortmunder nodded, heavily. “We’ll pay for this later on,” he said, and got out of the car, and walked back up toward the Cadillac. It was parked facing this way, and the chauffeur’s head was hidden behind his open newspaper.
    Dortmunder didn’t look right on Central Park West, and he knew it. He felt eyes on him, mistrusting him. It seemed to him that doormen, as he walked by, glared at him and clutched their whistles. Cruising cabs accelerated. Dog walkers stood closer to their Weimaraners and Schnauzers. And old men in wheelchairs, being pushed by stout black ladies in white uniforms, scrabbled at their blankets.
    Dortmunder walked slowly by the Cadillac. The back seat was empty and the side windows were open, but it was very hard to