A Dortmunder Heist
“You got a job, Dortmunder. You got a job, and you didn’t tell me.”
“That’s right,” Dortmunder said. He sipped beer.
“I brought you a lotta jobs,” Kelp said, aggrieved. “And now you got one, and you cut me out?”
Stung from his lethargy, Dortmunder sat up straighter, spilled beer on his thumb, and said, “Oh, yeah, that’s right. You brought me jobs. A kid that kidnaps us.”
“He never did.”
“A bank,” Dortmunder said, “and we lose it in the goddam Atlantic Ocean.”
“We took over two thousand apiece out of that bank,” Kelp pointed out.
Dortmunder gave him a look of disgusted contempt. “Two thousand apiece,” he repeated. “Remind me, was that dollars or pesos?”
Kelp abruptly shifted gears. Switching from antagonism to conciliation, he spread his hands and said, “Aw, come on, Dortmunder. That isn’t fair.”
“I’m not trying to be fair,” Dortmunder told him. “I’m not a referee. I’m a thief, and I’m trying to make a living.”