"They were so good," Fareweather went on, "they even got the Brueghel."

Arnie, Dortmunder, Kelp and the girl reporter all said, "Brueghel?"

Gesturing to something off-camera to his right, Fareweather said, "It was the only thing they took from the hall. Everything else was from this area here. And it's true, most of the items in the hall are of perhaps a bit lesser quality, but I always kept the Brueghel there to protect it from too much sunlight."

"And nevertheless they found it," the reporter said.

"Yes, they did, Gwen. And I certainly hope the police find it among the things they are looking at right now in that truck."

Arnie said, "What Brueghel?"

The girl reporter said, "What value would you place on that Brueghel, Mr. Fareweather?"

"Oh, lord knows," Fareweather said. "I paid just under a mil for it, seven or eight years ago."

Tiny said, "Off the set, Arnie, we gotta talk."

Arnie killed the TV by remote control and said, "I didn't red-dot nothing in the hall. I didn't even look in the hall."

"Dortmunder and me," Tiny said, "we didn't take nothing unless it had a red dot on it. Right?"

"That's right," Dortmunder said.

Kelp said, "Stan and me were downstairs, so I don't know. What did this Brueghel look like?"

"Kelp," Tiny said, sounding just a bit dangerous, "none of us took it, so none of us knows what the hell it looks like."

"Well," Kelp said, reasonably, "somebody took it."

"Judson," Dortmunder said.

Everybody looked at Dortmunder, and then everybody looked at Judson, who was blushing and stammering and fidgeting on that kitchen chair with his arms jerking around — a definite butterfly, pinned in place. Everybody continued to look at him, and finally he produced words, of a sort: "Why would you — What would I — How could — Mr. Dortmunder, why would you—?"

"Judson," Tiny said. He said it softly, gently, but Judson clammed up like a locked safe, and his face went from beet red to shroud white, just like that.

Dortmunder said, "Had to be. He went there, wanted to hang out with us, we were already gone, he went in and up, looked around, decided to take a little something."

Kelp said, "Judson, what made you take that?"

Judson looked around at them all, tongue-tied.

Arnie, in an informational way, said, "Kid, you're one of the most incompetent liars I've ever seen."

Judson sighed. He could be seen to accept the idea at last that denial was going to be of no use. "I identified with it," he said.

Everybody reacted to that one. Stan said, "You identified with it?"

Dortmunder said, "What's it a picture of, Judson?"

"Two young guys stealing a pig."

Tiny said, "That's what goes for just under a mil? Two guys stealing a pig?"

"It's nice," Judson said. "You can see they're having fun."

"More than we are," Tiny said.

Dortmunder said, "Judson, where is this picture now?"

"In my desk in J. C.'s office."

Tiny said, "I tell you what, kid. You were gonna get a piece of what we got, but we no longer got what we got, so now we are gonna get a piece of what you got."

"That seems fair," Kelp said.

Again Judson sighed. Then he said, "Maybe I can take a picture of it."

"Good idea," Dortmunder agreed.

Tiny said to Arnie, "Your guy paid a million for it. You'll deal with the insurance company, you'll get ten per cent, that means around fifteen grand for each of us, which isn't what I had in mind, but these things happen, and, Dortmunder, I forgive you, and I think we all agree it was a good decision to let the kid stick around."

"Thank you," Judson said.

"Still and all," Tiny said, "all that stuff in there, and we wind up with one picture."

Dortmunder thought of, but decided not to mention, the trinkets still burning holes in his own pockets. Some people know how to keep a secret.

54

THE INTERVIEW WITH Preston Fareweather had been taped forty minutes before it ran, and at the end of it, as the sound man and cameraman were packing and assembling all their plentifulness of gear, Preston said to the fair Gwen, "That was quite enjoyable. You make the thing just about painless."

"Well, that's the job," she said.

"When you finish your assigned tasks at your station," he said, "why not pop back here, we could have a lovely dinner a due."

"Oh, I don't think so," she said.

"I would rather take you to one of the better restaurants in the neighborhood," he said, smiling upon her, "but I'm afraid little legal problems, process servers and all that, are keeping me housebound at least until I can get a new car. But those restaurants know me, I think I'm probably considered a good tipper, they'll be happy to send over a little something from the menu." Chuckling, he said, "Not exactly your Chinese takeout. What do you say? A little penthouse adventure."

"I don't think so," she said.

Gesturing, he said, "That view is even more magnificent at night."

"I'm sure it is."

He gazed on her with a sad smile. "Would you really leave me here, Gwen, all alone, in my pillaged penthouse?"

"Mr. Fareweather," she said, "I researched you before I came up here, and I know all about your little legal problems and the process servers. You have a surprising number of ex-wives."

"Oh, ex-wives," he said, dismissing them with an airy sweep of the hand. "Spiteful little creatures, it's best just to ignore them. You know what they're like."

"I do," she said. "I'm one myself."

He couldn't believe it. "You'll take their side?"

"I won't take any side at all," she said. "Ready, boys?"

The boys, with cameras and cases and boxes and bags hanging from black straps off their shoulders, agreed they were ready, and rang for the elevator.

The snippy, self-sufficient Gwen directed a cool smile toward Preston. "Thank you, Mr. Fareweather, you gave a very good interview. My editor will be pleased."

"I'm so happy," Preston said as the elevator door opened.

"Sir," the sound man said.

"Yes?"

The sound man handed him a thick white envelope. "This is a service of court documents," he said, "in accordance with New York State law." And he U-turned and entered the elevator.

"RRRAAAGGHHHH!" Preston cried, and threw the envelope, but it bounced off the closing elevator door, leaving him the image of Gwen's surprised laugh as she turned to the sound man and said, "What did you—?"

Gone. Preston stood there, panting as though he'd run a mile, and stared at the hateful envelope on his lovely oriental carpet. At last he turned away. "Alan!" he screamed. "Alan!"

And Alan appeared, as festooned with luggage as the sound man. "Oh, I missed the elevator," he said, and went over to ring for it.

Preston gaped at him. "What are you doing?"

"You don't need me any more, Preston," Alan said. "Our jolly days as island castaways are over. I've been on the phone, I've a couple of leads on a new position."

The elevator reappeared, and the operator, an uppity black woman, said, "Lotta traffic up here all of a sudden."

"Good-bye, Preston," Alan said, boarding. "It was all really very amusing. Thank you."