Jimmy the Kid Read Online Free

in.”
    They got into the car, Murch pushing a paperback that was resting on the seat out of his way. Kelp started the engine, and they rolled away from the curb.
    Murch said, “What’s the story?”
    Kelp, pointing to the book on the seat between them, said. “That.”
    Murch laughed politely.
    â€œNo, on the level,” Kelp said. “What I want you to do, I want you to read that book.”
    â€œRead a book ?” Murch read the Daily News and several car magazines, but he didn’t read books.
    â€œYou’ll like it,” Kelp told him. “And I’ve got an idea that hooks up with it.”
    Murch picked up the book. He would like it? Child Heist , by Richard Stark. “What’s it about?”
    â€œAbout a crook,” Kelp said. “A crook named Parker. He’ll remind you of Dortmunder.”
    â€œThat sounds great,” Murch said, but without much enthusiasm. He riffled through the book: words on every page.
    â€œYou read it,” Kelp said. “Dortmunder’s reading it, too. And have your Mom read it. Then when everybody’s had a chance to go through the book, we’ll have a meeting.”
    â€œDortmunder’s in on this?”
    â€œSure,” Kelp said, casual and convincing.
    Murch opened the book, feeling the stirrings of curiosity.
    CHAPTER ONE
    When the guard came to open the cell door, Parker said to the big man named Krauss, “Come see me next week when you get out. I think I’ll have something on.”

3
    K ELP WAS VERY excited and very happy. He couldn’t sit in one place, and the result was he got to Dortmunder and May’s place half an hour early for the meeting. He didn’t want to risk annoying Dortmunder again, so he spent the half hour walking around the block.
    He was so sure of this idea that he didn’t see any possible way for Dortmunder to turn it down. With Dortmunder and May in, plus Murch to do the driving and Murch’s Mom to handle the kid, it was all going to work just beautifully. Just like the book.
    The way Kelp had come across that book, he’d been in jail at the time: a fact he didn’t intend to mention to anybody. It had been upstate in Rockland County, a small town where he’d run into a little trouble when some cops stopping cars to look for drugs had found a whole lot of burglar tools in his trunk. It had taken five days to get the whole thing squashed because of the element of illegal search, but during those five days Kelp had been kept locked up in the local pokey. And a very poky pokey it had been, too—nothing to do but roll Bugler cigarettes and read paperback books donated by some local ladies’ club.
    Several of the books had been by this writer Richard Stark, always about the same crook, named Parker. Robbery stories, big capers, armoured cars, banks, all that sort of thing. And what Kelp really liked about the books was that Parker always got away with it. Robbery stories where the crooks didn’t get caught at the end—fantastic. For Kelp, it was like being an American Indian and going to a western movie where the cowboys lose. Wagon train wiped out, cavalry lost in the desert, settlement abandoned, ranchers and farmers driven back across the Mississippi. Grand.
    Child Heist was the third of the Parker novels he’d read, and even while he was reading it he’d known it meant something special to him, even more than the others. And as he was finishing the book the revelation had come on him like a sudden flood of heavenly light, like his little grey cell had just been illumined by a thousand suns. That’s the way it had been. And when, the next day, the Public Defender had finally gotten him sprung, he’d walked out of there with Child Heist concealed inside his shirt, and as soon as he’d made it back to the city he’d gone to a bookstore and picked up half a dozen more copies.
    Would the others see it the way he had?