The Hot Rock Read Online Free Page A

thoughtfully in his face. He offered the pack to Kelp, but Kelp shook his head and said, “I gave them up. Those cancer commercials got to me.”

    Dortmunder paused with the cigarettes held out in midair. He said, “Cancer commercials?”

    “Sure. On television.”

    “I haven’t seen any television in four years,” Dortmunder said.

    “You missed something,” Kelp said.

    “Apparently I did,” Dortmunder said. “Cancer commercials.”

    “That’s right. Scare the life out of you. Wait till you see one.”

    “Yeah,” Dortmunder said. He put the pack away and lit the cigarette in his face. “About a driver,” he said. “Did you hear about anything odd happening to Stan Murch lately?”

    “Stan? No. What happened?”

    Dortmunder looked at him again. “I was asking you.”

    Kelp shrugged in bewilderment. “Last I heard he was fine,” he said.

    “Then why don’t we use him,” Dortmunder said.

    “If you’re sure he’s okay,” Kelp said.

    Dortmunder sighed. “I’ll call him and ask,” he said.

    “Now,” Kelp said. “About our utility outfielder.”

    “I’m afraid to mention anybody,” Dortmunder said.

    Kelp looked at him in surprise. “Why? You got good judgment.”

    Dortmunder sighed. “How about Ernie Danforth?” he said.

    Kelp shook his head. “He quit the racket,” he said.

    “He quit?”

    “Yeah. He become a priest. See, the way I heard it, he was watching this Pat O’Brien movie on the Late —”

    “All right.” Dortmunder got to his feet. He snapped his cigarette into the lake. “I want to know about Alan Greenwood,” he said, his voice tight, “and all I want is a yes or a no. ”

    Kelp was bewildered again. Blinking up at Dortmunder, he said, “A yes or a no what?”

    “Can we use him!”

    An old lady, who had been glowering at Dortmunder since he’d thrown his cigarette into the lake, suddenly blanched and hurried away.

    Kelp said, “Sure we can use him. Why not? Greenwood’s a good man.”

    “I’ll call him!” Dortmunder shouted.

    “I can hear you,” Kelp said. “I can hear you.”

    Dortmunder looked around. “Let’s go get a drink,” he said.

    “Sure,” Kelp said, jumping to his feet. “Anything you say. Sure. Sure.”

Chapter 5
----
    They were on the straightaway now. “All right, baby,” Stan Murch muttered through clenched teeth. “This is it.”
    He was hunched over the wheel, his fingers in their kid gloves clutching the wheel, his foot tense on the accelerator, his eyes flicking down to the instrument panel, reading the dials there, checking it all out: speedometer, odometer, tachometer, fuel gauge, temperature, oil pressure, clock. He strained against the chest harness holding him against the seat, willing his car forward, seeing the long sleek nose come closer and closer to the guy in front of him. He was going to pass on the inside, by the rail, and once past this one it would be clear sailing.

    But now the other guy was aware of him closing the gap, and Murch sensed the other car pulling away, keeping ahead of the danger.

    No. It wasn’t going to happen. Murch checked the rearview mirror, and everything was all right back there. He tromped down on the accelerator, the Mustang went into overdrive, he shot on by the green Pontiac, he angled across two lanes and let his foot ease on the accelerator. The Pontiac roared by on his left, but Murch didn’t mind. He’d established who was who, and this was his exit coming up. “Canarsie,” the sign said. Murch steered his car off the Belt Parkway, around the circle, and out onto Rockaway Parkway, a long, broad, flat bumpy street lined with projects, supermarkets, and row houses.

    Murch lived with his mother on East 66th Street, just a little ways off Rockaway Parkway. He made his right turn, made his left turn, slowed when he came to the middle of the block, saw his mother’s cab was in the driveway, and rolled on by to a parking space down near the far corner. He