Why Me? Read Online Free Page A

Skoukakis?”
    Skoukakis sighed. “In my shop,” he said.
    â€œI would like,” Zachary said, “to return to the interrogation. I asked a question.”
    â€œHe won’t answer it,” Freedly said. “Let’s go get the ring.”
    Zachary frowned like an FBI man. “What?”
    â€œIt’s in his shop,” Freedly said. “That’s the point, isn’t it? He won’t give us any names, Mac, so let’s forget that and go get the ring. Come along, Mr. Skoukakis.”
    Zachary didn’t dislike Freedly—it would not have been possible for him to dislike a fellow FBI man—but there were moments when his liking for Freedly became less than perfect. Freedly didn’t always behave like a proper FBI man, which left Zachary at times out in limbo someplace, being an FBI man all on his own while Freedly was just sort of doing things. Like now—fifteen or twenty minutes of interrogation bypassed completely, and they were merely going to get the ring. Zachary said, “What about the wife?”
    â€œShe isn’t going anywhere,” Freedly said. “Are you, Mrs. Skoukakis?”
    Irene Skoukakis was a bit old to smolder, but she managed. “I shall get a divorce,” she said. “But first I shall be unfaithful with a Turk.”
    Her husband moaned.
    â€œLet’s go,” Freedly said.
    Okay, okay; Zachary turned the pages, skipped ahead, found his place, and said, like an FBI man, “Right. Let’s go get that ring. Come along, Skoukakis.”
    â€œGood night, Irene.”
    Zachary and Freedly and the suspect went outside, and the wife slammed the door very hard after them. Their agency car, an avocado Pontiac, was across the street under a maple tree. They started in that direction and Skoukakis said, “Do you want to follow me?”
    Zachary didn’t understand the question. Apparently Freedly did, though, because he grinned at Skoukakis and said, “Oh, no, Mr. Skoukakis. You’ll ride with us.”
    â€œOh, yes,” Skoukakis said. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”
    â€œNaturally you’ll ride with us,” Zachary said, having caught up. “What are you trying to pull?”
    â€œNothing,” Skoukakis said.
    Freedly drove, Zachary and Skoukakis riding in back, Skoukakis giving directions to his store. Freedly radioed in while they were stopped at a red light, saying, “We picked up Skoukakis. He says the object is at his shop. We’re on the way there with him.”
    â€œWrapping it up fast,” said the radio, in a loud, distorted, but cheerful voice. “That’s the way to do it.”
    â€œYou bet,” Freedly said. He stopped talking on the radio and drove the car forward.
    Skoukakis said, “Excuse me.”
    â€œYou were on our list,” Freedly told him.
    â€œAh,” Skoukakis said.
    Zachary frowned. “What?”
    â€œI didn’t know you had a list,” Skoukakis said.
    â€œWe’ve got lots of lists,” Freedly told him. “The hit squad was Greek. It seemed political rather than criminal. They’d want to get it out of the country, and you were one of the likelier possibilities.”
    â€œThe FBI has its methods,” Zachary said. He’d caught up again.
    At the shop, Skoukakis unlocked the door and went in first, switching on the lights and then stopping dead. “Move along,” Zachary said.
    Skoukakis cried out in Greek. He ran forward. Zachary made a grab for him but missed, and Skoukakis stopped again.
    â€œOh, for Christ’s sake,” Freedly said. “Say it isn’t so.”
    Zachary said, “What?”
    Skoukakis turned toward them a dead-white face and gestured at his open safe. “I’ve been robbed!”
    â€œShit,” said Freedly, and went out to the car to call in.
    Zachary said, “What?”
    7
    Dortmunder’s breakfast was: sweetened grapefruit