Good Behavior

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Dortmunder opened the door and a distant burglar alarm went CLANGangangangangang... “Hell,” Dortmunder said, and shut the door again, but the angangangangang went on and on and on. “Hell and damnation,” Dortmunder said, while from some distance away a police patrol car’s siren went whoop-whoop wiggle-wiggle-wiggle whoooooooooopp, the sound rising from the grid of New York City’s streets up five stories through the two A.M. air to this quiet blacktopped roof. The burglar alarm kept nagging: angangangangang. WHOOP-WHOOP; the patrol car wasn’t so very far away after all.

“Goodbye,” O’Hara said.

Dortmunder looked at his partner in crime; in this crime, anyway. “Where you going?”

“Florida,” O’Hara said over his shoulder. He was already halfway across the roof to the fire escape.

Raising his voice just a teeny-weeny bit, hoping O’Hara could hear him but none of the neighbors would, Dortmunder said, “Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

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