Dortmunder said, “What if he rings this one up here, too?”

“He might,” May said. “You never know.”

“It’s an awful sound,” Dortmunder said, and went down the hall to prevent this by opening the door, where he could listen to the echoes as Andy Kelp thudded up the stairs. When the thuds stopped, he leaned out to see Kelp himself, a sharp-nosed cheerful guy dressed casually in blacks and dark grays, come down the worn carpet in the hall.

“You rang the bell,” Dortmunder reminded him—not quite an accusation.

Kelp grinned and shrugged. “Respect your privacy.”

What an idea. “Sure,” Dortmunder said. “Comonin.”

They started down the hall and May, in the kitchen doorway, said, “That was very nice, Andy. Thoughtful.”

“Harya, May.”

“You want a beer?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll bring them.”

Dortmunder and Kelp went into the living room, found seats, and Dortmunder said, “What’s up?”

“Oh, not much.” Kelp looked around the living room. “We haven’t talked for a while, is all. No new acquisitions, I see.”

“No, we still like the old acquisitions.”

“So,” Kelp said, crossing his legs, getting comfortable, “how you been keeping yourself?”

“May’s been keeping me,” Dortmunder told him. “She’s still got the job at the Safeway, so we eat.”

“I figured,” Kelp said, “you didn’t call for a while, probly you didn’t have any little scores in mind.”

“Probly.”

“I mean,” Kelp said, “if you did have a little score in mind, you’d call me.”

“Unless it was a single-o.”

Kelp looked interested. “You had any single-os?”

“As a matter of fact,” Dortmunder said, as May came in with three cans of beer, “no.”

May distributed the beer, settled into her own chair, and said, “So, Andy, what brings you here?”

“He wants to know,” Dortmunder said, “have I been working without him, maybe with some other guys.”