"Westlake, Donald E - Dortmunder 09 - What's the Worst That Could Happen 4.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westlake Donald E)

"I'm surprised he had anything at all, then. What's this ring look like?"

"How do I know?"

Shrugging, May said, "It's still in the box, isn't it?"

"You mean, you don't remember it?" Dortmunder was baffled. "I figured, sentimental and all, there was some connection between you and this ring."

"Not that I know of," May said. "Well, let's have a look."

The box wasn't wrapped or sealed or anything; it was just a black box with a spring inside to keep the lid shut. May opened it, and they both looked in at a cloud of white cotton. She shook the box, and something in it thumped, so she turned it upside down over the table and the cotton fell out, and so, separately, did the something that thumped.

A ring, as advertised. It was gold looking but it wasn't gold, so it was probably brass at best. The top was a flat five-sided shape, like the shield around Superman's big S on his uniform chest. Instead of an S, though, the ring displayed on its flat surface three thin lines of tiny stones - chips, really - that were diamondy looking, but were not diamonds, so they were probably glass. At best. The top line was discontinuous, with a blank section in the middle, while the other two were complete.

Dortmunder said, "Which sentiment exactly does this represent?"

"No idea," May said. She slipped the ring onto the middle finger of her left hand, then held that hand with fingers downward over her right palm, and the ring fell into the palm. "I wonder if he found it in a cereal box."

"That was the lucky part," Dortmunder suggested.

"The whole purpose of sending me this," May said, as she slipped the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand, "is that June wants me to call her."

"Are you going to?"

May held her right hand over her left palm, fingers downward. The ring fell into the palm. "Not a chance," she said. "In fact, I'm not even going to answer the phone for a while."

Turning the ring this way and that in her fingers, she said, "But it isn't a bad-looking thing, really."

"No, it's kind of restrained," Dortmunder agreed. "You don't expect that in a horseplayer."

"Well, it doesn't fit me," she said, and extended a hand toward Dortmunder, the ring lying in the palm. "Try it."

"It's yours," Dortmunder objected. "Your uncle G.G. didn't send it to me."

"But it doesn't fit. And, John, you know . . . Umm. How do I phrase this?"

"Beats me," Dortmunder said. He had the feeling he wasn't going to like what came next no matter how she phrased it.

"You could use a little luck," May said.

"Come on, May."

"Skill you've got," she hastened to assure him. "Adaptability you've got, professionalism you've got, good competent partners you've got. Luck you could use a little. Try it on."

So he tried it on, sliding it onto the ring finger of his right hand - a ring of any kind on the ring finger of his left hand could only remind him of his unfortunate marriage (and subsequent fortunate divorce) many years ago to and from a nightclub entertainer in San Diego who operated under the professional name of Honeybun Bazoom and who had not been at alt like May - and it fit.

The ring fit perfectly. Dortmunder let his right arm hang at his side, fingers loose and dangling downward as he flapped his hand a little, but the ring stayed right where he'd put it, snug but not tight. It felt kind of good, in fact. "Huh," he said.

"So there you are," she said. "Your lucky ring."