Burglars Can't Be Choosers Read online

  “And then you told me your right name because you were afraid I’d catch you in the lie.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not it. I just couldn’t stand it when you called me Ruth. I hated it, and when we went to bed and you kept saying my name at critical moments it was absolutely horrible. And I figured you’d find out my real name anyway. By then I knew you hadn’t killed anybody, I was really fairly sure of that from the beginning—”

  “Your famous intuition. I knew you had to be involved to some degree, Ellie. Nobody trusts her intuition that much. You had to have something else to go on.”

  “Anyway, you’d find out my name sooner or later. Unless I just disappeared one day. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to. And everything happened so quickly.”

  “Right.”

  “So now you know the truth. I did a fair job of blowing the whole thing when I almost let us into the wrong apartment, didn’t I?”

  “I’d have put it all together anyway.”

  “I suppose so.” She looked off into the middle distance, and I guess I did, too. A silence descended and hung around for quite a while. Finally she broke it.

  “Well,” she said, “things worked out pretty well after all, didn’t they?”

  “In every way but financially, yes. You’re clear, Darla’s clear, and I am no longer wanted for homicide. I’d say things worked out beautifully.”

  “Except that you must hate me.”

  “Hate you?” I was genuinely surprised at the thought. “Why on earth should I hate you? You may have come up here originally out of curiosity and to make sure you weren’t in danger, but after that you helped me a lot. Not as much as if you had told me all the truth at the beginning, but what kind of fool goes through life expecting honesty in interpersonal relationships?”

  “Bernie—”

  “No, seriously, I don’t blame you. Why should you have opened up to somebody who might turn out be a murderer after all and who was certainly a convicted felon to begin with? And you did help me a great deal. I couldn’t have straightened things out without your help and I probably wouldn’t have tried. I’d have gotten in touch with a lawyer and tried to work some kind of a deal through Ray. So I’d have to be a complete moron to hate you.”

  “Oh.”

  “To tell the truth,” I said, “I’m kind of fond of you. I think you’re a little bit nuts, but who the hell isn’t?”

  “You know I was involved with Flaxford.”

  “So?”

  “And you saw that picture.”

  “So?”

  “It didn’t bother you?”

  “Not in the way you mean.”

  “How else could it have bothered you?”

  “In the sense of hot and bothered,” I said.

  “Oh. I see.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  I tipped up her chin and kissed her, and that lasted for a time, and then she sighed and nestled in my arms and said it was funny how things turned out. “And now what happens?” she wanted to know.

  “Things keep on keeping on, baby. You go on being an actress and I go on being a burglar. People don’t change. Both of our careers may be slightly disreputable but I think we’re stuck with them. And we’ll see each other, and we’ll see how it goes.”

  “I’d like that.”

  And I’d see Darla Sandoval, and I’d try to figure out a way to knock off her husband’s coin collection without Darla guessing who did it. And I’d probably try to put my apartment back together again, and maybe the neighbors would overlook my alleged occupation in view of the fact that I confined my operations to the East Side where the momsers had it coming. And I’d probably go on playing poker and watching an occasional baseball game and pulling jobs when I had to. It wouldn’t be perfect, but who leads a perfect life? We’re all imperfect creatures leading imperfect lives in an imperfect world, and all we can do is the best we can.

  I said some of this to Ellie, if not all of it, and we cuddled together, and at first it was just nice and comfy and gentle, and then it got to be a little more than that.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she said.

  I thought that was a great idea. But first I went and made sure the doors were locked.

  Burglar’s Choice

  In January of 1976 I was in a motel on the outskirts of Mobile, Alabama, trying to write a book. Six months earlier I’d left New York in a rusted-out Ford wagon, bound for California and in no rush to get there. I was going through what the British call a bad patch. I kept starting books and abandoning them after thirty or forty or fifty pages, unable to think of a reason for the characters to Go On.

  In Mobile I wrote about a burglar who gets in touch with the detective who arrested him years ago. The burglar’s out now, and up to his old tricks, and has had the ill fortune to happen on a murder scene, at once becoming its leading suspect and a fugitive from justice. He wants the detective to clear him. I wrote the opening chapter, took a good look at what I’d written, tore it up and threw it out and drove to Sardis, Mississippi. Don’t ask why.

  Two months later I was in LA, finally, living in a place called the Magic Hotel. I couldn’t figure out what the hell to do. For over fifteen years I’d made my living writing, and now I seemed unable to do that.

  Don’t rule out crime, a little voice said.

  Crime had much to recommend it. You didn’t have to cobble up a resumé or provide references. There were no forms to fill out, no taxes and Social Security withheld from your pay. You just took money and ran.

  And suppose you got caught? Well, for heaven’s sake, they fed you and clothed you and housed you. Not the worst thing that could happen to a person, was it?

  Hmmm.

  But what kind of crime could I possibly commit? Nothing violent, certainly. Nothing where I might be called upon to hurt somebody, or, worse yet, where somebody might be called upon to hurt me. Nothing with guns or sharp objects. Nothing like con games, either, that involved duplicitous interaction with others. Indeed, nothing that involved any interaction with others. I didn’t seem to be all that good at interaction just then.

  Burglary, I thought. Go in when nobody’s home, get out before they return. You work alone, and in pleasant surroundings—Robin Hood, after all, had just shown good sense in stealing from the rich. You avoid all human contact. You don’t shoot anyone, and no one shoots you.

  How seriously did I entertain the notion? Beats me. I did go so far as to try to learn to open my motel-room door without the key, utterly ruining a credit card in the process. (No great loss, that. That card had long since ceased to open any doors for me.)

  Then I thought about the plot notion I’d gotten nowhere with back in Mobile. Maybe if I lost the detective and just told the burglar’s story, maybe something would come of it.

  So I sat down at the typewriter to see what would happen.

  I never thought it would come out funny. The notion I had in mind seemed like pretty serious business, but on the very first page Bernie appeared full-blown, like Athena from the brow of Zeus. (Well, maybe not much like Athena. And maybe from somewhere other than the brow….)

  I wrote three or four chapters and a vague outline. All I needed was a title, and I found that while I was proofreading. Burglars can’t be choosers, Bernie mused, and I looked up, startled. I didn’t remember writing the line, but I knew a title when I saw one.

  I sent it to my agent, who sent it to Lee Wright at Random House, who sent me a contract. I went back to work on the book. In July my kids came out to LA to spend the summer with me. They joined me for a month at the Magic Hotel, and then we spent August driving back east. Now and then we’d stay someplace for several days in a row so that I could get in some work on the book. One place we stopped was Yellow Springs, Ohio, where we stayed with my friends Steve and Nancy Schwerner. I talked to them about the book and said I was having problems with the solution. “Oh, that’s easy,” Steve said, and told me who he figured had dunnit. I decided he
was right.

  I dropped the girls with their mother in New York and wound up finishing the book in Greenville, South Carolina. (Don’t ask why.) I was very pleased with the way the book had turned out, but I never thought I’d be writing anything else about Bernie. Shows what I know.

  —Lawrence Block

  Greenwich Village

  July 1994

  About the Author

  Lawrence Block is a Mystery Writers of America Grand Master and a multiple winner of the Edgar, Shamus, and Maltese Falcon awards. His fifty-plus books include the fifteen Matthew Scudder novels, all of which are available as e-books from HarperCollins—along with two Keller volumes, Hit List and Hit Man; the Bernie Rhodenbarr mysteries, Burglars Can’t Be Choosers and The Burglar on the Prowl; Enough Rope, a collection of Mr. Block’s classic short stories; and Small Town, a novel of New York. Please visit www.lawrenceblock.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Praise for

  Burglars Can’t Be Choosers

  and the Bernie Rhodenbarr novels

  by award-winning, New York Times bestseller

  Lawrence Block

  “WONDERFULLY FUNNY…

  Having a burglar for a hero is tricky, to say the least. Is he a bad good guy or a good bad guy, and does crime pay or doesn’t it?…Block maneuvers around these moral S-curves with great agility…Block’s effortless first-person narrative and zippy dialogue is as pleasing as escapist fare ever gets.”

  Los Angeles Times Book Review

  “HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

  for aficionados of one of the finest mystery writers of our time.”

  Houston Chronicle

  “BERNIE RHODENBARR IS THE PERFECT COMPANION

  if you’re spending a week at the beach, catching a plane to Omaha, or just seeking an escape from the demands of the day.”

  Tampa Tribune

  “GOOD FUN…

  It’s the mark of an innovative storyteller to turn a normally reprehensible character into a hero—of sorts. Author Lawrence Block’s Bernie the burglar series aren’t just good mysteries, they are supreme escapism.”

  Ft. Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel

  “MASTERFUL…

  Good mystery and good comedy, mined from the same vein Dashiell Hammett tapped for his ‘Thin Man.’ Block’s ‘The Burglar Who’ series is one of crime fiction’s best.”

  South Bend Tribune

  “BLOCK IS A MASTER

  of making the reader root for the bad guys…He pulls readers in…His written dialogue has the honesty of a conversation overheard on a bus…Bernie Rhodenbarr is a lot-of-laughs burglar.”

  USA Today

  “SIDE-SPLITTING…

  His canny survival instincts combined with his irresistible sense of humor make Bernie Rhodenbarr one of detective fiction’s most engaging heroes.”

  Minnesota Star Tribune

  “Mystery writers with a comic touch are rare, and BLOCK IS ONE OF THE BEST.”

  Washington Post Book World

  “BLOCK IS A MASTER

  of witty dialogue, plotting and pace, and the series’ wacky, offbeat characters make great companions.”

  Cleveland Plain Dealer

  “WE WERE DELIGHTED…

  Reading Rhodenbarr is about as light and easy as drinking lemonade on a hot day, and it’s a whole lot more fun.”

  Syracuse Post-Standard

  “FUNNY AND FEISTY…

  Beyond the jokes, there’s a dark edge to the Burglar books that gives them an added kick. Safe in our chairs, we can savor with Bernie the illicit thrills of his profession, the ‘quickening of the pulse, a tingling in the fingertips, a lightness in the chest.’ ”

  San Francisco Chronicle

  “BERNIE IS SO ENDEARING,

  the reader has no choice but to applaud.”

  Kansas City Star

  “HAVE YOU READ BLOCK’S [RHODENBARR] MYSTERIES?

  You should. They are a real kick.”

  Denver Rocky Mountain News

  “LAWRENCE BLOCK IS A MASTER

  of the art of the mystery…Bernie’s a great burglar and a funny guy.”

  New Orleans Times-Picayune

  Books by Lawrence Block

  Lawrence Block’s

  Bernie Rhodenbarr Mysteries

  BURGLARS CAN’T BE CHOOSERS (E-BOOK)

  THE BURGLAR IN THE CLOSET

  THE BURGLAR WHO LIKED TO QUOTE KIPLING

  THE BURGLAR WHO STUDIED SPINOZA

  THE BURGLAR WHO PAINTED LIKE MONDRIAN

  THE BURGLAR WHO TRADED TED WILLIAMS

  THE BURGLAR WHO THOUGHT HE WAS BOGART

  THE BURGLAR IN THE LIBRARY

  THE BURGLAR IN THE RYE

  THE BURGLAR ON THE PROWL (E-BOOK)

  Available as HarperCollins e-books:

  The Matthew Scudder Novels

  HIT LIST

  HIT MAN

  ENOUGH ROPE: COLLECTED STORIES

  SMALL TOWN: A NOVEL

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  BURGLARS CAN’T BE CHOOSERS. Copyright © 1977 by Lawrence Block. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub Edition © MARCH 2004 ISBN: 9780061808524

  First HarperTorch paperback printing: March 2004

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Burglar's Choice

  About the Author

  Praise

  Books by Lawrence Block

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Choosers