“He’ll tell,” Dortmunder said. “He will, in the argot of the underworld,” the elegant man said, “spill the beans.” “That isn’t the argot of the underworld,” Dortmunder told him.
“What’s your first name, Diddums?” Please don’t say Dan, Dortmunder begged himself. Please, please, somehow, anyhow, manage not to say Dan. His mouth opened, “John,” he heard himself say, his brain having turned desperately in this emergency to that last resort, the truth, and he got weak-kneed with relief.
The second half took a long time, almost as long as if Dortmunder had been inside watching it.
“There’s one thing, though, that I have to tell you,” she said as they arranged shrimp on decorative plates. “I’m married.” “So am I,” Dortmunder said. “Kinda.” “Me, too,” she agreed. “Kinda. But for real.”
“Arnie,” Dortmunder said, “the Roman Empire isn’t there anymore, you can’t visit, it’s been gone, I dunno, a hundred years, maybe. More.”
Petey gestured at the woman: “This is my partner, Kate Murray. That’s all she is, we’re partners.” “That’s right,” Kate Murray said. She looked and sounded determined. “Just partners, that’s it.”
Three Finger Gillie looked like the creature that gives fairy tales their tension.