Craig may have had in mind to ask, but in the course of talking me into changing my mind his percentage dropped to a fifth of whatever I netted when the take was fenced. Now that was eminently fair, considering that Craig got to sit home in front of the television set, never fearful of being shot or arrested in the name of justice. But he was an amateur, and amateurs rarely have a sense of proportion about these matters, and he could easily have wanted as much as half if I’d been eager from the start.
No matter. When he got down to twenty percent I suppressed an urge to see just how far down he’d go—he obviously wanted her to lose the jewels more than he wanted his own share of the proceeds. And I caved in and told him I’d do the dirty deed.
“Fantastic,” he said. “Super. You’ll never regret it, Bern.”
Even then, I wished he hadn’t said that.
I stayed in the dental chair. Craig went off, doubtless to boil his hands before facing another patient, and in no time at all Jillian took over. I was encouraged to lean back in my chair again while she picked and poked at my teeth and gums, liberating tartar, scaling, and doing all the unpleasant chores that come under the heading of dental cleaning.
Jillian didn’t talk much, and that was really all right. Not that I had anything against her conversation, but my ears were due for a rest and my mind had thoughts to play with. At first the thoughts centered upon the Crystal Sheldrake apartment and how I would endeavor to knock it off. I was not entirely certain that I should have said yes, and so I did a certain amount of arm-twisting on myself, building up my resolve, telling myself it was like finding money in the street.
These thoughts, while undoubtedly useful, ultimately gave way to thoughts about the comely young lady who was probing my oral cavities—which, come to think of it, sounds a damn sight more appealing than it actually was. I don’t know why one would be inclined to have reprehensible fantasies about a dental hygienist but I’ve never been able to avoid it. Maybe it’s the uniform. Nurses, stewardesses, usherettes, nuns—the male chauvinist mind will go on weaving its smarmy webs.
But Jillian Paar could have been a laundress or a streetsweeper and she’d have had the same effect on me. She was a slender slip of a girl, with straight dark brown hair cut as if with a soup bowl over her head, but clearly by someone who knew what he was doing. She had that spectacular complexion associated with the British Isles—white porcelain illuminated with a rosy glow. Her hands, unlike her employer’s, were small, with narrow fingers. They did not taste boiled. Instead they smelled of spice.
She tended to lean against one while working on one’s mouth. There was nothing objectionable in this. Quite the contrary, truth to tell.
So the cleaning seemed to pass in no time at all. And when it was all done and my teeth had that wonderfully shiny feel to them that they only have the first few hours after they’ve been cleaned, and after we’d exchanged a few pleasantries and she’d shown me for what seemed like the thousandth time the proper way to brush my teeth (and every damned dental hygienist shows you a different way, and each swears it’s the only way) she batted an eyelash or two at me and said, “It’s always good to see you, Mr. Rhodenbarr.”
“Always a pleasure for me, Jillian.”
“And I’m so glad to hear you’re going to help Craig out and burglarize Crystal’s jewels.”
“Urg,” I said.
I suppose I should have bailed out there and then. It was the right time for it—the plane was still in the air and I had a parachute.
But I didn’t.
I wasn’t happy about things. My tight-lipped dentist had managed to break security within five minutes. Presumably Jillian was his trusted confidante, and quite likely she received a good number of his confidences while both parties were in a horizontal position, an hypothesis I’d entertained earlier in light of her obvious attractions and Craig’s historic predilection for diddling the help.
This didn’t butter no parsnips, as my grandmother would never have dreamed of saying. (Granny was a strict grammarian who wouldn’t have said ain’t if she had a mouthful.) As far as I was concerned, if one person knew a burglar’s plan, that was