At ten o’clock the next morning, he would not be standing before the booking desk at the main police station being charged with criminal fraud.
“After the capon, I would like two scotches.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cracked ice.”
“Of course, sir.”
At ten o’clock the next morning, his two ex-wives, Barbara and Linda, each having given up her own apartment, would be moving into his apartment, to live with each other.
“Then I would like the club steak. Fairly rare.”
“As another supper, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I see, sir.”
And shortly after ten o’clock in the morning, a warrant for the arrest of Gillett, of Gillett, Worsham and O’Brien, would be issued, for aiding a fugitive escape justice.
“With the steak I would like an ale. Do we have ale on board?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s fine. It should be very cold.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fletch was flying over Mexico with three million dollars in tens and twenties in two attache cases.
“Would you like your first martini now, sir?”
“We’d better start sometime. We’re only going as far as Rio.”
***
ALSO BY GREGORY MCDONALD
CONFESS, FLETCH
The flight from Rome had been pleasant enough, even if the business he was on wasn’t exactly. Fletch’s Italian fiancee’s father had been kidnapped and presumably murdered, and Fletch is on the trail of a stolen art collection that is her only patrimony. But when he arrives in his apartment to find a dead body, things start to get complicated. Inspector Flynn found him a little glib for someone who seemed to be the only likely suspect in a homicide case. With the police on his tail, Fletch makes himself at home in Boston, breaking into a private art gallery, “entertaining” his future mother-in-law, and visiting with the good Inspector Flynn.
