Rollo the bartender, observing the world from a three-point stance–large feet solidly planted on the duckboards behind the bar, elbow atop the cash register drawer–seemed too absorbed either by the conversation or in contemplation of the possibility of health to notice the arrival of a new customer. In any event, he didn’t even twitch, just stood there like a genre painting of himself, while the first regular said, “Well, whatever the word is, the point is, if you got your health you got everything.”
“I don’t see how that follows,” the second regular said. “You could have your health and still not have a Pontiac Trans Am.”
Some of my favorite scenes in the Dortmunder novels take place in this selfsame O.J. Bar & Grill. Thanks to Ed for pointing it out, and to Mr. Westlake for generously sharing the story with his website‘s readers. It’s more than enough to make me go buy the book in which it appears.