Mourner (12 page)

Parker said, "No."

"No? Then take your finger off the trigger. I'm going to hurt you, and I don't want to get shot for it."

Parker's right hand was now sluggish too. He had trouble making the fingers open, but they finally did, and the gun fell. He couldn't find it again, but he knew it was on the bed somewhere.

"Don't scream now, for God's sake." Then the doctor did something painful to Parker's left side.

It woke him up. He went from the green darkness through complete awareness to a blazing red darkness on the other side. The pain subsided, and he slid softly back into the green. Then the doctor was at him again, and it was red again. He kept alternating between the two, but he didn't scream.

The doctor, or somebody, had stripped him, and rolled him over this way and that. He felt total awareness just beyond his grasp, as though any second he might be perfectly all right, his old self again. But he could never quite make it that last fraction of an inch; he just kept shuttling back and forth.

It went on and on, and there were times when he was out completely. Then, from very far away, he heard the doctor say, "You'll live. You'll be stiff in the morning, but you'll live."

He tried to answer, but it wouldn't work. He was falling down into the green again. The green got darker and darker, and then it was black, and then it wasn't anything.

The maid had said nothing to him when she'd brought the tray, and she was just as uncommunicative when she came to take it away again. It hadn't taken Kapor long to replace Clara Stoper, and it hadn't taken the replacement long to learn to be a dummy.

After she took the tray, Parker stubbed out the Russian cigarette and tried getting out of bed. Practically his whole torso was taped, giving him a tight, corseted feeling, and his left arm still felt heavier and more sluggish than usual. He felt faint twinges in his left side when he swung his legs over, a minute of dizziness when he got to his feet, and his whole body was stiff, as though he'd been given a workover by experts. He took a step away from the bed, and then stopped when he saw the two suitcases standing there at the foot of the bed. One belonged to him, the other belonged to Handy.

He was still standing there looking at them when the door opened and Kapor came in "Ah! You're up and about. Very good."

Parker was wearing only shorts and bandages. "What happened to my suit?" he asked.

"All of your clothing was burned last night, except for your socks and shoes, there at the foot of the bed. The suit and shirt were ruined."

"Where'd the luggage come from"?

"Your motel room, of course. I found the key in your pocket, and sent someone there this morning to check you out. You seem to carry identification under several different names. I assume none of the names is accurate."

"You went through my stuff?"

"Of course." Kapor shrugged. "Could you expect anything else? Perhaps you'd better sit down for a while."

Parker thought the same thing. He sank down on the edge of the bed. "What about my partner?"

"The doctor is with him now. He says he can't tell one way or the other until the bullet is removed, and it couldn't be removed last night because your friend was in shock. The doctor returned this morning. He is doing what he can to ready your friend for the operation."

"All right."

"He is a good man, I assure you. If your friend's life can be saved, he will save it."

"That's good."

"And now," Kapor said, "perhaps it is time we talked."

"I want some clothes on first."

"Of course. I apologize. I confess I've been thinking more about my own loss than of yours. Which bag is yours?"

Parker pointed. "That one."

Kapor lifted it and put it on the bed. "Do you feel capable of walking?"

"Yes."

"Then, when you are ready, you'll find me downstairs. Down the front staircase, and to your left."

"All right. Wait. Where's my gun?"

"Both guns are in the top dresser drawer. I put them there to avoid alarming the help."

"OK."

Kapor smiled thinly, bowed, and left the room.

Parker dressed slowly, hampered by his stiffness and weakness. He needed a shave, and wanted to wash his face, but that could wait. He went out to the hall and downstairs, feeling better the more he moved. He turned left at the foot of the stairs and through a tall doorway into a large sitting-room with a bar at the far end. Kapor was there, mixing himself something complicated, with sugar. He looked over. "Ah, there you are. Would you care for a drink?"

"Bourbon."

"Medicinally. Of course."

Kapor brought him a glass, waved him to a leather armchair, and sat down in another, facing him. "Now," he said, "if you think the time has come, I am willing to listen."

"Menlo was sent here by the Ministry. They're on to you, skimming the cream off the dough you handle. They figure you've stolen around a hundred Gby now."

Kapor's smile disappeared, and his eyes narrowed. "The Ministry seems to have chosen an odd way to handle the situation."

"They sent Menlo here to rub you out, quick and quiet. Find the money if he could, but mainly get rid of you. They did it that way, because any other way it might have leaked. There's a big wag of cash due here soon, and they figured you were waiting for that before you took off."

"More perspicacity than I had expected," Kapor said, grim-faced.

"They've been holding it up on purpose, to keep you here till Menlo could get to you."

"How charming." Kapor unsheathed his gold cigarette case. "Cigarette?"

"Thanks."

Kapor lit them both. "I still don't understand what happened last night. What connection have you with Auguste Menlo?"

"He'd decided to take the dough himself."

"Auguste Menlo? Incredible. He has a reputation for honesty that passes belief."

"He was never offered a hundred Gbefore."

"Ah, so." Kapor's thin-lipped smile flashed again. "We are all human after all, eh?"

"We were in it with him. There's a lot more to it than that, but that's the way it winds up. We were in it with him. Also a guy named Spannick got killed when he tipped to what Menlo was up to."

"Ahh! I'd heard of his death, of course. He was at some unlikely address But go on."

"Menlo found out where you'd stashed the dough."

"How?"

"Your maid, Clara Stoper."

"I see. She hasn't been here the last few days."

"She's dead."

"So much violence going on, all around me, and I never knew. And I was its target all along. It's a frightening thought. So you came in here last night and Menlo double-crossed you."

"That's it."

"And now you say you know where to find him?"

"Right."

"How?"

"That's my business."

"Ah. Of course." Kapor settled back in his chair, smoking and gazing thoughtfully over Parker's head. "If I want any of my money at all, I suppose I had best go along with you."

"That's right."

"I imagine you plan to kill Menlo?"

"Yes."

"Please do a better job on him than he did on you."

"Don't worry."

"Not about that, no. But about this other matter. How long do I have before the Ministry decides to send someone else?"

"I don't know."

"Are they aware of Menlo's change of heart?"

"I don't think so. Spannick found out, but he's dead. Menlo claimed Spannick wouldn't have reported to them until he'd taken care of things."

"That sounds logical. Spannick was the ultimate egotist. But how did he find out in the first place? If he did, won't others?"

"No. It was an earlier double-cross, before my partner and I came in on it."

"It sounds so complex. I have the feeling I've heard barely a quarter of the story."

Parker shrugged. "You heard all of your part."

"Yes. Economy in all things. I assume Menlo has left Washington?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel strong enough to travel?"

"I think so."

"Will you want anyone with you? I can offer you one or two willing helpers."

"I can handle it myself."

"Yes, I suppose you can. Very well, then. Can I make any sort of travel reservations for you?"

"Yes. The first plane I can get to Miami."

"Miami! He's spending my money already, is he?"

"Yes."

Kapor squinted again, gazing over Parker's shoulder. "Now, I wonder," he said. "You tell me Menlo is in Miami. I wonder"

"Forget it. Miami is a big town. I know wherein Miami; you don't. I know who he's going to contact."

Kapor smiled sadly. "You are perfectly correct. I fear I must be satisfied with fifty per cent. Now, one last question. How long will this take? It is now Saturday. Neither of us can be certain how long the Ministry will remain silent."

"Three or four days at the most. But what about my partner?"

"Ah yes. If I disappear, what becomes of him? You won't return before Monday, I take it?"

"I doubt it," Parker answered.

"I will talk to the doctor. If he agrees, I will have your friend moved to a private rest house on Monday. I shall expect you to pay the bill, of course, out of your half of my money."

"It isn't your money either," Parker reminded him.

Kapor laughed. "The doctrine of private property," he said. "Don't you know that's against my religion? Nevertheless, I should prefer that you take care of the expenses of your friend's confinement."

"I'll take care of it."

"Excellent. I shall now call the airport and make your reservation. When the time comes you will be driven out to the airport in my personal car."

"Great."

"Do you want to see your friend now?"

"Is he awake?"

"No, I'm sorry to say he is still unconscious."

"Then never mind."

"Whatever you say." Kapor got to his feet. "If there's anything you need," he said, "do not hesitate to ask."

"I won't."

"Just one moment, sir." The clerk checked, and then came back. "He doesn't seem to be expected, sir."

So Menlo wasn't here yet. That either meant he was driving down or he was holed up somewhere for a few days. Unless Parker had figured him wrong completely. But that didn't make any sense. Menlo had gone after Bett, to get the details of the job Parker was doing for her father. He had taken the statue. It didn't make sense any way but one; Menlo was coming down here to peddle the mourner to Harrow, probably in return for Harrow giving him some sort of a cover.

The only thing to do was wait. "Tell Freedman that Charles Willis is here without a reservation and could use a room."

"Mr Freedman, sir?"

"He's your boss."

"Yes, sir, I know. One moment, please."

It took more than a moment, but when the clerk came back he was affable, and Parker all of a sudden had a reservation. He let the bellboy take his suitcase and lead him up to a room on the fifth floor overlooking the beach. He tipped the boy, and then sat down in the chair by the window to rest and look out at the ocean. He was still shaky.

It was a little before noon, Sunday. He hadn't been able to get a seat on a plane out of Washington till this morning, so he'd had another night's sleep at Kapor's. The bullet was out of Handy now and the doctor thought he might even live. He'd complained about the idea of moving him, but finally agreed to it, if Handy was treated like a thin-skinned egg. So tomorrow an ambulance would take Handy to a private rest home.

It was just as well. If Kapor's bosses got tired of waiting and went in to finish him, they might decide to make a clean sweep and finish everybody in the house.

Parker had felt a lot better this morning, but the hours sitting on the plane had drained him, and now he was feeling stiff and shaky again. The wound was itching under the bandages, and there was one spot in the small of his back where the tape had got bunched up that was particularly bugging him.

After a while he got up from the chair, stripped, and looked at himself in the mirror on the closet door. His side was still discoloured and bruised, but it was generally less angry looking. The tape wasn't as white and clean as it had been when it had first been put on, and it wasn't holding him as securely.

He'd had the cab stop at a drugstore on the way in from the airport, so there was now a supply of bandages and tape in his suitcase. He stripped off the old bandage, wincing as the tape tore hair from his chest, and unwound the gauze that was wrapped around his torso until he finally got down to the wound itself. It had pretty well scabbed over, and in this area too the colouring had gone down, though it was still pretty dark. He flexed his left arm, raising it and lowering it, and watching the flesh as it moved on his side. He could feel the strain against the edges of the wound, but in a way it helped ease the itching.

He took a shower then, favouring his left side and not letting the spray beat on it directly. The hot shower, and the stiffness, made him sleepy. He dried himself, having trouble with his left side because the skin was too tender to touch, and then he put on a fresh bandage and lay down on the bed. It was almost noon, and only a sliver of gold angled through the broad window. Parker drowsily watched the silver narrowing, and then he fell asleep.

When he awoke, the room was darker. He forgot the wound at first and started to get out of bed at his usual speed, but a wrenching pain in his side stopped him. After that he was more cautious.

He looked out the window, and now a fat dark shadow, shaped like an elongated outline of the hotel, lay across the beach. His watch told him it was a little after three, and his stomach told him it was time to eat. He dressed and took the elevator down to the lobby.

The restaurant was across and to the left. He started that way, and then suddenly turned aside and walked over to the magazine counter. He picked up a magazine and leafed through it, glancing back, watching Menlo coming out of the restaurant.

The fat bastard looked very pleased with himself.

Not yet. It wouldn't do any good to brace him yet. Not till he knew for sure where the suitcase was.

He watched Menlo go over to one of the house phones. Menlo talked for a minute or two, and then walked to the elevators. As soon as the elevator door closed, Parker put the magazine down and went over to the desk to ask again if Ralph Harrow had showed up or was expected. The answer was still negative. So Menlo had just connected with Bett.

Parker went around to the door marked MANAGER, J.A. FREEDMAN, and went on in. There was a new girl in the outer office, as usual, so he told her to tell Freedman Charles Willis wanted to see him. She spoke into the intercom and a minute later told him he could go in.

Freedman was barrel-shaped, five feet five inches tall. He was totally bald, with a bull neck and a bullet head. He looked hard all over, except the face, which was made of globs of Silly Putty plus horn-rimmed glasses. He came around the desk, the globs of Silly Putty settled into a smile, his hand outstretched. "Mr Willis! So happy I could find you a room."

"It's good to be back," Parker said. His voice was softer than usual, his face more pleasant. After all these years, he fell automatically back into the Willis role.

They talked about inconsequentialities for a few minutes, long enough to satisfy the aura of friendship Freedman liked to maintain with his regular guests, and then Parker said, "There's one more favour you can do me. A small one."

"Anything I can do."

"Ralph Harrow should be checking in in a day or two. Let me know when he makes a reservation, will you?"

"Ah! You know Mr Harrow?"

"We're old friends."

"A charming man, charming."

"Yes, he is. You'll let me know then?"

"Of course."

"I'd like to surprise him. Just tell me when he's due in, and which his suite will be."

"Certainly, Mr Willis. I'll be more than happy to."

There was a little more talk, and then Parker left. He went up to his room and lay down on the bed to wait. He had forgotten about his hunger.