Richard Stark - The Jugger

Regan came back in, finally, and said, “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Willis. Willis, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Willis. Charles Willis.”

“Of course. Abner, sit down, why don’t you?” Regan went around behind the manager’s desk and sat down there like a man about to get caught up on his work. “Could I see some identification, Mr. Willis? Just for the record.”

Parker got out his wallet and put it, open, on the desk. “Everything in there,” he said. “Go on through it.”

“Ah, thank you, that won’t be necessary.” Regan smiled briefly and politely at the wallet, and said to Younger, “I’m having one of my stenographers in, so you won’t have to call yours. I’ll send you a copy, of course.”

Parker looked at Younger, and saw that Younger hadn’t thought about a stenographer at all, that Regan had just gone out of his way to insult Younger, and that Younger had caught the insult in the midsection. But Younger didn’t say anything, not a word.

Regan turned to Parker and said, “As I understand it, you and Mr. Tiftus were in business together.”

Parker shook his head. “Not me. You’ve got that wrong.”

“I do?” Regan reached out and patted Parker’s wallet, offhandedly, the way another man might doodle. “That was my understanding,” he said. “You knew Mr. Tiftus in some other way, then?”

“I’d met him before.”

“Yes, of course.”

“In Miami, at the dog track. He owned a few dogs.”

“Ah, he was in racing. And are you in racing, Mr. Willis?”

“No, I’m in business.”

“Business? May I ask what business?”

“Various businesses. Real estate, parking lots, laundromats, here and there across the country.” Parker pointed at the wallet. “There’s papers on some of it in there.”

But Regan wouldn’t give any attention to the wallet. He said, “Then you and Mr. Tiftus didn’t come here together.”

“No.”

“It was just coincidence you happened to meet here again.”

Parker shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

Regan seemed surprised. “It wasn’t coincidence? You mean you’d planned to meet here?”

“No. I didn’t know I’d see him here at all. But I came here for Joe Shardin’s funeral, and I guess Tiftus did, too. You meet somebody at the funeral of a guy you both knew, that isn’t coincidence.”

Regan turned his head and looked at Younger. “Shardin?”

“Retired man,” Younger told him. “Just died a few days ago, buried this morning.”

“Native?”

“Lived here about five years.”

Regan gave his attention back to Parker. “So you both came here for this man Shardin’s funeral.”

“I couldn’t say. I know I did, and I figure he did, but I don’t know about him for sure.”

“And about his slaying? Do you have any ideas about that?”

Parker shook his head.

Regan nodded, smiled, and said, “Well, we won’t take much longer. I appreciate your co-operation, Mr. Willis.” He nodded some more, and said, “I’m puzzled. He was killed in your room. Did you give him permission to be in your room?”

“No.”

“Well, do you have any idea what he might have been doing there?”

“He might have been looking for something to steal.”

This time Regan was surprised; he wasn’t faking the look he gave Parker. He said, “Steal? You mean Mr. Tiftus was a thief?”

“I wouldn’t say that for sure. I heard rumors, around Miami.”

“I see. Then would you say...”

The door opened, and two cops came in, and between them Tiftus’ woman, Rhonda. Regan looked up, irritated, and one of the cops started to say something, and Rhonda took one look at Parker and screamed, “That’s him! That’s the bastard killed my husband! That’s the one right there!”

Parker looked at her, and now he knew what Regan had gone away for: to set this up. He looked at Regan to see how it was supposed to play from here.

Regan was playing it to the hilt. He got to his feet and gave the cops stern looks and said, “Don’t you know better than to barge in like that? I told you men to wait outside.”

The woman kept hollering: “That’s him! That’s him!”

Regan said, “Get her out of here. What’s the matter with you two?”

The cops didn’t play their parts as well. They should have acted sheepish, or tried to apologize. Instead, they just turned the woman around and marched her back out again. She kept hollering till the door was shut.

Regan said, “I’m sorry about that.”

Parker could play it open-face too, when he had to. He said, “Am I a suspect? I didn’t realize that.”

“No, I wouldn’t exactly say you were a suspect, Mr. Willis. We are checking everything, of course, that’s our job. By the way, do you mind? I don’t mean to pry, but your face...”

Parker touched the side of his face where the shovel had hit him. It was still sensitive to the touch. “I fell down some stairs,” he said. “Cellar stairs.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Recently?”

“This afternoon.”

“Is that so? Did you have a doctor for it?”

“Yes. Dr. Rayborn, he’s a local man.”

Regan turned again to look at Younger, and said, “You know this Dr. Rayborn?”

“I’m the one sent for him.”

Regan was surprised again, but he covered it better, this time. He said, “You were there?”

“Willis and I were in Joe Shardin’s house when it happened.”

“I see. Was this man Tiftus with you?”

“Tiftus?” Younger packed incredulity into the name. “What would he be doing with us?”

“I thought you all knew Shardin.”

Parker broke in, saying, “I don’t know about the captain, but I wasn’t with Tiftus at all. He came to my room this morning, but I wouldn’t waste any time on him and he went away.”

“That was the last time you saw him?”

“I saw him on the street a little while later. We just said hello to each other.”

“I see. That young lady seems to think you might have had a reason to kill Mr. Tiftus. Why would she think that, do you know?”

“No.”

Regan waited, but Parker had nothing else to say. Off to the side, Younger fidgeted like he wanted to start talking, but he had sense enough to keep his mouth shut. Finally, Regan said, “Well, I suppose I’ll find out when I hear her story.” He looked at Younger again and said, “Have you known Mr. Willis long?”

“A couple of years,” Younger said. “Joe Shardin introduced us, one time when Willis was up for a visit.”

“I see.” Regan tap-tap-tapped his fingers on Parker’s wallet, still sitting on the desk. “Well,” he said, “I guess that’s about it for now, Mr. Willis. If I want to talk to you again later, you will be around, won’t you? You weren’t planning on leaving for Miami again right away, were you?”

“No. I’ll be around a day or two anyway.”

“That’s fine. Thank you again for your co-operation.”

Parker got to his feet, and took the wallet from the desk. “I won’t be staying here at the hotel anymore,” he said. “If you want me, you can get in touch with me at Joe Shardin’s house. The captain has the address.”

“Fine. Nice to have met you, Mr. Willis.” He smiled as he said it, polite and friendly, but his eyes were watching Parker with flat professional curiosity, and he didn’t get to his feet, and he didn’t offer to shake hands. Just as Parker could smell law on Regan, Regan obviously could smell outlaw on Parker. He hadn’t yet figured the connection between Parker and Younger, or whether or not either of them had had anything to do with killing Tiftus, but he did know something was out of kilter, and he looked the kind of cop who’d hang on until he found out what he wanted to know.