Richard Stark - The Jugger

Younger stood up, too, but Regan said to him, “Why not stay for the rest of the interrogations, Abner? You can help me check the local details and whatnot, see I don’t waste a lot of time on false trails.”

Younger didn’t like it, but he didn’t have any choice. Sullen, he sat down again, and watched mistrustfully as Parker walked out of the office.

The next room was a smaller office, usually occupied by the manager’s secretary. Tiftus’ woman was in it now, with the two cops. Parker went over to her and said, “I didn’t kill your man. I was with the fat cop when it happened. I’m clear.”

The cops watched, blank-faced. The woman studied Parker’s face and said, “I don’t believe it. Who else around here would ease him the bump?”

Parker touched his face. “Same one who did this. Same tool.”

One of the cops said, “I don’t think you two ought to be talking.”

“I’ll be at Joe Shardin’s place,” Parker said, ignoring the cop. “When they’re done with you, come over.”

“What about what you did before?”

Parker knew what she meant; how much had he told the law himself? He said, “All I did before was tell your man to get lost when he came around to my room. I saw you with him in the lobby when he checked in, that’s how come I knew who you were.”

She shook her head doubtfully. “I’m not sure about you,” she said. “I haven’t made up my mind about you.”

The cop said, “I think you two better quit now.”

Parker looked at him. “You work for Regan or Younger?”

“Younger. It’s Regan we’re holding this lady for, but we’re city officers.”

“You better check with Younger before you tell Regan I stopped here to talk with the lady.”

The cop frowned. “How come?”

“You know what Younger thinks of Regan,” Parker said, because it couldn’t be a secret. “Younger wants to keep what he knows to himself this time.”

The cop shrugged. “I’ll check with him,” he said.

“That’s good.” Parker nodded at the woman. “See you later, Rhonda,” he said.

She seemed surprised he’d remembered her name.

Parker opened the door and said, “Come on in, Rhonda.”

She came in with the belligerent air of a dumb woman afraid something’s being put over on her. She said, “What’s with you and that Captain Younger? He’s a cop, ain’t he?”

“That’s right.” He shut the door and led the way into the living room. “Sit down.”

“I want something to drink.”

“In the kitchen.”

“Oh, a real gentleman.”

Parker turned to look at her. “We don’t have much time before Younger gets here,” he said.

“So what’s that to me?”

Parker shook his head. She wanted to be snotty, and there was no reason for her to be snotty. He said, “Whatever the drag is here, you inherit Tiftus’ cut. Don’t that mean anything to you?”

“How come I’m in? You kept throwing my man out, but me you let in. What is this, be kind to widows week?”

“Your name ain’t Tiftus.”

“Thank God it ain’t. What do you want from me, buster? You figure to move in now my man’s gone?”

“No,” Parker told her, and it was the truth. He had a woman in Miami for one thing, and for another he was working. This wasn’t his usual kind of work, but it had the same smell to it, and when he was working he had no time for women. Before and after, but not during.

She cocked her head and studied him, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not. She finally shrugged and said, “Okay, so much for my sex appeal. You already seen me naked so now you don’t want any more. If that ain’t it, what do you want?”

“I want to know the game.”

“The what?”

Parker said, “Tiftus came here looking for something. Younger’s looking for it. Whoever killed Tiftus is looking for it. Everybody figures I got the inside track on where it is, but I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know what it is.”

She opened her eyes wide and looked at him. “You don’t?”

“It has something to do with Joe Sheer, but I don’t know what.”

“Who the hell is Joe Sheer?”

Parker pointed at the floor. “You’re in his house.”

“I thought that was Shardin. It was Shardin in the phone book, that’s how I found the place.”

“He changed his name. The question is, did Tiftus tell you what he was looking for?”

“Sure.”

“What?”

“Money,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, but how? Cash? Jewelry? Goods of some kind?”

She shrugged. “Beats me,” she said. “Money is all I know. He said we were coming here to make us a hundred G’s or maybe more.”

Parker said, “From Joe Sheer? Joe Shardin?”

“You got me, buster. All I know is what I told you.”

“He never said anything about Joe.”

“Not one word. He never said anything about anybody, except you. He seen you, when we went in the lobby, and he said, ‘Oh oh, there’s somebody else standing in line. I know that bo.’ And as soon as we checked in he went to see you.”

Parker shook his head. “Go make yourself that drink,” he said.

“You’re a real sport,” she said, and went on into the kitchen.

Parker went over by the window and looked out. That teenage kid was on the porch next door again, looking in this direction. All this activity, people going in and out of a dead man’s house, it was going to get all the neighbors looking after a while. This thing couldn’t drag on much longer.

But he couldn’t seem to learn anything. Tiftus had come here looking for a hundred thousand dollars, maybe more, but there was no way to tell what the hundred thousand looked like right now. It could be cash, or it could be jewelry. It could even be a few paintings stolen from museums, works of art, precious documents of one kind or another. A hundred thousand dollars could be in a lot of different shapes, a lot of different colors.

What about the woman? Maybe she was the one killed Tiftus herself, and maybe she knew the whole story and was keeping it to herself.

Except it hadn’t been Tiftus down in that cellar, and it hadn’t been the woman, and it hadn’t been Younger. There was someone else involved, ready to kill, in too damn much of a hurry to kill.

It didn’t feel like a professional. The way he’d got himself cornered in the cellar and the way he’d got out of it again, both of them smacked like the doings of an impulsive amateur. Same with the killing; cutting Tiftus down hadn’t solved anything or proved anything. All he’d done by killing Tiftus was alert all the law for miles around, make it that much tougher on himself and everybody else.

So it was an amateur, probably somebody local. Dr. Rayborn? Or Gliffe, the undertaker? Parker didn’t know enough about either, or know how much either of them knew. He’d have to talk to Younger about them.

In the meantime, there were other things to do. He turned away from the window and went out to the kitchen. The woman was there searching the cabinets. She looked startled when Parker came in, and then frightened, and then innocent. The last expression didn’t work too well.

Parker said, “I’ll take care of that.”

“I was looking for swizzle sticks,” she said.

He said, “You go sit in the living room, keep a watch out front. When Younger shows up, you let me know and then get out the back way without him seeing you. Go on back to the hotel, and I’ll get in touch with you.”

“What are you gonna do, search the place?”

“Look for swizzle sticks.”

“And I inherit, huh?”

“That’s right.”