Ричард Старк - Flashfire [= Parker]

Wednesday afternoon. He was spending most of his waking time seated on the floor on the second-floor terrace, out of sight of anybody on the beach, but in the open air, giving his body a chance to relax, to heal itself. He had all the interior doors open in the house, and the door to the terrace open, so he’d hear if anybody came in.

Midafternoon, the terrace now in the building’s shadow. He felt hungry, but otherwise not bad. The breathing was better, the ribs less painful. The bandages were now almost a week old, but he didn’t want to remove them or fuss with them because he didn’t have any replacements.

He heard the front door shut, and rose, grunting a little. In the doorway, he could look straight down the staircase to the front hall, where he saw Leslie just disappearing to the right. Going to switch off the useless alarm.

He stepped through the doorway, leaned on the railing at the head of the stairs, waited. She came into view again down there, looking around, as though deciding what to do first. Softly, he called, “You alone?”

She lifted her startled face, saw him up there. “My God! I thought you were a thousand miles from here!”

“Not yet. Wait there, I’ll come down.”

He went down, and they sat together on the staircase, and he noted the clump of keys in her hand. “It’s okay you being here?”

She grinned, pleased with herself. “I’ve got the exclusive,” she said.

“I don’t follow.”

“The house reverted to its former owner,” she explained, “so it’s on the market again. I’m a heroine, so I’ve got the exclusive listing.” She grinned at him, as though bringing him a present. “No one is going to come into this house unless they’re with me.”

“That’s good,” he said. “But I can’t stay here. Are they still doing traffic stops?”

“No,” she said. “They think the fourth man escaped with the jewelry somewhere else.”

“Fourth man?”

“They searched the house all day Saturday and didn’t find the jewelry, so there must be a fourth man.”

“All right.”

“They think the three who came here gave this fourth man the jewelry somewhere along the way, and I’m pretty sure they think he’s somebody locally prominent, but nobody’s saying so.”

Parker stretched his lips in a grin. “Now it’s an inside job,” he said.

“Exactly,” she said, grinning back, but then her expression clouded, and she said, “Except for that sheriff. Farley.”

“He’s still around?”

“He’s decided,” she told him, “that the fourth man was Daniel Parmitt, and the other three got him out of the hospital because they needed him in their plan. Nobody else cares about Daniel Parmitt or thinks he had anything to do with the robbery, only Farley. He thinks Parmitt had a boat or something. He keeps trying to find somebody to tell that story to, but the police here think he’s just a small-town jerk from the Everglades.”

“He’s a small-town jerk, but he’s sharp,” Parker said. “What story did you tell?”

“I said I thought this house had been abandoned, because there was never anybody around, and I wanted the opportunity to sell it if it was on the market, and I even thought you might be a prospect.”

“Parmitt.”

“Right. And I came here, and it was unlocked, and there was nobody home. And I was still looking around when these three terrifying men in wet suits came in and kidnapped me. And I didn’t see them carrying any jewels, then or ever.”

“Good.”

“They held me overnight, and then they gave me breakfast in the morning, and I found that little gun taped under the table, I have no idea where it came from. There was still tape on the gun when I gave it to the police, and they found the rest under the table.”

“Good.”

“I told them I was afraid to touch it at first, but then the police arrived, and I thought they were going to go away again and not rescue me, so that’s why I pulled the gun out to shoot it to attract their attention.”

“That’s good,” Parker said. “And you’re a local, solid reputation, the story’s good enough, so it might be true.”

“They believe me,” she insisted.

He shrugged. “Why not? What do they think about the guns being rigged?”

She looked confused. “Rigged?”

“Their guns didn’t shoot,” Parker pointed out.

“That’s right,” she said in wonder, “I forgot about that. I thought I was dead when that man pointed that rifle at me, but then it didn’t shoot.”

“None of them did,” Parker said. “What do the police say?”

“Nothing. There hasn’t been a word about that.”

Parker thought it over. “Did nobody notice? Everything going by so fast. Or somebody noticed, and they decided, why should we tell everybody we killed three guys that couldn’t shoot back? Okay, just so they’re not making a big deal out of it.”

“They’re not.”

He said, “You know that bank account of mine in San Antonio.”

She shook her head. “I tried,” she said, “on Monday.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I went through a lot of trouble,” she told him. “I wanted some money.”

“Sure.”

“The man was very nice,” she said, “but he told me there was a temporary hold on that account, and he couldn’t ship me any more money.”

So Parmitt was gone for good. “All right. You’ve got some of the ten grand left.”

“Some,” she admitted.

“You’ve still got my clothing sizes. I need some Daniel Parmitt clothes, clothes I don’t look like an ex-con in.”

“I bet you are an ex-con,” she said.

“Polo shirt. Khakis. Tassel loafers. Sunglasses. White yachting cap.”

“I love your disguises,” she said.

“Wait here,” he told her, and stood, and went into the kitchen, where the circuit breaker box stood on the wall beside the window over the sink. He opened the metal cover and snaked out the painted wooden one-by-four running underneath it that he’d loosened the other day. Under there, inside the wall, the three jewelry pouches hung from the Romex wire cables leading out of the box. He removed them, put everything back, and carried them to the front hall, where Leslie abruptly got to her feet at the sight of them, as though she’d seen the Queen walk by.

“Is that it ?”

“All of it. Will it fit in your bag?”

Like most career women, Leslie’s brown leather bag was outsize, more utilitarian than fashionable. She said, “Let me just get a couple of these maps and things out of here. You’re giving it all to me?”

“You’re holding it,” he told her. “You take it home, you hide it someplace where your mother and your sister won’t find it, and someday soon, a few weeks or a month from now, a guy’s gonna come around and say he’s from Daniel Parmitt. Only first I’ll phone you, and I’ll tell you what name he’s using and what he looks like.”

She was very solemn, nodding at each thing he said. “All right.”

“He’ll take the stuff away,” Parker said. “He and I’ll work out a price. Then he’ll come back and give you one-third. Okay?”

“One-third.” She was still awed. “How much would that be?”

“We’re guessing four hundred thousand for you, might be less.”

“Not much less.”

“No.”

She hefted the bag, her maps and Filofax in her other hand. “You’re trusting me with this?”

“It isn’t trust, Leslie,” he said. “What are you gonna do with it? Go to a pawnshop?”

“I think there’s a reward.”

“Not four hundred thousand. And then you’d have to explain where you got it. No, you’ll hold on to it, and you’ll take the four.”