Richard Stark - The Hunter

“Nobody did,” Parker said.

“Take off,” said the other cop.

Parker went on out, pushing past the two women, who still look terrified. They hadn’t understood a word. They believed Delgardo had called the police to arrest them for shoplifting.

“I’m looking for a girl,” said Parker.

She smirked at him. “What do you think I am, big boy — a watermelon?”

Parker picked up his beer glass, looking at the cool wet ring it left on the bar. “I’m looking for a particular girl,” he said.

She arched a brow. She plucked her eyebrows and painted on new ones, in the wrong place, so that when she arched a brow it came out wrong, like a badly animated cartoon. “A hustler? I don’t know them all, baby.”

“She’d work by telephone,” he said. “She wouldn’t be a loner, she’d be connected with the organization.”

She shook her head. “Then I wouldn’t know her.”

Parker emptied the glass, motioned at the bartender for another round. “You’d know people who might know her,” he said.

“I might and I might not.” The round came and she said, “Thanks. Why should I tell you anything? I don’t know you from Adam.”

He looked at her. “Do I look like law?”

She laughed. “Not much. That’s one thing you’re not. But maybe you want to give her a bad time. Maybe she gave you athlete’s foot once or something.”

“I’m her brother,” Parker lied. “We been out of touch. The doctor tells me I got a little cancer in my throat. I want to look her up, you know how it is. It’s my last chance.”

She looked shocked and mournful. “Jeez,” she said. “That’s a bitch, man. I’m sorry.”

Parker shrugged. “I had a good life. I got maybe six months to go. So I thought I’d look her up. There’s just her and this aunt of ours, and I wouldn’t look the aunt up if she had a cancer cure.”

“Jeez,” she said again. Meditations on mortality creased her brow. “I know how you feel, man,” she said. “You maybe don’t think so, but I do. In this lousy business, you got to be thinking about disease all the time. There was this girl I knew, we used to room together. She didn’t feel so good, and it hurt to swallow, and sometimes she’d spit blood, so she thought it was TB. I told her and told her, go down to the clinic, so finally she did, and they put her in the hospital. She had a little something in the back of her throat too. Not cancer. The occupational disease, you know?”

Parker nodded. He couldn’t care less, but if he let her talk about this maybe she’d talk about the other.

“She’s still in there,” she said. “I went to see her once, and it was awful. She looked like an old bag, you know? And she couldn’t even talk any more, just croak. That was about six months ago, I went to see her. And that was enough for me, brother, I didn’t go back since. For all I know, she’s dead by now. She’d be better off.” Then she caught herself, and went wide-eyed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“That’s okay,” Parker said. “I know what you mean. Me, I figure I’m not going to stick around for that part. When it gets too bad, I slit this vein here.” He turned his hand over, showing the wrist. “See? That blue one there.”

She shivered. “Don’t talk that way, will you, baby? You get me all depressed.”

“Sorry.” Parker swallowed half his beer. “About my sister,” he said.

“What’s her name? You never know, I might know her.”

“The last I heard, she was calling herself Rose Leigh.”

She thought, brows furrowing in the wrong places. Shaking her head, she said, “No, I don’t think so. For a minute it sounded kind of familiar, but I guess not.”

“It’s from the old song,” he said. “Rosalie, my darling, Rosalie, my love — That’s why it sounds familiar.”

“That must be it. Listen, Bernie might know her.”

“Bernie?”

“The barman. They sometimes take calls in here.” She raised a hand. “Hey, Bernie!”

He came down along the boards behind the bar, expression-less. “Another round?”

“In a minute,” she said. She leaned over the bar toward him, urgent and intent. “Listen, Bernie, do you know a hustler named Rose Leigh? Like the song?”

“Rose?” He shrugged. “Not to look at, no. She never come in here at all. But I know the name, yeah. From the phone.”

“This is her brother,” she said, stabbing a purple-nailed thumb at Parker. “He’s looking for her.”

Bernie studied Parker dispassionately. “To take her home?”

Parker shook his head. “We been out of touch. I want to look her up is all.”

“He’s sick,” she said, in a loud stage whisper. “He wants to see his sister again, you know?”

Bernie wasn’t a sentimentalist. He said, “So what do you want from me?”

“Where does he find her?”

“How should I know? I know the name only from the phone.”

“Where do I find somebody who knows where she is?” Parker asked him.

Bernie thought it over. “I don’t know you, buddy,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t want to tell you something I shouldn’t.”

She opened her big mouth again. “Maybe you could call to somebody to tell her her brother’s in town.”

Bernie liked that. “Yeah,” he said. “That I can do for you.”

“Have them tell her it’s Parker. That way she’ll know it’s really me.”

Bernie nodded. He went away and she said, “You came to the right place, mister. Bernie can help you out.”

“I came where the hustlers were,” he said.

“Speaking of that, I still got to make a buck. I’d like to stick around and talk with you but—”

“That’s all right.”

“Good luck,” she said.

“Thanks.”

She climbed down off the stool, tugging her skirt down over thick hips, and promenaded toward the door. Halfway there, she caught a high sign and angled instead over to a table where two guys were sitting across from one another, looking eager. She stood at the table, talking with them a minute, then went back and talked to a girl sitting at the end of the bar. The other girl studied the two guys, then nodded and they both went back to the table.

Parker watched it all in the back mirror. The four of them, now two couples, were just getting up from the table when Bernie came back from the pay phone. “They’ll call back in a little while.”

“You told them Parker?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. Thanks.” He pushed his empty glass forward. “Another of these.”

He waited twenty-five minutes. If this fell through, if he couldn’t find her or she couldn’t find out where Mal was, he’d have to wait for Jimmy Delgardo. And if Jimmy didn’t work out either, he’d have to try some completely different way. It didn’t matter. He had all the time in the world. Mal, the fat cat. What back fence are you sitting on, Mal?

When the phone in the pay booth rang, he watched Bernie walk slowly and deliberately down the length of the bar, lift the hinged flap at the end and step through, close the flap after himself, step into the booth and close the door. He picked up the phone and spoke, and listened. Then he looked at Parker, and they looked at each other as he spoke again. Giving a description.

Finally, he put the receiver down on the shelf and opened the door. “It’s for you.”

Parker went back and into the phone booth, shutting the door. It was hot in there. Before picking up the receiver, he clicked on the fan. It whirred, and blew air past his neck.

He said, “Hello.”

A girl’s voice said, “Okay, smart boy, who are you?”

“Hi, Wanda,” he said.

“The name is Rose.”

“It used to be Wanda. This is Parker, like the man said.”