Richard Stark - The Mourner

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It all started when a small statuette — stolen from a fifteenth-century tomb during the French Revolution — turned up suddenly in America.
A man named Harrow, the very rich father of a very naughty daughter, offered Parker $50,000, in advance. to steal it. This presented no special problem since stealing was Parker’s business anyway, and besides, Bett Harrow, the daughter, had something of Parker’s that was very incriminating.
But the statuette was in the Washington residence of a man named Kapor, a minor official from one of the Communist nations, who not only had the stolen statuette but had also misappropriated $100,000 of his government’s funds.
It was all very confusing for a while. And then...

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He hoped she would recognize him by the first name alone. He didn’t want to mention his full name, in case the switchboard operator was listening in.

There was the briefest of hesitations. “Well, I’ll be damned. You did it.”

“You expected less?”

“Where are you?”

“In the lobby. I would like to talk to you.”

“Come on up.”

“Thank you.”

There was a bank of elevators across the way. He went over and was swooped up to the twelfth floor, where the corridor was uneasily reminiscent of Dr. Caligari’s cabinet, the walls and ceiling painted in bright primary colors, the carpeting wine red. He found the door marked 1223 and knocked.

She opened the door almost immediately, smiling at him in amusement. “Come in, come in. Tell me all about it.”

“In due time. It is more than pleasant to see you again.”

She was wearing form-fitting plaid slacks and a pale-blue halter. Her feet were bare, and the toenails were painted bright red. This struck him as ludicrous — it was as though she were wearing a flowing mustache — but he refrained from any comment. Still, it was unfortunate; the golden American goddess with scarlet toes. A bit of the glamour was destroyed for him forever. Inside her shoes, had the airline stewardess too had scarlet toes? Sad.

She closed the door behind him. The room looked like a more expensive version of the motel room in Washington. There was the same cheap bright-plastic look to everything.

“To tell you the truth,” she said, as they both sat down, “I didn’t expect to see you again. I thought Chuck would eat you up.”

“Chuck? Ah, yes. Parker, you mean.”

She shrugged. “He calls himself Chuck Willis sometimes. That’s the way I think of him.”

“Under any name,” he replied, smiling, “he did not eat me up. As you can see.”

“I hope you didn’t leave him alive anywhere,” she said, “I think he’d be a bad man to have for an enemy.”

“We need have no fears in that respect.”

She shook her head in slow amazement. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Auguste. Auguste? Don’t you have a better name than that?”

“I am most sorry. Only the one name.”

“It’s too ridiculous to call you Auguste. And you’re no Augie.”

“A minor problem,” he said, feeling annoyance that she should find his name ridiculous. “I suggest we table it for the moment. I have the statue.”

“I just can’t get it through my head. You really did kill Chuck and take the statue? What about the other one, that friend of Chuck’s?”

“Both of them. It is a closed issue. The past has no lasting fascination for me. It is the immediate future which now concerns me. I should like to meet your father.”

“I know, you want to sell him the statue. Twenty-five thousand?”

“Perhaps not. Possibly there is something he can do for me that would be more valuable.”

“Like what?” She seemed at once more alert.

He considered his words carefully. “In a sense,” he said, “I am in this nation illegally. My visa was for a short time only, and good only in Washington. It is my intention to remain in this country, therefore I will need papers. Your father is a well-to-do and influential man. It is not impossible that among his contacts is someone who can furnish me with the appropriate forged papers.”

“I don’t know if he can help you. If he can, is that all you want?”

“One small matter in addition. I have in my possession a rather substantial sum of cash, American. I would prefer not to carry this around with me. Your father perhaps could aid me in placing it in a bank or some other safe repository?”

“How much is a large sum?”

“I have not counted it as yet, but I believe it is approximately one hundred thousand dollars.”

Her eyes widened. “My God! Did you take that away from Chuck too?”

“If you mean was it his money — no, it was not.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“One more small matter. I had no reservation, and cannot obtain a room here.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She went to the phone, spoke to someone at length and finally hung up. She turned to Menlo. “All set. It’s on the wrong side of the hotel — no view of the ocean — but it’s a room. You can pick the key up downstairs. I told them your name was John Auguste, is that all right?”

“Perfectly.”

“My father isn’t in Miami now, but I will call him. He should be able to get here by tomorrow. I’ll let you explain to him exactly what you want. I’ll just tell him Chuck Willis is dead, and that someone else has the statue and wants to sell it.”

“Very good.” Menlo got to his feet. “I do thank you.”

“Where are you going?” She seemed displeased. “You’re all business now, is that it?”

“I have been traveling, dear lady. I should like to shower, to rest, and to don fresh clothing. I had intended to ask you to dine with me this evening, to allow me to make some small gesture of appreciation for your assistance.”

“You’re a strange man,” she said.

“Is eight o’clock acceptable?”

“Why not?”

He bowed. “I shall see you then.”

She walked him to the door and even barefoot she was a good two inches taller than he. She opened the door and stood holding the knob. “You didn’t even try to kiss me.”

Menlo was surprised. It was true that she had granted him her favors in the hotel in Washington, but he had thought then that it was only because Parker had rejected her. Could it be that she actually found him attractive? He was shorter than she, and unfortunately overweight, and possibly twenty years her senior.

But it couldn’t be the money; she was already rich.

Surprised, not quite sure what to make of her, he said, “You must forgive me. I have been, as I say, traveling. I am somewhat weary. And also, I must confess, my mind has been occupied with my own predicament. This evening, I trust you will find me more gallant.”

“This evening,” she replied, “you can tell me all about how you got the upper hand with Chuck. That I’ve got to hear.”

“I will tell all. Until this evening, then.”

He bowed his way out and took the elevator back down to the lobby. He didn’t approach the same clerk, but another one, giving the name Bett Harrow had invented for him. John Auguste. It would do as well as any. The clerk handed him the key, and a bellboy went to reclaim his luggage.

He had intended to bathe first, but once the bellboy had left the room he found his curiosity could wait no longer. How much exactly did he have in the suitcase?

When he opened it on the bed, loose bills spilled out on all sides. Hundreds, fifties, some twenties. With a flutter in his chest, as though he were standing too close to the edge of a cliff and looking over, he sat down on the bed and began to count. His weight depressed the mattress, tilting the suitcase, and another little shower of bills fluttered to the bedspread.

He made a little game out of it. First, he separated the bills into three piles, by denomination. Then, beginning with the hundreds, he sorted them into stacks, twenty-five bills in each.

Seven hundred fifty-three hundreds.

Four hundred twenty-two fifties.

And one hundred seventy-four twenties.

Nine-nine thousand, eight hundred eighty dollars. $99,880.00. Nine nine comma eight eight zero decimal zero zero. In the currency of his native land, three million, one hundred ninety-six thousand, one hundred sixty koter.

Oh, and more. In his wallet was eight hundred and fifty-three dollars. In his coat pocket, five hundred more. He had spent, coming down, he estimated approximately a hundred dollars.

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